Hiroshi's Story

A. Rajner Richard

Description

Two naive Japanese farm boys join the army hoping to achieve glory in Japan's long-running war with China. They are bound by their homeland's ancient traditions and pledge two things: loyalty to the Emperor, and to always be honorable soldiers. Despite the fact that their military service is prolonged, they keep those promises for twenty-eight years, nine months, and four days.

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 28 février 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781645369592
• Langue: English

Extrait

Hiroshi’s Story
The Journals of a Japanese Soldier in Viet Nam, 1941–1968
Richard A. Rajner
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-02-28
Hiroshi’s Story About the Author Dedication Copyright Information Acknowledgments Prologue Hiroshi’s Story Epilogue
About the Author
Richard A. Rajner volunteered for the draft in 1966, spent some time on the Korean DMZ, and then served three tours in Viet Nam where he earned more than two dozen decorations. After military service, he entered an apprentice program and began a career as a steamfitter. Later in life, he taught Anthropology at the University of Toledo and authored a number of scholarly, popular, and history-for­hire works. In retirement, he and his wife, Katherine, live in rural Northwestern Ohio.
Dedication
For all the brave Americans who served in Viet Nam.
Copyright Information
Copyright © Richard A. Rajner (2019)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, corporations, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and/or are used fictitiously.
Ordering Information:
Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Cataloging in Publication data
Rajner, Richard A.
Hiroshi’s Story: The Journals of a Japanese Soldier in Viet Nam, 1941–1968
ISBN 9781641824408 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781641824415 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781641824422 (Kindle)
ISBN 9781645369592 (ePub)
The main category of the book: Fiction/War & Military
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd LLC
40 Wall Street, 28th Floor
New York, NY 10005
USA
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Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my dear wife, Katherine, for the hundreds of hours she spent editing the manuscript. More thanks go out to Steve Banko, Don Becker, Carson Cheek, Bruce Dunzweiler, Arne Espedal, Curtis Harper, Peter MacDonald, Jan Tidd, and Ralph Wineland; their opinions, encouragement, and assistance made this book possible. In addition to these individuals, I would like to acknowledge the efforts of Holly Baumgartner and Amy Hartman who taught a Veterans Writing Workshop which inspired a number of former servicemen to put pen to paper and record their military experiences.
Prologue
“War is the province of chance.” Those words, penned by the distinguished Prussian military philosopher, Carl von Clausewitz, define conflict. Events recorded during the Viet Nam War provide thousands of examples: bullets ricocheting off helmets, a soldier’s pocket bible absorbing a machine gun round, a dud mortar round landing in the middle of a barracks filled with sleeping soldiers. Strange things happened, and lucky Americans lived to tell their incredible stories. On a larger scale, chance determined the outcome of battles. A few weeks after the Tet Offensive, I experienced a million-to-one encounter at map coordinates XT 881-158. That event provided the foundation for this book
It began on 10 March 1968, when I led a perimeter patrol out of Phu Loi Base Camp’s main gate. None of us liked that particular assignment; it was usually a long, hot, boring walk, looking for any sign of recent enemy activity. Typically, one squad made a three-quarter circuit examining the terrain for any changes in appearance. There were two ways to circle the base camp, clockwise or counter-clockwise. Either option made us targets for infrequent sniper fire and provided plenty of opportunities for well-laid booby-traps and mines to injure someone. Our only variants were a wide sweep, searching for footprints, tunneling, and markers, or a close-in patrol that looked for evidence of tampering with the minefields or the barbed wire entanglements, which were a part of the perimeter defense system.
We went wide that morning and chance brought Hiroshi and me closer to our encounter. It was a warm morning, at least eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit, and by the time we had traveled three thousand yards, we were all sweating profusely. I called a break and the squad sat down on the low embankments separating the dried-up rice fields, facing outward in all directions. I rested on a dike and took out my canteen for a drink, when I noticed four short bamboo rods sticking out of the earth nearby. I stood and casually walked over to the spot. When I saw that the ends were freshly-cut, I became suspicious and strolled a few feet further until the bamboo was between me and the perimeter. I squatted and took a rough sighting across the top of the sticks, noting that a bunker was centered between the two rows. These were aiming stakes, and I knew there had to be more. My course of action was pre-determined by my role as squad leader: to investigate and report. Taking my time, I wandered to where each man was resting, visited for a few minutes, then took a photograph, all the while scanning the terrain for other markers. The diversion was essential; while the enemy did not harass perimeter patrols frequently, we assumed they were always watching. By the time I completed my circuit, I found nine more sets of markers and recorded the locations in my mind. Then, I shouted for the men to move out and continue the patrol. There were two more sets of aiming stakes near our route that morning, but nothing else for the next eight thousand yards. By the time we reached the end of our patrol, the squad was weary, soaked with sweat, and hungry. My eight infantrymen dumped their gear in the barracks and headed for lunch at the mess hall. I went to the Operations Office and reported my findings.
The operations officer questioned me for quite some time and had me mark each set of stakes on a map. He then called several sergeants, a captain, and two majors into the room and asked me to explain my interpretation of the bamboo rods. I told them ten sets of stakes were aimed at particular bunkers. I believed these indicated heavy weapons positions which would attempt to disable a portion of the perimeter defenses. The other stakes were evenly-spaced around a large rice field, suggesting an assembly area for an attacking force. The staff discussed the matter for most of the afternoon, frequently asking me questions. Finally, one of the majors sent me back to the platoon command post, which doubled as our non-commissioned officer barracks. As I left the room, the operations officer ordered me to remain silent about what I had discovered during the morning patrol.
I didn’t give the perimeter patrol much thought until 2230 hours, when I was awakened by the distant sound of enemy mortars firing rounds at the base camp. Before the first rounds hit the runway, six loud blasts erupted on the east side of the perimeter, followed by machine gun fire and the boom of recoilless rifles. With uncommon swiftness, our artillery batteries responded, hitting the rice fields east of the base camp with hundreds of shells. For a minute or two, the volume of incoming small arms fire increased, then it diminished as the artillery took its toll. Several members of the platoon grabbed their rifles and ammunition and rushed to the perimeter to join in the fight. I reached for my weapon, but the platoon sergeant stopped me, saying it would be best for the two of us to remain in the command post and monitor the action on the radio. I brought one of the PRC-25 radios over to the side of the building, where the old NCO had taken a seat on the concrete floor, resting his back against the wall. Comfortable with the fact that a half­height sandbag wall protected us from stray rounds, he opened a bottle of Irish whiskey and the two of us sipped from our canteen cups, while we listened to the sounds of artillery pounding the rice fields and the occasional crack of small-arms fire passing overhead. The battle continued for two hours, but the outcome was certain from the beginning. The enemy ground attack on Phu Loi Base Camp was doomed. When the shooting stopped around 0030, I crawled into my bed and went to sleep.
Our lieutenant came to the barracks just after sun-up and ordered us to form ranks in front of the building in preparation for our next operation, policing the battlefield. This is one of the infantry’s least desirable tasks. In most cases, soldiers form a line and methodically sweep across the landscape, picking up weapons and military equipment, and searching enemy bodies for maps, documents, or other items which intelligence specialists might consider useful. Two platoons were assigned to the macabre duty on the morning of 11 March 1968. Artillery is an efficient killer and the fields were littered with torn corpses, smashed weapons, and shattered gear. A few badly-wounded enemy soldiers remained, left behind by their comrades in the retreat that followed defeat. As my squad approached one of these unfortunate fellows with a bloody gash in his thigh, the man gestured with scarred hands, indicating his intent to surrender. I told my radioman to inform the platoon leader that we had a prisoner-of-war, then I turned my head back just in time to see the enemy soldier reach under his leg and extract a grenade. Before anyone could react, the grenade was in the air, flying toward two of my riflemen. I instinctively fired an entire magazine of M-16 bullets into the assailant, who slumped to the side. Cautious