Allied International Special Forces: Fortress Island Threat

By Ares Tremaine

Our job, ladies and gentlemen, is not to fight on the front lines, but to protect those fighting on the front lines by foiling the most evil of plans set forth by tyrants to wipe them out.
-Major General Dale Baker: Commanding Officer of AISF

The year is 1943 and as the Second World War grinds on, Marine Lieutenant John Tanner returns home from the Pacific. Major General Dale Baker, a friend of the Tanner family, sends John a telegram urging him to serve with The Allied International Special Forces (AISF) in Europe. Johns first mission is to rescue imprisoned Prussian aristocrat Annabelle von Koenig; considered a traitor by Nazi paramilitary division The Midnight Wolves led by Field Marshal Konrad Schneider and his daughter Bertilda. Konrad, bitter over Germanys defeat in the First World War is nearly ready to unveil a secret from mysterious Fortress Island, a secret that could spell doom for the allied forces.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499078817

Ares Tremaine

Ares Tremaine was raised in Upland, California, and has enjoyed reading and writing since a young age. He also likes watching movies, playing the bass guitar, and rocking out to his favorite musical bands. Although his health made him unable to serve in the armed forces, Ares supports all branches of the United States military. He is a student of World War Two and believes firmly that the lessons it teaches us should be applied to modern society. When not engaged in the above activities, Ares loves spending time with family and friends, especially his wife and daughter.

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Copyright © 2014 by Ares Tremaine.

ISBN:                      Hardcover                978-1-5035-6408-4

                                Softcover                  978-1-4990-7882-4

                                eBook                        978-1-4990-7881-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 04/17/2015

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Table of Contents

Note From The Author

Prologue: Fortress Island

1:  John Tanner

2:  Anna von Koenig

3:  Lucille Campbell

4:  Chloe Dumont

5:  Marta Haas

6:  Heidi Reinhardt

7:  Roksana Sokolov

8:  Lily Dresner

9:  Anton & Tatiana Kobori

10:  Aceline Castille

11:  Charles Spencer

12:  Dale Baker

13:  Briefing & Project MW C21

14:  Bertilda Schneider

15:  Training

16:  Betrayals

17:  Escape from Wulf Castle

18:  Reunion & Recovery

19:  Face of the Enemy

20:  The Fallen Angels Strike

21:  Preparations & Reinforcements

22:  The AISF Under Siege

23:  Naval Strike – Part I

24:  Fortress Siege – Part I

25:  Aerial Dogfight – Part I

26:  Naval Strike – Part II

27:  Fortress Siege – Part II

28:  Aerial Dogfight – Part II

29:  Escape of Bertilda Schneider

30:  The Fate of The Midnight Wolves

Note From The Author

T his book, although set during a real time period, is a work of fiction. The characters are creations of the author’s imagination except in the few cases when actual historical persons are involved in a fictitious manner. The story is meant to entertain but also to encourage remembrance of the lessons World War II should have taught us. The author expresses special gratitude to the armed forces for their bravery in defending the rights of all mankind.

Dedicated to:

West L. Goodman: the man who sparked my interest in history, especially its lessons!

And Special Thanks to:

My wife Karrie and daughter Emma, Dale Goodman, Steve Goodman, Julie & Joe Duffield, Caleb Mickey and Jane Buckley

Prologue

Fortress Island

*The Atlantic Ocean: February, 1917*

T he first torpedo hit the Royal Navy patrol ship and sent a plume of salt water towering skyward. For nearly an entire minute the crew was stunned, unsure as to exactly what had happened.

U-boat surfacing! shouted Lieutenant Daniel Lewis, his finger pointing toward the conning tower of a German submarine rising from the depths.

The alarm sounded and men scrambled to take their battle positions. The wind had strengthened throughout the morning to a moderate force as the small ship plunged and bobbed on the choppy water.

Return fire! Captain Gerald Russell called out as sailors loaded the craft’s two deck guns to return fire.

Loud voices overlapped at the unexpected attack and several of the sailors lost their balance as the ship listed to port side. As the U-boat drew closer, armed German sailors came up on deck and began to fire their Lugers at their enemies to create more chaos. Cries of pain indicated that a few of the unprepared sailors on the patrol ship had been struck by the random pot-shots.

The second torpedo hit its mark and this time flailing arms and legs accompanied another watery geyser. Knowing that his ship was lost, Captain Russell waved his arms frantically to signal surrender to the enemy vessel. The sailors on the submarine deck ceased fire, not because of the English captain, but because their own commander had climbed out on deck and given them the order to do so. Russell blinked in confusion as another man wearing the uniform of the Imperial German Army followed behind the officer.

Have their captain and first mate brought aboard.

Captain Russell understood enough German to understand what the commander said.

What is a Royal Navy patrol ship doing out this far west? the officer asked Russell once he and Lieutenant Lewis stood on the submarine’s deck.

I might ask the same question of you, sir, Russell replied as he stared into the other’s eyes.

Yes you might, the German smiled.

But…

But, you are at our mercy, Captain! the army officer interrupted icily.

So it seems, Russell shrugged.

Very well; our mission has been to follow and if possible to capture you… Commander Josef Linz!

Linz showed no surprise that the enemy knew who he was and for several seconds he stared at the billowing, black smoke coming from the patrol craft. The remaining sailors of the doomed British ship sat in two dinghies, wrists tied behind their backs and black hoods pulled over their heads.

It would seem that you have been successful with only half of your mission, Captain Gerald Russell, Linz said after watching the wrecked enemy ship completely submerge.

We are wasting time, Josef, the army officer spoke up again.

In one blurred motion, he pulled his saber from the scabbard attached to his waist and ran the blade directly through Captain Russell’s sternum. Then, to the horror of Lieutenant Lewis, he proceeded to kick the sword in deeper, knocking Russell overboard. With a growl of rage, Lewis charged at the army officer only to be shot in the shoulder by one of the German sailors and he too was tossed into the water.

The captain could have been a valuable hostage, Konrad! Linz exclaimed.

Major Konrad Schneider looked out over the rough sea and shifting iron grey clouds, toward what he hoped was a real destination. Only a few months previously, his father, a veteran of The Franco-Prussian War, had passed away and left Konrad his estate. Like Konrad, Franz Schneider was actually Hessian, born in Frankfurt; the allure of patriotism had urged him to fight to unify the German states. While Konrad had been assigned to his share of muddy, rat-infested trenches, Franz Schneider had died of some type of heart problem; only days later, Konrad had been awarded an Iron Cross for his bravery under fire on both the western and eastern fronts.

Konrad had been close to his father as they shared an interest in military tactics and he had been genuinely aggrieved by the loss of the old soldier. Feeling grief was not a usual sensation for Konrad and not knowing how to react emotionally, he had seethed in anger, smashing various pieces of art and furniture. That was how he found the wooden box containing his father’s diary; in his rage he had cursed the Allied forces for taking him away from his father’s side and kicked open an old chest that had belonged to his mother.

He had never known his father to be one to keep a diary or journal but what he found within had made Konrad thankful that he had. The entry that had interested the German army officer most had been written to him when he had only been a few years old, at a time when his father had decided to travel around Europe and cruise the Atlantic.

Did you hear me, Konrad? Linz asked impatiently as his companion continued to stare west.

No witnesses, Josef; this mission is of the utmost secrecy… orders from the Kaiser, Schneider said flatly.

Linz let out a deep breath and then gave a single nod.

Good, Konrad turned his attention to a higher ranking enlisted sailor.

You know what to do, Dietrich.

The sailor nodded after Konrad indicated the men in the dinghies and issued orders to the lower ranks. Seconds later, the U-boat’s deck gun fired once and then a second time…

Bobbing in the turbulent water, Lieutenant Daniel Lewis watched first his shipmates die and then the submarine slip beneath the surface. An hour later as he felt approaching death, Daniel still wondered… what was it that the U-boat crew wanted to keep so secret?

*

We should be arriving at the coordinates you gave me within ten minutes, Konrad, Linz reported a half-hour later.

I hope your father is right about this.

I don’t think we will be disappointed, old friend, Konrad replied, giving the other man a clap of camaraderie on the shoulder.

Schneider’s and Linz’s fathers had been close friends, fighting together in the German unification war and each becoming an adopted uncle to the other’s son. Now their offspring shared a similar friendship and Josef Linz was the only one Konrad trusted enough with this current mission.

Konrad pulled his father’s diary from his inner coat pocket and opened the cover to reveal a picture of a girl of four years old and his bitter expression softened slightly. A couple of years before The Great War on a night when he had met a former classmate, he and the woman had drank too much brandy and ended up in a hotel room. The small, blonde haired girl in the picture had been the result of this meeting and the mother, her family being religious extremists, had put the child in an orphanage. He would have loved to have cared for the child - it gave his life meaning outside of fighting war - but for the time being Konrad was certain that it was best to leave his daughter where she was and perhaps retrieve her when the war was over.

Herr Captain, rocks ahead at our approximate destination. one of the crew called out from the periscope minutes later.

Rocks? Linz asked in a puzzled tone.

Yes, Konrad replied in a soft tone as he opened the diary to a page he had bookmarked and motioned Linz to a corner of the cramped bridge so they could speak in private.

Father calls them ‘The Shark’s Teeth’, a natural defense for the mysterious island in the center. Not to worry, Josef; a course has been charted through them and I’m certain with the dinghy we brought that we will get through just fine.

He handed the book to his friend and Linz studied the diagram of rows of jagged rocks that encompassed the island within a one mile radius.

You decided not to show me this earlier.

It was a statement, not a question.

The utmost secrecy has to be maintained, I am not sure of everybody’s loyalty onboard, Konrad commented.

I understand, Linz nodded and then, after clearing his throat, he gave the order to proceed toward the approaching rock formations.

*

It was a half hour later when Konrad, Josef and two sailors aboard the dinghy were able to find a natural cove near the island’s shore and the crewmen lashed the boat against two of the jagged rocks that thrust upward from the water. Konrad’s brown eyes were wide with awe and wonder at the sheer size of the huge fortress that towered over them a little further inland. At the top of the boxy, stone monolith, long, metallic rods jutted toward the sky, blackened and bent at odd angles as if reaching out to pull something down from the heavens. The wind had died down and the sky had partially cleared while they had gone through the rocky barrier but large waves still crashed against the lichen and barnacle encrusted rocks as well as the sandy shoreline and an eerie sensation emanated from the distant green, mossy walls of the fortress.

This place is unholy, one sailor said in a low tone as the second crewman crossed himself in agreement.

They are superstitious, as many sea going men are, Linz told Konrad with a sigh. I apologize.

Not to worry.

Konrad shook his head; he had never been a very religious man.

They are doing their job… but will you accompany me?

Of course, Linz nodded.

Konrad nodded back as he carefully stepped out of the boat and disembarked into water up to his thighs. Linz was loyal to his friends and Konrad appreciated loyalty.

I am certain we will need light, Konrad told Linz as the other man dropped to his side.

Ja, Linz replied.

Schmidt, the candles!

Konrad had read in the journal about how his great-great grandfather Emmerich Schneider had discovered this island in the year 1790, later navigated its natural defenses and with the help of a Prussian aristocrat had designed and built the now musty fortress but what Konrad really wanted was to find out the truth as to what his grandfather, Otto Schneider, had found at the heart of the fortress while digging a deep dungeon beneath it. The two men walked carefully through the curving passageways, passing the skeletons of many who had died in a battle between Otto Schneider and his sister, Frieda, to take complete control of the fortress. If the discovery Franz had recorded in his journal really existed, then Konrad would certainly use it to help the German war effort now on the decline.

The army major’s eyes widened with pleasure as they finally reached their destination. They had just entered a large chamber that according to the map was at the center of the fortress and like the rest of the cold, dank structure, bones lie scattered on the floor along with old weapons. Konrad, however, was interested in the great pit that extended from one wall to another and with a manic glint in his eyes he hurried forward and knelt at the edge to verify his finding. Linz simply stood behind him and waited patiently with his candle flickering at odd intervals.

Konrad’s brain was in high gear, German efficiency hard at work to determine how he could use the fortress alone to support the Kaiser and perhaps achieve a higher rank. He could see in his mind’s eye the reaction of rival officers that constantly competed with him to gain favor in the Kaiser’s eyes; it was a look of shock and disbelief and Konrad would love to see them simmer at his success.

Konrad Schneider had been born to be a soldier, or so his father had always told him since he had been a small child of around the age his own daughter was now. By the age of ten Konrad had all ready learned to shoot a pistol with deadly accuracy and had been given his own sidearm along with a field mess kit and three knives. By the time he turned twelve his father had arranged for him to enter one of the top military academies in Berlin and he achieved the honor of being made squad leader for his above average abilities in military strategy, even at such a young age. Just after his fifteenth birthday, he was promoted to Cadet Lieutenant, a rank usually reserved for senior cadets at the age of seventeen and he graduated with honors with a commission directly to lieutenant in the German army.

After graduation he had risen through the ranks at a quick pace to the astonishment and annoyance of officers older and more experienced. He was promoted to the rank of captain by the age of twenty-three and then to major only months after he had deployed to the western front in 1914 after turning twenty-seven. Konrad figured that colonel was just around the corner for him if he could impress Wilhelm II with this discovery that he was certain his ancestors would want him to use for the sake of the Fatherland. The war was turning bad for Germany; the Austro-Hungarians and Ottoman Turks were all but humiliated in defeat and although it seemed that the British and French should have surrendered long ago, it was rumored that the Americans would soon be getting a piece of the action.

This bit of news often made Konrad grimace to himself; what business did the Americans have in European affairs that they certainly did not understand? Franz had told his son many stories about their Hessian forefathers who had attempted to assist the British during the American Revolution and had died at the hands of the upstart rebels. Their tactics in war were often sloppy in Konrad’s opinion and this made him wonder how they continued to achieve victories during times of war. If they did come on to German soil, then Konrad would fight to his dying breath to foil the foreigners in whatever chaotic plans they had and assist in their first wartime failure.

Hand me that old rifle will you, Josef? Konrad requested as he focused back on the present situation.

Konrad lowered the gun, butt first into the pit and then allowed it to drop down into the large crevice. As he waited for it to hit the bottom, the only sound he could hear besides his own breathing and that of Linz was water dripping in the distance and the high-pitched squeaking of rats. His hand clutched a rusted metal eyelet that at one time had had rope tied to it to get in and out of the pit.

No chance of exploring this today, he told Linz, who nodded in agreement after neither man heard the old weapon hit bottom.

He handed his candle to the ship’s captain and then lowered himself on his belly and leaned forward into the dark abyss.

Be careful, Konrad, Linz cautioned.

Ja, Konrad answered.

Hand me the knife I have in my right boot would you, bitte?

The army officer pressed his lips together tightly as he wedged the knife into the side of the rocky, sheer drop of the crevice and applied force. The chunk of stone containing a glossy metal made a grinding sound as Konrad grunted and attempted to lever it loose. He cursed softly under his breath at the rock’s resistance and began to chip at it as he grew frustrated at what he had thought to be a simple job. Finally, with a fierce tug, the stone came loose and Konrad was barely able to catch the small piece before it fell down the chasm.

After Linz helped him back to his feet, he swore loudly as he discovered that he had broken the tip of his blade to achieve this prize. The knife had been one of the three given to him by his father; however, he had what he wanted and his face broke into a wicked grin as he examined the shiny, silver metal that was contained within the stone.

What is it? Linz shook his head in uncertainty.

Possibly just what Germany needs to get back into this war, Konrad replied.

Konrad Schneider was to be disappointed, though, that he would not be able to use his discovery in the current world conflict. Humiliated by Germany’s defeat and bitter at Linz’s death in battle, he remained patient and joined a new regime led by an Austrian corporal with similar feelings. Konrad Schneider was determined to do his part to make the Allied forces pay for the damage they had done… his enemies would suffer!

Chapter 1

John Tanner

*Brisbane, Australia: November, 1942*

J ohn Tanner let out a loud gasp and sat up in bed in a place that he didn’t know. Around him, men and women dressed in white moved around to more beds similar to his own and John’s haunted eyes glanced around the hospital in confusion.

You’re all right, love; lie back, a woman wearing a nurse’s uniform told him in an unfamiliar accent as she hurried to his bedside with quick, measured steps.

Where am I? John asked in a strained voice as he realized that his throat was quite dry.

At a hospital in Brisbane, Australia, she replied.

Australia? John repeated.

What’s the last thing you remember, Lieutenant Tanner? the nurse asked as she picked up a clipboard near his bedside and began to examine it.

Guadalcanal. My men and I were captured by a force of Japanese soldiers… John broke off and then began to get out of bed.

Whoa there; easy, Lieutenant, the woman told him in a firm tone as she dropped the clipboard to stop him from getting up.

She didn’t need to do much though as John felt a wave of dizziness and piercing pains shoot through his head like red, hot needles; he fell back into the bed almost as quickly as he had gotten up.

There now, maybe you won’t try that again after I tell you that you’re suffering from malaria, the nurse went from a firm tone back to her bedside manner.

My men; how are my men? John nearly coughed the words out. Where are they?

I’ll have the doctor come over to speak with you on that… but stay in bed; you’ve had fever so high that I’m rather surprised you’re still alive, she answered.

John looked her over. The Australian nurse was quite attractive with light, brown hair and dark, blue eyes that peered at him with kindness and affection. She was short, probably five-foot-two at most in his estimation and had a trim figure that stood out with the white belt strapped around her waist. He also noted the gold band on her ring finger… married… too bad, although he knew many men that would dismiss such as an obstacle to overcome. John’s father had taught him to respect such institutions as marriage: a quality that Jason Tanner had told John was disappearing far too quickly in modern day society.

May I have some water, Nurse… ?

Huh? Oh, I’m Mindy Smythe. Water? Of course, but you stay in bed or I’ll have to sedate you.

She walked off and began talking to one of the doctors that had just finished checking on a different patient. John’s eyes scanned over the room, searching for a familiar face in a sea of unfamiliar ones. If only he could just find one of his men. He wanted confirmation that at least a few of those he had led had come out of this ordeal with him.

Tom! he exclaimed in a croaky tone as he finally found his sergeant on the opposite side of the room, five beds down. It had been difficult to identify him because of the bandages wrapped around his head from a serious injury caused by the butts of Japanese rifles that had been pounding on him.

Ah Tommy, I’m sorry, John shook his head.

*

John Tanner was born May 30, 1914 in Los Angeles, California and his earliest memory was of his father, Jason, returning home from the war in May 1918, happy to see his family, despite the fact that he had lost his arm. From that point on, father and son had begun to bond by playing catch as both of them had a great love of baseball and as the years passed, John showed an above average talent for pitching. At the age of ten, John joined a local unofficial league of teams in the Los Angeles area and earned the respect of the other players, teams and coaches. In the early fall of that year, it was John’s team that took the homemade trophy home and it had been John that had the leading run record.

The other game John became skilled at with the help of his mother was chess and by the age of eight he could beat his father at it. Once the boy had learned how the pieces moved, he quickly worked out strategies and his brain went into high gear as to how and why his opponents moved their own pieces. John’s mother, a native of Serbia by the name of Vera Marić Tanner, encouraged him much more in chess than she did in baseball and one year when the family had gone to visit her adopted parents in Belgrade, John had amazed his grandfather, a champion player, by winning two games against him. Vera, like many Serbian mothers, could be quite strict at times but she took as much pride in her son’s ability to play chess as she did in John’s younger sister Kimberley being an expert horse rider at a young age.

John and Kimberley had both loved to sit at their father’s feet in their ranch house outside of Los Angeles and listen to him tell stories of World War I. This was probably the spark as his mother put it that had aroused John’s interest in the military and a desire to become a war hero himself one day; at around the age of nine he began to constantly beg his parents to attend military school in Los Angeles. Jason, having many military connections, began to pull strings and call in favors from both friends and superior officers and this led to John meeting General Dale Baker, the commandant of the school. At the age of fourteen, he had impressed Baker and enough of the upper brass to get himself admitted as a high school cadet (though he was upset he couldn’t have entered at age eleven like others his age). He quickly earned the respect of his peers and instructors and went on to receive top cadet recognition in the ninth grade class. That summer would be his first exposure to the United States Marine Corps as he applied for a job at the gun depot of a nearby base and learned about as many of the weapons as he could.

The stock market crash of 1929 and the resulting Great Depression that followed thereafter brought John’s attention to helping his father maintain their horse ranch after Jason lost several acres in the financial crisis; but Jason wanted his son to continue his career path and in the summer of 1931, John went to Hawaii on cadet maneuvers that would further hone him into officer material. John not only learned maneuvers that could save his own and others’ lives but also guerilla techniques and two forms of martial arts. By the time John was ready to graduate from high school he had won numerous chess tournaments, been awarded several cadet stars and earned eight sharp-shooting badges.

In the summer of 1932, the USMC proudly took John into their ranks, after he was given the choice of which service branch he wanted to join. John became proficient with many types of rifles and submachine guns, but his favorite became the M1 Carbine and he ignored the criticism that came with the gun’s quirks. In August of 1934, when the Corps sent him to England for specialized commando training, John insisted on the Carbine as his weapon of choice and surprised many American and British troops that he trained with by demonstrating how deadly and accurate he could be with that rifle alone. His reputation and list of awards grew and he was promoted to sergeant after the commando training, commissioned to 2nd lieutenant in August 1937 and then to 1st lieutenant shortly before war broke out in Europe again in 1939.

Then came a date which will live in infamy as President Roosevelt called it, nearly a year before events at Guadalcanal on December 7, 1941 at Pearl Harbor. John had been on leave in Honolulu at the time of the attack but had woke early that morning with a feeling of dread in his gut that he couldn’t explain until he had heard the news with some of his friends over the radio. In John’s own opinion, like many other Americans, there had been nothing to justify this attack that he considered cowardly and dishonorable and like many Americans, John didn’t know too much about Japan or its people; he took the attack personally and drew a large, red target on a map of the island nation as a symbol that he was ready to give some of the destruction back.

He had immediately gone to his commanding officer after listening to the broadcast made by the president in his barracks and requested to be sent in as soon as retaliation had been decided. Agonizing months dragged by and John grew more agitated as he heard of Japanese victories in the Philippines, the Java Sea and at Guam. Victories such as the Doolittle raid and Midway brought him some pleasure but did not soothe the beast longing to exact personal revenge rising within him. Then his orders finally arrived, assigning him to the First Marine Division and giving him command of his own platoon to be sent to Guadalcanal, a tiny island in the Solomon chain that was to be taken for an airstrip, though John was not aware of the goal at the time.

He had very little time to get to know the men of his platoon as there were thirty of them and they were deploying within days of receiving orders. However, during the voyage he had come to know a good portion of them and had chosen a command squad of six. These included Privates Ryan Myers of Houston, Texas, Jerry Hemmings of Topeka, Kansas and Patrick McAllister of Detroit, Michigan (that had all trained together in basic) and were among the best in stealth and sharp-shooting like John himself. John had chosen Private Tyson Reynolds of New York City because of the young Marine’s record of armed robberies and brawling he had gotten into with his red hot temper and believed in second chances. Private First Class Grant Davis from San Diego had the skills of organization and diplomacy that John needed for supply and discipline among the squad.

The final member of his command squad needed for platoon leader was Sergeant Tom Tommy Gun Richards from St. Paul, Minnesota. Tom was John’s only soldier handpicked for the platoon; he had served as the officer’s NCO since his promotion to 1st lieutenant in 1939. He had earned the nickname Tommy Gun from using the Thompson machine gun as his weapon of choice and because the sergeant was a stickler for making sure that all weapons were properly cleaned and maintained. Tom had been at John’s side listening to the radio report about Pearl Harbor and had accompanied his lieutenant to also request to be sent in for Pacific duty.

*

John rubbed a hand over his face and felt the beard that had been there since they had been captured. This was when his memory became fuzzy because he had lost track of the countless days and hours that he had been on the steamy, forsaken island after he had arrived in August. The Marine lieutenant put his hand over his eyes and squeezed them shut as a flash of images, voices and sounds went off in his head.

*

Stealing everybody’s smokes again, Reynolds?! Ryan Myers called out as he stepped in from patrol in the jungle and into the squad’s camp.

Hey, Sarge; why is it that I always get blamed when something comes up missing? Reynolds complained in his Brooklynese accent.

Probably because you’re the only one in this squad with a criminal record and you’ve done it before, Reynolds, Jerry Hemmings said as he pulled out a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes and offered one to Myers.

None of you bozos understand what I’ve been through; youse got no idea what my life was like, so get off my back and leave me alone,

No problem here, Patrick McAllister said with a snort as he popped out his Zippo lighter and lit Myers’ smoke with it.

Come on, that’s enough, John finally got in on the mounting tension.

We’ve blown off some steam… now Tom and I will take watch so the rest of you can get some sack time.

McAllister snapped his lighter shut and for several seconds there were only the sounds of chirping insects and other animals deep in the jungle as the sunset gave off a deep, red glow.

Hey Reynolds, Sergeant Richards called out as the irritated Marine picked up his M1 Garand rifle and began to walk toward his tent.

Have the rest of my pack.

He handed the other Marine a half-full pack and Reynolds shrugged as he took them.

You can have mine as well; I don’t smoke, John said as he opened a small pouch containing his cigarettes and chocolate bars.

Thank you, sir but uh… you don’t have to feel sorry for me just because that’s what the brass tells you to do, Reynolds told the officer as he took both of John’s packs.

You’re not such a bad guy, Reynolds… John began to say but a high-pitched whistle sounded as he spoke and Private McAllister fell forward as a bullet penetrated the back of his skull and exited from his left eye socket with a splatter of blood.

Japs; take cover! Richards barked as the remaining six men scrambled to do battle.

John cursed under his breath as he took cover behind some supply boxes and looked through the scope of his Carbine to target the enemy that had just killed one of his men. Reynolds pulled pins from two grenades and used his shot-put able arm to toss both into the jungle in the direction the shot had come from.

Arisaka-type ninety-seven sniper rifle, John muttered under his breath, having learned the sound of most Japanese rifles.

The grenades both went off seconds later and then he added,

Low muzzle flash will make it nearly impossible to tell the direction they’re coming from.

The four lower ranking enlisted men opened fire in various directions, the noise of their guns agitating animals and bullets ripping tree leaves and other plant life to shreds.

Surrender, Ameko scum… you are surrounded! a heavily accented Japanese voice called out in English.

Ameko? Richards asked in a puzzled tone as he looked to John who had a limited Japanese vocabulary.

Their disrespectful term for us Americans, John replied.

Must have learned English watching detective pictures, Grant Davis whispered to Hemmings as they reloaded their weapons and the other chuckled.

They want something, John told his sergeant.

What do you mean?

They could easily take us out right now if they really have us surrounded, Tom; my guess is that they want us for slave labor.

John, still looking through his scope, finally caught a glimpse of movement and took a shot. The Japanese soldier let out a grunt before he fell backward with John’s bullet at the dead center of his forehead and he dropped a hollow tube. Too late John realized what the tube was and darts began to whistle through the air before he could call out to his men. The Japanese all wore leather masks, giving them a fierce appearance as they moved in on the drugged Americans and the unique design of the mask burned its way into John’s mind.

Fragments of being dragged onto a boat and being taken to another island north-west of Guadalcanal flashed through the Marine’s fevered brain. More and more of the masked soldiers appeared, all of them looking