Battle Cry (65 page)

“Gawd!”

“Cousin, I’d like to walk on a mile of that one barefooted.”

The girls giggled and waved and we waved and slobbered.

“Christ, I didn’t know that damn thing was still there till now. Guess I’m still a man.”

Had the Gilbertese girls known their existence was causing such a ruckus in the ranks they would surely have disappeared in angered shame. As it was, we trudged through giving careful attention to each and every one. Fortunately the girls didn’t understand English.

It was mostly the fourteen-to sixteen-year-old jobs that caused the greatest commotion. Apparently the tropical heat withered them at about twenty years of age. A few aged crones were there, wrinkled like rhinos and potbellied, with stone-white hair.

Passing through this village added another twenty natives to our ranks. The pace didn’t hurt so much now we could anticipate running into another village. We hit several more ranging from a dozen to a hundred huts. Each time, the Gilbertese came rushing to the road waving, shouting welcome, exchanging smiles and coconuts for cigarettes and gum. Often an older man would snap rigidly to attention and execute a British salute, holding it till the whole battalion passed by. Each new crossing found the tide a bit lower till, at noon break time, we waded in water only waist deep.

We flopped down on the outskirts of a village and word passed down that we weren’t to enter huts or touch any girls.

“Where are we, Mac?” L.Q. asked.

“Start of Nellie Island, the government village.”

We dumped our belts and helmets by the radio, took our carbines and headed for the lagoon. Marion glanced over his shoulder at the sprawled battalion and the natives dashing up the palms for coconuts.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” he said.

I laughed.

“Real adventure, out of a poster. Beautiful place, this atoll.”

“Very romantic,” I agreed. “How do these girls stack up with Rae?” I teased.

Marion’s face turned crimson. I slapped him on the back. “I must admit,” he said, “I peeked, but I don’t think Rae has anything to worry about.”

Near the water’s edge by a clump of trees there was a man squatting. On the deck by him lay several fish he was scaling. He looked different from the natives, more like a mulatto, light tan and very freckled, and thin. His hair struggled between red and black and he wore a khaki shirt and faded shorts and sandals. From his lips hung a curved pipe. He had a neatly trimmed Vandyke beard. Mary and I approached him as he peeled the fish.

“Mind if we sit here? I mean, you speakee English, no, yes?” I asked with a bevy of motions.

“You may sit,” he answered. “It is your island and I speak English quite well, thank you.” He spoke sharply without looking up and made me feel ridiculous for my question.

“Er, we wouldn’t bother you but we are on the lookout for an alligator.”

“You won’t find any alligators in these waters,” the man said tersely.

“It’s a boat—well, like a boat. It goes on land and water…we call them alligators.” I sat down and opened my ration.

“My name is Marion Hodgkiss. I’m from Kansas. That’s a state in America.”

“Yes, produces quite a bit of wheat.” The man, still squatting, laid down his fish, wiped his hands on his shorts and extended one to Marion. “My name is Calvin Macintosh,” he announced, knocking the tobacco from his pipe and placing it in his breast pocket.

“Glad to meet you, Mr. Macintosh,” Marion said.

“Mac’s my name too,” I said. “Care to try a hardtack and ham spread?”

“No, thank you,” the man said aloofly.

I decided to ignore him. Mary, however, was intrigued with his discovery and anxious to keep a conversation going. “I suppose,” he said, “you people are glad to see us?”

The frail man did not answer.

“I mean,” Marion continued, “the Japs must have treated you badly.”

“On the contrary,” Macintosh answered, picking up a fish and resuming his cleaning. “Admiral Shibu’s troops were quite well controlled and disciplined. Oh, they took the pigs and chickens and my books and the white men, but aside from an incident or two we have been treated sternly but fairly. The women they took were more than willing to go.”

“I think you’ll find that old-time regulars, no matter what army they are in, are pretty decent. These were the best the Emperor had. Damned fine soldiers,” I said.

“And not given to committing the atrocities that our good governor warned would befall us,” Macintosh said.

“Very interesting,” Marion mused.

“Ethics,” I said. “These Japs weren’t like those on the Canal. Like the difference between you and a boot or a replacement.”

“It certainly is puzzling,” Marion said. “I expected to find the atoll raped clean.”

“Don’t believe everything you read in the papers,” I said. Once more I tried to loosen up the dour Macintosh by offering a cigarette. He raised his eyebrows and looked out of the corner of his eye. He was a tempted but proud man. I shoved the pack under his nose and his pride was outweighed by his obvious hunger for tobacco. He lit up and seemed to relax a bit. He sat on the deck drawing his knees to his chest and placed his arms about them and puffed long and hard on the cigarette and gazed over the lagoon. I shoved the other two cigarettes in the packet into his pocket over a feeble protest.

“American cigarettes are superior,” he said. “I’ve tasted them once or twice before.”

“Mr. Macintosh, I hope you won’t think I’m too curious, but you mentioned something about your books.”

“Marion is a writer. He’s had four stories published.”

Macintosh looked at his sallow, frail arm and spoke softly. “As you see, I am a half-breed. My mother lives over in the village. I have a wife and four children. The children look like me.”

“Your father?”

“A Scotsman. A sailor. Before the war the ships visited us every few months for a load of copra. Exchanged it for fishing tools and cloth and the like. We need little here, we give little. There would be quite a celebration when the ships came. It was quite common for a sailor to jump and remain here and marry a native.”

“Is he still alive?”

“I do not know. They took the white men when they came. I do not know.”

“Perhaps it will turn out all right.”

“My father was an intelligent man, a university man. The world frightened him. Being a writer, Mr. Hodgkiss, I suppose you are familiar with the type. I understand there are many books about such men who run off to find a Pacific paradise. A place to escape the strife of civilization.”

“Your father picked a beautiful place,” I said. “I’ve seen most of the world and you couldn’t have done better.”

“My father told me that we were the only civilized people in the world. The past two weeks have proved him right, I believe.”

I had to smile at his reasoning. Maybe he wasn’t so wrong. After all, we were on his atoll with guns, hunting other men while he just sat back and scaled his fish.

“Have you ever had a yen to travel? To Scotland, perhaps?”

The little bearded man lowered his head and bit his lip. “My father told me never to leave Tarawa. But I have often traveled to his homeland through him and the books.” His hand dropped to the sand and his long fingers traced a pattern. “I am protected here. I know that a Eurasian has no place…here, well, the natives accept me as long as I earn my way. I teach English to the boys at the mission, I fish a little. At first I could not understand why the British government people treated me as they did, with contempt. As if I were a leper on Bairiki. My father once told me he was sorry he had brought me into the world…a half-breed. I suppose I am happy. To build a house, to eat, I merely have to climb a tree. I have a lovely wife. What more can a man want of the world?”

“You don’t know how lucky you are, fellow,” I said.

“My father always said that. Except when he was drunk. Then he’d tell me about the Highlands and the pipers and he would hide and weep. Stay hidden for many days. Someday I shall have my books back and they will take me over the horizon again.”

“I have some books in my pack, back on Helen.”

“Helen?”

“The main island.”

“Betio,” he corrected. “You are now on Aboaroko.”

“I have some books. I’ll bring them up to you if I have an opportunity. I’d like to see you again if we remain. Maybe when I get back to the States, I could send you books regularly.”

The man’s face lit up. “Would you…would you really?”

“What do you like?” Marion asked.

“Anything, anything at all. I read German and French too.”

Lighttower came up, puffing, “Hey, Mac. The Gunner wants you. We can’t make heads or tails out of the alligator. Andy must be sending code with his feet.”

Marion and I arose and shook hands with Mr. Macintosh. “Would you mind speaking to our Colonel?” I said. “Maybe you could give us some information on the Japanese.”

“I’m afraid,” he said bitterly, “I can be of little use. I was asleep when they passed. I do not wish to take part in your war.”

The two Marines walked back over the road to the radio through a mob of natives who were all over the place. Keats was in an uproar. “We can’t read the alligator!” he snapped.

“The goddam thing is all metal,” I said, “probably pounding the waves all over the place.”

The Gunner scratched his head. “We are ready to move out. Mac, you and Marion will have to stay here with the radio and keep trying to reach them. When they catch up, jump aboard and have them ride you up to the next island. We’ll be looking out for you. Keep in contact.”

In a few moments the battalion had moved out, leaving Mary and me alone but surrounded by a bunch of curious natives. We tried to contact the alligator. The signal from them was weak and Andy kept asking for repeats. I got a volunteer to spin the generator.

Cranking it proved so amusing that Marion had to form an orderly line to let each native have a turn. At last the alligator raised their signal and I gave them directions. They were several miles away and it would be at least an hour before they reached us. Marion and I broke down the set, cased it, waited, and tried to beg off eating the hundred open coconuts which were placed before us.

About fifteen minutes had passed when a small boy burst through the group jabbering wildly and pointing toward the ocean side of the island. “Jap…Jap!” he repeated.

We sprang up, grabbed our carbines and waved back the natives who clustered behind us. We dashed the width of the narrow island through some brush, following the swift-running lad. In a small clearing he came to a halt and pointed again.

Three Japanese Imperials were surrounded by a host of angry club-and rock-wielding natives. The Japs were unarmed and bleeding from the beating being administered them. Marion and I shoved a way through the crowd and tried to quell the mounting ire of the Gilbertese. One native was poised to hurl a rock. I stuck my carbine under his nose and only then did they realize we meant business. Slowly, still yelling and waving their clubs, they widened the circle. We faced the captives. One was a smooth-faced boy, the other two had straggly goatees. All three were tattered and evidently fatigued, thirsty, and hungry. They bowed several times to us. Two of them grinned appeasingly, the other remained sedate.

“Do any of you guys speak English?” I asked.

Their answer was a repeat of the bowing.

“Put your hands on your head,” I ordered and pointed. “Both hands! All right, get on your knees. Cover me, Mary, I’m going to frisk them.”

I ripped the faded smelly jackets off their backs and went through their pockets. From the corner of my eye I caught sight of a native waving a Japanese rifle in their direction.

“Get that rifle, Marion.” Still covering me, he walked to the native and asked for the weapon. The native balked. Marion snatched it away from him.

“We are taking these men prisoner,” I yelled to the crowd. “We must question them.” There was a buzz and a few English-speaking natives nodded and explained to the others.

“Hey, Mary. Sourface here is an officer. I got some maps off him.”

“Good. I hope these people don’t give us any trouble till Danny and Andy get here on the alligator.”

“Ask for some rope.”

Two small lads were sent scurrying back to the huts.

“All right,” I barked, “on your feet. Stand up, keep your hands high. All right, you people. Clear a path…out of the way.”

We edged cautiously into the mob, trying to avoid a clash. I walked in front of the prisoners, clearing the way, and Marion behind. Suddenly a young girl burst forth in my direction. I tried to block her but she shoved past me and threw her arms about the Jap officer.

I grabbed her and threw her off. She fell to the ground sobbing and screaming hysterically. The mob turned its anger from the Japs to the prostrate woman. They jeered and began a chant which meant no good. Several natives ran up to her and prodded her with the ends of their sticks. Marion turned to help her.

“Stay out of it, Mary. It’s none of our business!”

“But we can’t let them kill her.”

I grabbed a native standing by me. “Speak English?”

“Yes.”

“Where are the Sisters, the mission…do they still live?”

“Sister live. Father die.”

“Where are they?”

He pointed north to Taratai Island.

“Get in boat and get Sisters. Bring them here quick or I cut your tongue out. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Hurry then.” He scurried off. I wheeled into the mob and picked out two of the largest specimens I could find. “You two, speak English?” One did.

“Put this girl under arrest. Put her in hut and guard her till Sisters come.” The natives hedged away. “If you do not obey me, there will be much trouble.” I squeezed off a shot into the air. The sudden crack silenced the makings of the lynching.

“She no good. Live with Japanese man. She no good.”

“Do as I order. I return tomorrow. She better be alive.”

Reluctantly, they dragged her off. She was still shrieking, her face distorted in tortured anguish.

I was relieved when we got our quarry to the beach. The two boys returned with rope and we bound the Japs hand and foot and made them lie near the water’s edge. I caught sight of the alligator plodding through the water several hundred yards to the south.