My Dad In The War (Part Twelve)

One day Dad’s platoon was attacked by a group of Japanese soldiers. There was gunfire all over the place. Smoke, soldiers being hit. Soldiers yelling for help.
            From out of nowhere, with no rhyme or reason, a platoon of Japanese soldiers ran out of the jungle and straight at them. They were firing their weapons in a kind of suicide attack. Dad’s platoon opened up with all they had and took them out like ducks in a penny arcade.
            My father said that the Japanese soldiers were like wild animals, and, like wild animals, they were put out of their misery. After the battle was over, Dad’s platoon went out to check the area to see if there were any more enemy soldiers waiting to attack. There weren’t.
            While his platoon was out checking the kills, one of Dad’s fellow soldiers claimed the head of one of the dead Japanese soldiers against most everybody’s wishes. The G.I. said he wanted the head as a souvenir.
            Later in the day, they found a safe place to set camp. Much to the dismay of Dad and some of the other soldiers, the G.I. who had taken the head took it to his tent and began cleaning it. Polishing it. Looking it over.
            Proud of his work, he showed it to others. Some looked. Ost didn’t. Some considered it bad luck. It was just a creepy thing to have done. The G.I. didn’t care. He lay back in his bunk, smoked a cigarette, and admired his handiwork.
            Night came, and everybody went to sleep. Hours later Dad—and everybody else—was awakened by someone screaming. The screams sounded as if they came from the depths of Hell, my Dad remembered. They were the sczriest screams he had ever heard. One of his fellow soldiers was screaming, yelling for help. Begging to be left alone. Don’t hurt me, please! Yelling for someone to help him. Yelling that he was sorry.
            Dad said that no one moved. Everyone stayed where they were, afraid to go help. It was pitch black in the jungle, so they couldn’t see what was going on. Even the guys who were on watch didn’t move or say anything. There was nothing they could do. It may have been a trap by the Japanese. You torture one soldier, and you kill anybody who comes to help.
            For hours everybody just sat still and listened to the screams. Dad didn’t make a sound. He just held onto his carbine, ready for an attack that never came. No one slept that night. The yelling and screaming never stopped.
            When the sun finally came up, they went over to where the screaming had been coming from. They found the soldier who had taken and cleaned the head of the dead Japanese soldier. He was in the fetal position, crying and begging everyone not to let the headless Japanese soldier hurt him.
            The dead soldier had come back for his head.
            The soldier was sent to the hospital and Dad never saw him again. Dad said that the soldier had been having a nightmare.
            Maybe he had.
   
   

Raising My Father

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