Trafford Publishing: Shadow of the Eagle

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Shadow of the Eagle

by W.J. Baird

227 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #04-0830; ISBN 1-4120-3003-X; US$17.59, C$20.23, EUR14.45, £10.11

An action-packed, gritty, pyrotechnic story of five U.S. Marines dropped by submarine off a Japanese-held island during World War II, written by a U.S. Marine who has been there.

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About the Book About the Author Excerpts Catalogue Information

About the Book

Five U.S. Marines volunteer for a dangerous reconnaissance mission on a Japanese-held island in the Pacific during World War II. Dropped by submarine in the dead of night, they swim ashore, and join forces with the islanders, who have returned to their age-old practice of headhunting in response to the cruel Japanese occupation of their island.
When the Marines learn that island women are being held captive inside the Japanese garrison, they team up with the islanders and together plan a daring raid to free the women.
Meanwhile their submarine waits for the appointed hour to pick them up, playing a high tension game of hide and seek with Japanese warships out to send them to the bottom of the sea. Written by a U.S. Marine who has been there.

About the Author

W.J. Baird was born and reared in Dubuque, Iowa. During World War II he served in the Marine Corps. He spent three years in the not so pacific Pacific. His division fought the Japanese at various island hell holes, including Okinawa. In his advanced years, he lives in the San Francisco Bay Area.

Excerpts

Chapter One
An island in the Pacific, December 1941
The Japanese army sentry walked his post on this formerly peaceful island where death now stalked the unwary. He wanted to survive the war, freshly ignited, between his country and America, but knew his chance was slim. He dreaded every inch of his post, and his fear was well-founded.
Some of his friends had already fallen victim to the fierce island head-hunters. Raging terror had seized this sentry's throat in a tenacious hold.
He walked slowly, cursing under his breath. His footsteps sounded loudly on the coral walkway: scritch, scritch, scritch. He wondered if his racing heart could be heard.
The soldier could feel human eyes watching his every move, and he gripped his rifle so tightly it hurt his hand.
His eyes were constantly darting to the left, then to the right, and back in a futile attempt to pierce the darkness.
He paused, swallowed hard, and then plodded onward.
What was that? The sentry's eyes widened. He froze in his tracks and sucked in his breath. The sound came again, so closely. It seemed to come from a spot next to his elbow.
His finger eased over the trigger of his rifle, but he knew he could inadvertently squeeze off a meaningless round, and he knew he would be punished if that happened.
Only his eyes moved silently. His blood pounded in his ears reminding him he was human, even if the islanders thought otherwise. Fear sweat flooded his armpits. He licked his lips and swallowed hard.
A second sentry walking his post was noticed, and the first soldier wondered if that other man were as scared and nervous as he.
Off in the distance he heard a truck's engine being gunned, and wondered why at this hour.
In the previous daylight hours another private had lost his head to the island natives. Then this sentry had seen his name on the guard mount list for this time of night. He had known fear as never before.

Johnson brought his boat up to periscope depth, and looked around the sea area for an enemy destroyer. He saw none, and Goldberg heard nothing at the sonar. The sub surfaced. The main induction was instantly turned on, and cool, night air was drawn into all seven rooms of the boat. It was like a gift from God. The stale air had temporarily met its match.
The marines' gear loaded aboard a rubber raft was hauled topside. It was followed by the marines. Johnson and a few submariners were on deck, too. The odor of decaying vegetation drifted seaward, and was noticed by everyone on deck.
The raft was off-loaded, and then the five men eased into the sea. Each marine carried a Tommy gun and pistol, both weapons wrapped in waterproof plastic. Also a knife.
With the marines no longer aboard the sub, it was moved, and moments later dived.

The Japanese destroyer four seventeen was searching for an American submarine that Tokyo said was in this area. Intelligence had said originally that two American subs were known to be close-by.
The four seventeen had already sunk one of the pair, and Cmdr. Abata was on the prowl for the second one.
It was the middle of the night, the destroyer was running smoothly, and at present ship's radar and sonar were switched on and two men were running the eyes and ears of the tin can.
Abata had night glasses to his eyes, and was searching the area directly ahead of the four seventeen. Lookouts in the rigging also had night glasses to their eyes.
Everyone aboard ship knew that destroyers sometimes lost in separate battles with submarines. Officers and men under Abata's command were on their toes, slept little, were quiet-spoken, and there was no levity.
There was a high degree of nervous tension.
Officers and men moved about aboard this unlighted vessel loaded with torpedoes as well as depth charges, and all had a back-of-the-mind fear that at any minute a sub's torpedo would send ship and personnel to a watery grave.
No one wanted to die, but in war, casualties were the norm. "Will my ship go down in flames?" one officer had said aloud to himself, and then shuddered at what he'd just done.

Catalogue Information