Author's Note

Hey Y'all.

I wasn't really as confident with this chapter as many of my other ones. Dunno, just didn't really feel like it was good this time around. But, I wanted to write so here it is.

You know the drill leave a comment if you liked it - yadda yadaa yadda - all that jazz. I read all the comments you leave and its the biggest motivation for me to continue writing this story. Oh, and since I didn't really edit this as much as my other chapters, there might be a few mistakes in there. Feel free to point them out to my stupid self.

Ok, Ch. 13: Brutalized

Ch.13: Brutalized

Heat.

A piece of shrapnel thumped a tree trunk next to him, precisely where his head was a split second earlier. Another Jap round blew up beside him, the hot wind from the shell hitting his cheek with a warm POOF, the shrapnel probably smacking into another poor sod who would need his help. The near miss would have frightened him more if it wasn't for-

"AHHH DOC HELP ME!"

Well, that.

Poor kid ate metal right to the face from the artillery round. Several jagged solid pieces were settled into his cheek and unfortunately, his eye. The flesh was mangled beyond James' own ability to repair it, the white of the kid's eyeball now painted crimson red with his own blood. His face was definitely scarred for life.

Kid...

Too many of them lay dead behind him as they pushed south, slain by their enemy's sword. This one must have been no older than 17, probably didn't even graduate high school. His boyish features still showed, his cheeks youthful and his jawline still undeveloped. His legs, kicking up coral under him, were skinny and gangly, not fully grown in with the rest of his body yet. His arms were much the same, skinny and thrashing wildly as James worked to treat the injuries.

"Doc, am I ever gonna see again?" the 'boy' cried, looking James right in the eye with his good one.

"Oh sure you will, but don't move your eyes anymore! You'll make it worse!," he tried to comfort him with a gentle voice, well, as gentle as you can in a warzone, and grabbed his arms and dragged him to better cover near their line. James strained himself over his patient, trying to shield him with his own body as best he could while he hauled him by his armpits. Finally coming to a dip in the terrain, James all but flopped down to the deck and diligently continued his work on his patient.

The mortar barrage was finally coming to an end, the last of the shells hitting a palm tree with a loud BANG!. The wood shattered, bits of the cream colored matter slamming into the terrain with mighty THUNKS.

Breathing a sigh of relief, "Private, get the stretcher team up here!" James barked the order to a enlisted man taking cover underneath a fallen tree trunk. Dutifully, the private cradled his rifle in his arms and crawled off to grab the team.

Why did he ever sign up to do this job? He could've gotten a cushy supply ship station or navigated for an aircraft carrier. But no, instead, he signed up to tell Private Snuffy here that he essentially was never going to see out of two eyes again.

"God, basic never could've prepared me for this..."

"Alright, Private, we're gonna get you to Doc Hallsey at Battalion. He'll fix you up right as rain. So just hang in there," he consoled, keeping pressure on his external bleeds.

"But," he strained to speak, his breathing getting faster as shock began to set in, which James began immediately treating for, "What if- What if Doc Hallsey can't fix my eye? What will I do?"

"Well, look on the bright side. You'll look like a badass back home with an eyepatch on," he joked, wrapping a bandage nice and snug around his other injuries, "The chicks'll love you!"

"Heh," the private weakly chuckled, "If you say so Doc. Least I'm getting out of here."

His mood seemed to improve after remembering that fact, a small smile weakly making its way onto his dirty, coral dusted face. The war was over for him and he would surely be heading back to the States.

Hearing shuffling behind him, James turned to see the stretcher team had arrived, the four of them carrying their rifles in their rights hands while handling the stretcher with their left.

"I heard you called," the smiling face of Howard greeted James as he laid the stretcher down.

"That I did. Help me load him in," James gestured to his patient.

The three other men followed suit, two of them grabbing the patient with Howard and James and the other keeping a lookout with his rifle at the ready. The four of them worked quickly, not wanting to be caught in another barrage or in an ambush, to secure the private to the stretcher. Finally getting him up on the fabric, James stood up a little in a low crouch, the others joining him in a similar position.

"Alright let's get him back to-" James bent down a little to grasp the handle

BANG!

The stretcher bearer behind him fell to the ground dead instantly, his head spraying blood all over James' helmet and face as he did. He sputtered and spat the blood out in shock, flinging himself into cover.

"SNIPER!" Howard yelled, taking cover as well.

"That was definitely aimed for me." If he had moved his head just a split second later, his head would have been 'split' all over the deck.

The sniper must have been seen him treating the private and knew he'd call for a stretcher team, deciding to bide his time before he struck. He had just brought more Marines to this damn Nip's kill box.

"Does anybody see him?" one stretcher bearer yelled, scrunching himself down on the deck as much as he could.

"No! I don't know where that came from!" Howard replied.

"Keep him bottled up while I get help!" one stretcher bearer began crawling away through a thick patch of bushes. Howard fired off a few rounds randomly to cover his retreat.

James realized in their mad dash for cover that the patient was still laying out in the open by the small dip, easily exposed to the Jap sniper. Quickly, he eyed up the trees and then his patient in a second, trying to find a way to get him out of the line of fire.

"Hoooh, you can do this Jim," he psyched himself up, getting ready to make a mad sprint for his Marine. "Let's-

The Jap fired again, this time striking the immobilized man in the stretcher straight in the forehead. He slumped instantly, all his muscles relaxed at once, and he fell over dead, his face expressionless.

"No..." James' heart broke internally for the boy's mother.

"Goddamnit, you Jap son of a bitch!" Howard yelled, squeezing off a few rounds and expending his clip with a loud PING!

The sniper fired again, missing Howard by a hair. He could hear the frustrated chattering from the Jap as he fumbled with his rifle's bolt.

It was now a race against each other, Howard scrambling to load his M1, while James heard the desperate babbling of the Jap somewhere trying to bolt his rifle. He strained his ears trying to find which tree the Nip had tied himself to, pulling his .45 out to try and buy his friend some time.

The sniper was quicker as he squeezed off a round, the Arisaka sounding off with a loud BANG!, and struck Howard right in his arm.

"Howard! Howard you ok?" James frantically screamed.

"URHHH! Yeah I'm fine, but, GOD this hurts!" he grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, clutching the wound as he scrunched himself into the tree further to make his profile as small as he could.

ROOOOOAR - The sound of an engine assaulted their ears, rising above the frantic maelstrom of gunshots and muffled cries of pain from Howard. James tore his gaze from his comrade, and they were greeted by one of the greatest things they could have seen in that moment.

The Jap couldn't have picked a worse time to fire, because the stretcher bearer had come back. And this time,

He brought a tank with him.

Riding on the back of the Sherman, he had seen the Jap's muzzle flash just in time. He yelled to the tank commander, who had peeked his head out slightly from his cupola with his radio in hand, pointed the sniper out with his finger like an accusing lawyer, and took cover behind the turret. A metallic WHIIIR hit their ears as the 75mm cannon turned its muzzle towards its target. The coaxial MG ripped through the tree, kicking palm leaves into the air with reckless abandon.

WAM BAM! The gunner fired the piece into the tree, sending shrapnel flying all over the place in front of them and pieces of the bark smashed into James' cheek.

With a low whine, much like a death rattle, the thick, tall tree came tumbling down, hitting the deck with a mighty crash at the end. Laying beneath the thick trunk, now sprawled out prone, was the corpse of the Japanese sniper, his innards and stomach 'juiced' out on the sandy coral rock beside him. On his shoulders, he bore a full, thick set of branches and palm leaves, worn like a lion's mane to camouflage himself. His Arisaka rifle was nowhere to be found on his person. The concussive blast of the tank shell likely blew it off of his arm along with the rest of his hand, if the bloody stump where his right hand used to be indicated anything.

The job complete, the stretcher man tapped the top of the commander's hatch in a sign of thanks and hopped off the back of the tank. Coming out of cover and checking that the coast was clear, James rushed over to Howard, already ripping open a pack of Sulfa powder to throw on the wound.

"How you feelin' Howard?" James asked as he poured the powder onto the wound.

"Just peachy Jim. Just peachy," he slumped down against the tree trunk and whipped out his whiskey ration, taking a sip and holding his arm out to Doc.

"Next time you want to be target practice for Jap snipers, at least make it somewhat difficult for him to hit you, you fat lard!" James quipped, wrapping a bandage around his arm.

"Yeah, well I'll keep that in mind next time," he stowed his whiskey in his pocket, his eyes wandering over to the dead frame of the replacement laying in the stretcher, "Did you know him?"

James didn't have to look to know who he was talking about, "No, only been three days of the campaign. He was a replacement after all."

"San Anton," Howard muttered, wincing as James hit a painful spot, "He barely looked like he could shave."

James replied with nothing, focusing on his work.

"Hate seeing 'em get killed, ya know?" he continued, now sipping his canteen of oily water, "They're so wide-eyed, so awed, so frightened, so... innocent. It's like putting your childhood dog down."

Again, James didn't respond, just nodding his head, and put the final touches on his treatment on Howard's arm, sitting down along side him and propping up his knee.

His eyes wandered over to the dead sniper, who was now being gleefully looted of possessions by two of the stretcher bearers, the other checking the body of their fallen comrade.

"How come they don't just surrender," James growled, his brows furrowing down in a scowl, "They got nowhere to run on this damn rock. No reinforcements, no supply, no hope. But they kill us anyway. Why?"

Howard was silent for a moment, pulling a Raleigh out from its pack and lighting it up, "Cause they're Japs."

Brief in its life, but meaningful in its content, the answer given was the only explanation James could come up with for their enemy's stubborn refusal to give up.

He eyed the dead replacement's body, "Just... fuck the Nips."

Howard eyes raised a brow at his friend's uncommon use of strong language, but nodded in agreement, "Here, here."

"Smoke?" Howard offered his cigarette to his foxhole buddy.

The corpsman shakily took the sizzling cigarette and brought it to his mouth, exhaling the smoke into the air with a long sigh.

Off in the distance, James and Luna observed the pair of friends as they quietly exchanged the smoke between each other in a respectful silence. James had elected to lean himself against a jungle tree, folding his arms and putting his weight on his left shoulder. Luna stood next to him with an expressionless face, an almost indifferent look that threatened to overtake her.

It was strange. For once in her time experiencing James' memories, Luna felt nothing. Well, no. That wasn't quite describing it. She felt horrible and quite sad that this young, wounded replacement had been so cold-heartedly shot by the sniper. And she certainly felt anger, though less intense as James, that all this needless violence, death, and suffering were just... allowed to keep happening by whatever higher power governed this world.

No, this new feeling was apathy, a desensitization to what she saw, a lack of empathy for the Japanese.

Just a few weeks ago, she would have hurled, scoffed, and wept at what she was looking at, much like the first combat back on Gloucester. She had felt at least a modicum of empathy for the Japanese soldiers who threw themselves at the Marines' line. Perhaps it was her ignorance of who they were and their character.

She looked at the now steaming corpse roasting in the 100 degree heat and felt nothing for him.

"I think I understand now," she muttered to the man next to her. He turned his head to her inquisitively, cocking his brow.

"Understand what?" the question came out with a great deal of curiosity.

"I think I understand now why you've hated your enemy so much," she didn't look away from the corpse, but remained trained on it.

James eyed her with concern and a little trepidation, "How do you feel?"

How did she feel? That was certainly the question of the day.

"I feel," she paused, trying to properly think of the right words to express herself, "Just apathetic. Fatalistic I guess?"

He gave no response at first, but continued, "You wanna talk about it?"

She sat down underneath a tree and leaned against the trunk, James following in her example, "I just... don't understand why these soldiers continue to fight you. Why they are so brutal and almost remorseless in their actions. Just, why'd this happen?"

"That's an excellent question for which I do not know the answer. Hell if I know the politics and reasons why they attacked us. I was just a simple corn and dairy farm boy from Kentucky," he coughed, "But the sentiment you have was shared by every man who fought on this god-forsaken piece of rock. Because of the Japanese's brutality and ruthlessness, there was little compassion for our enemy. And I guess, you understand that feeling now."

"I suppose I do," she grunted.

"Do you want to keep going tonight? If this is too much, we can stop," he asked with concern.

"No, I think I'll be fine," she wasn't exactly sure, but in wanting to continue helping her friend, she would press on.

James shrugged his shoulders, "Okay then. If you say so."

"The 7th Marines were tasked with pushing south down the island and securing it before moving north with the rest of the division. I suppose it's quite convenient that you mentioned your growing distaste for the Japanese because this feeling began to affect the men of my platoon in more ways than you'd think. The effects of prolonged combat, constant terror, and lack of sleep culminated into the love of many Marines growing cold, especially in when it came to the treatment of our enemy."

BOOM! WAM BAM! BANG BANG BANG!

The distant maelstrom of artillery, explosions, gunshots, and plane engines roared on like a raging forge fire behind them. Up on the high, jagged hills of Bloody Nose Ridge, the column of the marching B company could see the creators of those sounds bashing into the earth, the distance making the shell explosions look no more harmful than a puff of smoke. The fighting looked desperate and brutal, dragging on with a ferocity that no man envied dealing with.

"Boy do I ever feel sorry for the 1st Marines," one young Gloucester veteran sighed with his head turned back watching the fight.

"You said it. Those old salts are catching hell up there," a mortarman added, giving a nod of sympathy to the unfortunate Marines.

"Won't be long before Rupertus throws us into the fray up there too," a new voice added.

"God I hope you're wrong, Flume," James groaned, tripping over a unruly little rock, but caught himself.

Luna eyed the new man up with an analytical gaze. It was rare that James addressed many Marines by their names unless he knew them somewhat well.

Deacon Flume, as odd of a name he had, was much different in comparison to the other stinking, sweaty Marines walking in the column. For one, he carried three massive metal tanks on his back that he looked to be struggling with as they marched onward. It jostled, banged, and dragged him down with every step he took. Discrete, individual pipes and nozzles jutted out from the top of the tank and around to a peculiar tube-shaped gun in his hands.

The man himself was peculiar in appearance as well, which stuck out like a sore thumb. He was a stocky man of Flemish descent, built with more muscle and brawn than many of his other leaner, skinnier counterparts. He was tall, much like James' height, and towered over the other Marines. Messy brown hair spilled out of the helmet of the broad shouldered man's head with a brown 'five-o-clock' shadow hugging his round jaw. His clothes were an absolute mess with sweat stains, dirt, coral dust, and gel stains dotting the army green boondocker fatigues. But this condition was common among all the Marines marching. Being filthy came with being in a combat zone after all. On his helmet, he had pulled the brown, sandstone camouflaged canvas cover down from the webbing over his neck to protect it from sunburn. Sweat poured down the sides of the cover like rain, dripping into the fabric and evaporating almost immediately in the sun.

On his face, he had a sort of 'war-paint' but instead of paint, it was a gel, which James explained was a flame-resistant gel that protected his face.

"Why would he need such a thing?" she asked.

"Well, he's carrying a flamethrower. You know, might get hot," James snarked.

"A flamethrower?" The man had mentioned it before, but she hadn't actually seen one in front of her, "Why would you need such a, barbaric weapon?"

He gestured forward with his hand, beginning to march along with the Marines, "You'll see," he brought his finger up in front of his mouth, signaling her to be silent.

"Least we're off the front for now and doing bypass duty. So much for '4 days of hard fighting'," Flume made a goofy, mocking impression of their commander.

"Straight dope. If we're lucky, maybe they already killed themselves and we'll have light duty," one of the rifleman hooted, knowing this would not be the case.

"Knock it out you two, we're getting close," the sergeant in command of the patrol hissed at the Marines. All talking ceased as they got down to a crouch, inching their ways closer and closer to their objective.

Finally, the pillbox came into view. Built into a hill only about 15 feet up, the opening of the box was finally spotted, the rifleman from earlier pointing at it and picking it out. It was so well-camouflaged that Luna surely would've walked right by it if she was in their shoes. The Japs had done their very best to hide the silhouette. Tree branches, leaves, and grass hugged the outside concrete around the opening which blended perfectly with the environment. The branches hung down over the mouth of the pillbox that obscured it and the concrete was painted a dull green that was similar to the foliage.

"You think they've seen us?" a private asked.

"I'm sure they'd've shot at us by now," his corporal responded back.

"Maybe they've abandoned it?" he reasoned.

"Shh, you two. Alright, we're sneaking around the sides slowly, stay out of the kill box. Flume if they start opening up, I might need you to blast the opening and get 'em out of their hidey-hole. The rest of you, on me and stay quiet!" the sergeant briefed his men and they quickly began to carry out the order.

Slowly and steadily, the Marines crept their ways towards the enemy. Each trained a close eye on the thin, long strip of black, just waiting to bolt if a machine gun started blasting them. Thankfully, nothing had happened yet, so they kept right on going.

The men were tense, as one should expect since the Japs could open fire at any moment. A bead of sweat ran down the side of the sergeant's face. If it was from fear or the heat, Luna couldn't tell.

They were close to the fortification now, a brisk run's length away. Some stopped briefly to check on their comrades behind them.

RATTA RATTA RAT RAT RATTA

And there it was. A Jap machine gun ripped into a few poor souls still on the edge of the kill box and cut them down, dead almost instantly. The rest of the unit made a mad scramble to the top of the box and threw themselves on the deck, now laying atop the grassy, leaf covered top of the concrete.

In their haste, however, most of the men did not immediately see the rush of Japanese soldiers charging out of their emplacement with their bayonets affixed. One unfortunate young Marine was among them, taking cover just outside the sunken path that led to the entrance. The Jap was quicker than he and before he could raise his rifle in defense, the soldier had gored him in the abdomen, the blade sticking out the back and covered in his blood.

James, the one next to her, had closed his eyes and turned away from the spectacle, grimacing while he did.

He quickly dispatched the ambusher with a shot from his .45, while the rest of the group swiftly shot down the other ambushers. Rushing over to him, he whipped out his dressings and rendered aid to the soul.

Blood was spattering and swiftly leaving the kid's body, collecting near the floor underneath his back.

"Crap it probably hit his kidney," he hissed to himself.

The Nip was oh so gracious enough to pull his bayonet out before falling to the ground dead, cutting the private up even more.

"Damn Nip..."

James struggled, wrestled, and fought with the bleed, applying apt pressure, hemostatic bandaging, anything he could, but it was all for naught. The kid was visibly pale, rapidly losing blood, and before long, fell over dead. He cursed to himself, closed the deceased' eyes, and moved on, deeming to return to the body after combat. He took cover behind the concrete and assessed the situation as best he could from his vantage point.

A rifleman sat just beside the machine gun opening and was tossing in grenades like T-Shirts at a ballgame. They went off with muffled BANGs and loud screams from the Japs, who responded in tow with suppressing fire and grenades of their own. Most missed their targets, the grenades rolling down the hill or getting kicked away by attentive Marines. Flume was spotted slowly creeping his way towards the opening and getting into his position.

Before long, he was ready. Signaling to his buddy, his assistant turned a hexagonal knob on the top of the tank. A pipe pressurized itself, jumping from the influx of liquid running through it.

He depressed the trigger and with a loud wwoooOOOOOSSH, fire SHOT out of the nozzle and flooded into the compartment. For a brief moment before it was engulfed in flames, Luna was able to glimpse the wide-eyed stares of shock, fear, and terror on the Japanese soldier's faces.

Flume was liberal on the trigger, deeming to just let it fly off the handle and use the concrete to manage the little recoil. The flames jutted out of the box and the room filled with a charcoal, black smoke which now leaked through any oriface it could find. The smell of burning liquids, gas, napalm, whatever it was, filled her nostrils as she took in the horrid sight.

But the worst of it was the screams.

The Japs screeched bloody murder as fire clung to their clothes like a strong glue. They spewed out the entrance brushing at their clothes, legs, arms, anywhere that was enflamed. Some threw themselves to the ground and tried to roll around to put themselves out. They chattered and wailed in their native tongue. Some gasped for air, the flames striping the oxygen out of the air around them. Other's grenades went off from the heat, their torsos exploding into a reddish pile of meaty mashed potatoes.

All these were swiftly cut down, the barrels of their weapons hot with the heat of the rounds.

"Cease fire on the line!" the sergeant gave the order. All fire stopped immediately.

"Is that all of 'em?" a corporal asked.

"You four, clear the room, the rest of you keep an eye out and make sure each Jap is dead," the sergeant gave his orders.

Soon, the four of them crept into the pillbox, James hanging out near the door out of sight in case any straggling Japs set an ambush.

But, he heard no gunshots, only ones coming from outside from his comrades shooting the bodies.

"All clear!" came the call from the PFC. Since no one was immediately hurt, James decided to have a look inside the pesky pillbox.

Stepping over through the metal door, the odor of burnt, rotting flesh nearly choked his nostrils, coughing at the sudden surprise of terrible smells. His eyes watered and he brought his elbow up to stifle his coughs. Taking a moment to regain his composure, he finally took in the environment around him.

The pill box had been separated into two compartments, one with the machine gun nest, and the other where the men relaxed, rested, and kept their supplies. Charred black residue clung to the sides of the walls, the leftovers of Flume's flames most likely. The bodies of the unfortunate Japs lay on the floor with their remnants absolutely scorched. Grimaces of pain and agony were painted across their faces, their final moments of terror a monument for all to see. They looked mangled, grotesque, inhuman, pathetic, not the pride of the Emperor's army.

Most of the squad were 'liberating' some loot off the corpses and seeing that no one was in immediate danger, James decided to join in.

He spotted a spiffy, charcoal Jap officer's uniform and went to work. A few pictures of family, which he returned to their pockets, a folded Jap flag, and a Nambu pistol, he had struck the jackpot on this corpse! Grinning a unsettling smile, he stowed his booty into his bags, unloading the officer's pistol and saving the ammo to prevent a negligent discharge.

Moving onto the next carcass, he recommenced the process once more of fumbling around in the cadaver's pockets. But as he did, he spotted movement as a private from the clearing detail walked back into the back compartment. Something on one of the dead seemed to catch his eye and walking over to what he had seen, he bent down to get a closer look.

Rising from his spot, James watched the Marine afar off, interested to see just what had grabbed his attention. Bending down to rest on his heels, the Marine pulled out his KABAR knife and prodded the man's mouth open.

Reaching in with the tip of his KABAR, he began prodding and thrusting into the Jap's teeth to claim his prize, or, prizes, a pristine set of gold teeth. This was a common practice among Marines, one which James found revolting.

However, unlike most cases when gold extraction took place, the Jap was still alive.

He couldn't move very well due to what was likely partial and total paralysis in some parts of his body. His legs kicked behind him and he thrashed his mouth weakly. He fought, spat, and kicked, trying to get away from his torturer. His arms, strangely, were completely still, giving James further evidence of his paralysis.

The Marine private, however, merely looked annoyed by his enemy's actions, planting his hand firmly down on his forehead in an attempt to hold him still.

James couldn't believe what he was seeing, "Shoot that man! Put him out of his misery!"

"Shove off Doc, I'm just collecting some gold," the man nonchalantly muttered back.

"Private, you shoot that man now! This is cruel!" he shouted.

The private merely grunted harder in annoyance. James heard some shuffling to his right and before long heard a gunshot. His corporal had joined the two and had put a bullet in the Jap's head, ending his life swiftly.

"Private, next time Doc tells you to do something, you do it immediately! You understand?" the corporal yelled at his subordinate with a great deal of frustration.

"Yes corporal," he heard a response back.

The memory faded with the three of them returning to looting the dead, a shocked look still emblazoned on James.

"What would compel that man to do such a thing?" the apathy Luna had once been feeling had been banished, replaced with pure surprise and shock.

"I don't know," James shrugged.

"Just... goddess," she muttered.

James breathed a long sigh, "I know. It's unfortunate, but war makes men mad."

He folded his hands behind his back and stood stoically, "I suppose he had become so fatalistic, he just didn't care anymore. Peleliu, in many ways, was worse than my other fights because it dehumanized us the most. Time lost all meaning. Life had no meaning. Our civilized practices were eroded away and made savages of us all. Err, well most of us. We existed in an environment that was totally incomprehensible; a world of horror from which freedom seemed less likely day by day." He shook his head, "I know much of our change in behavior might seem sudden to you. I've glossed over a huge portion of our day to day lives to keep this short. But Peleliu, and just being on it, brutalized us to the point of not recognizing what was acceptable and unacceptable. The constant fear, loss of friends, shelling, it barbarized us just as much as it did the Japs, and it made many of us forget certain moral limits to a fighter's actions in a war."

Luna was silent, still shocked at what she had seen, but soon spoke, "I can't comprehend why. Just why? Most every conflict between nations I've faced as a princess has been able to be solved without a war. Why did these things have to happen?"

He said nothing, instead breathing out another long sigh, "That is something I ask of myself, and more importantly God, many a nightly basis. Why?"

"Why indeed Miss Luna?"