Battle Cry (66 page)

“Mary, there’s a blinker gun by the radio. Get it and signal them in.”

As Marion dashed away, the officer turned to me.

“You are a sergeant, are you not?” he said.

“I thought you couldn’t speak English.”

“As one soldier to another, I beg you. Let me have your knife.”

“Aren’t you a little late for hari-kari? If you wanted to knock yourself off you had all week to do it in.”

“I only stayed alive for the sake of the girl. I plead with you…shoot me then.”

I shook my head. I was sorry that I had gotten mixed up in the whole miserable affair. The iron monster cut sharply toward shore. Its motor roared as it emerged from the water and its knife-edged treads rumbled on the coral.

“Hey, get a look at them broads,” Andy shouted as the motor stopped.

“Mac, you bastard. You mean you been going past that stuff all day and you made us ride in this claptrap?” Danny said.

“You guys got a smoke?” I asked.

“Here, Mac,” Danny said, jumping to the deck. “We got a whole case. Enough for the battalion. Andy and I already put aside two packs apiece for the squad. What the hell you got there?”

“Prisoners. The natives stoned them out of some trees.”

“One is an officer,” Marion said.

I cut their leg bonds loose and ordered them into the alligator. “Get in and lay down. If you try a break, I’m not going to shoot you but I’ll have to club you unconscious…so let’s make the trip pleasant.” The radio was loaded in after them and Marion and I climbed aboard. “Stay close to the shore, driver. The battalion is up on the next island. Danny, keep a listening watch.”

A deafening roar went up as the motor turned over and the alligator made an about face that threw us all to the deck.

“Don’t put me on this goddam thing tomorrow. It shakes your guts out,” Danny muttered brokenly over the rumbling and bouncing.

I had had many a rough ride in my day. I had even tried a wild bronco once when I was drunk in Oregon at a rodeo. Yet I had never had a ride like this. As the treads turned slowly and rumbled over the rock in shallow water the springless monstrosity pitched and bucked mercilessly. It finally dipped into deep water and churned slowly northward.

On the shore, some two hundred yards away, we caught sight of the natives of the big village lined up and waving. We swung in as close as we could without riding the coral and exchanged greetings with them. Past them, we hit deep water and chugged on.

As the sun was setting I caught a blinker light ashore signaling us in. Huxley had moved the battalion up three islands instead of one. The bivouac was a tiny place, not more than a few hundred square yards. The alligator rumbled ashore and came to a halt. My knees buckled as I jumped down. The ride in the mixmaster left me feeling like a bowl of whipped cream.

“Get that working party going and unload the chow,” Huxley greeted us.

“Sir,” the driver said, “all we could get was C-ration. Two per man for tomorrow. I’m afraid there’ll not be enough for tonight. I did the best I could.”

“What’s the matter with those people on Bairiki?” Huxley fumed.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the driver said.

“It’s not your fault, son. Mac, when you get that radio in with Sarah, let me know. I want to talk with them.”

“Aye aye, sir.” I transferred the prisoners to LeForce, was commended, and wearily unloaded the radios and set out to find the squad.

Right on the water’s edge were two small huts. The command post had been set up in them. The radios shared the hut with a message center and the aid station, while Huxley and his staff were in the other. The road ran past the huts, giving little sleeping room near them. Over the road there was a big clearing where the company was digging in on open ground. The ground was dusty soft once the top layer had been pierced. I dug my hole with Burnside and dropped my gear in it, then went back to the radio to see if Spanish Joe had contacted Sarah. Being on the edge of the water and having a clear shot to Bairiki we received and transmitted clearly, five and five.

Highpockets dropped to his knees to get into the low-roofed thatched shelter. He was followed by Doc Kyser, the alligator driver, and Lieutenant LeForce.

“Sorry we couldn’t get anything from the prisoners,” LeForce said.

“I’d estimate there are three hundred of them,” Huxley said.

“We’ll find out tomorrow,” LeForce answered.

Huxley turned to Spanish Joe at the radio. “Are you in with Sarah?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any chance to talk to them by mike?”

“I think we can reach them O.K.,” I said.

“Tell them to get the commander of the island to the radio.”

Spanish Joe took off the earphones and Huxley strapped them on. “Give us a signal when you want to talk,” Joe said.

“Hello Sarah. Is this the commander? This is Huxley, Lincoln White. What’s the matter with you people down there? I asked for ammo today and plasma. I didn’t get any.”

“Sorry, Huxley. We are all fouled up here. The stuff is going to Helen by mistake. What’s the picture up there? Run into anything?”

“We expect to hit Cora by dusk tomorrow. I want to send the alligator back tonight so we can have the stuff up to us when we contact the enemy tomorrow.”

“Hello Lincoln White. You will have to hold up your attack till we can get the supplies up there.”

Huxley mumbled an oath. He signaled us to spin the generator again. “Hello Sarah. I’m going to make a check of what we’ll need and radio it. I want that stuff waiting there when the alligator gets in and you’d better not foul it up, understand?”

“Hello Lincoln White. Who the hell you think you are talking to, Huxley?”

“Hello Sarah. I don’t give a damn if I’m talking to Doug MacArthur. Have the supplies ready…over and out.” Huxley returned the earphones to Spanish Joe.

Sergeant Paris ducked into the hut, breathless. “Sir, we have found the Jasco squad.”

“Are they dead?”

“Yes, sir, all ten of them, over by the ocean.” We ran out, following Paris over the clearing, down the sloping jagged boulders to the surf. He shoved through some brush and we saw them. The Jasco boys lay grotesquely stiff on the deck, like figures in a wax museum, holding the pose they had when they were shot. The radio operator sat erect, his earphones on and his hand on the key of the smashed radio. The generator man stood slumped against a tree, his fingers clutching the handle of the generator. We passed among them quietly.

“At least the Japs didn’t cut them up,” Huxley whispered. “LeForce, get a burial party organized. Dig graves by the clearing. Make sure they are properly identified. Bring me a list and the personal belongings.”

“Aye aye, sir,” LeForce said, almost inaudibly.

I walked from the place. I should have been immune to the sight of blood after so many years in the Corps, but whenever I saw a dead man, especially a Marine, I got sick. I took a deep breath and cursed a few times to ease the pounding in my chest. I got to thinking about a bunch of people sitting in a living room, crying and grieving. It always hit me that way.

My eyes turned to the sky. From out of nowhere a monstrous black cloud swept in from the ocean and a swift breeze swished past. Then, as if turned on by a high pressure faucet, the sky opened in a torrent of rain.

“Have Captain Whistler double the guard. This is Jap weather,” Huxley said.

Lieutenant Bryce had crouched in the brush and watched as the last shovelful of coral was thrown atop the graves of the Jasco squad, and crudely made wooden crosses were sunk into the ground.

He slumped to the deck, chewed his fingernails and doubled over, sobbing hysterically. It was dark, dark and wet in the rainy night. He looked around. Those dead men…those stiff bodies….

I will die…we all will die. We will float in the water like the men in the lagoon. Huxley wants me to die…Shapiro will kill me! He will kill me! They want to kill themselves like the men in the lagoon…like the enemy kill themselves. I’ve got to live…I’ve got to tell the world that Marines live on blood! Blood! Blood! One island…another and another…it will never end. Tomorrow we will meet the Japanese and we will all kill ourselves. I’ve got to live. I’ll hide…yes, that’s it. Run back. The natives will hide me…I’ll say I was lost. Huxley can’t hurt me then…they won’t let him touch me.

He crawled to the road on his hands and knees.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

Bryce sprang to his feet and dashed down the road.

Crack!
A shot whistled in the air.

Bryce fell to the road, groveling in the mud. “Don’t shoot me…don’t shoot me!” He pounded his fists into the dirt and screamed and clawed at the mud as if trying to dig. Doc Kyser and Huxley raced over to him. The doctor shouted to the rest to stay back.

Huxley jumped on Bryce and pinioned his arms behind him. The raving man fought back like a tiger. They rolled on the ground. Bryce slashed out as if his fingers were claws. Huxley struggled to his feet. The Lieutenant, his strength spent, crawled on his knees and threw his arms about Huxley’s legs.

“Don’t kill me…God, don’t kill me!”

He rolled over into the mud, emitting little laughs. For several moments Huxley stood over him and stared down. He shook his head and gritted his teeth.

“He is completely insane,” Kyser said.

“Poor devil,” Huxley said. “I am to blame.”

“Not any more than you are to blame for the war.” Kyser turned to the men. “You fellows get some rope and tie him. Put him in the empty hut and post a guard…. Let’s get some sleep, Sam.”

“Yes, it looks like the rain is letting up a little.”

CHAPTER 7

NEXT MORNING
Captain Shapiro and Gunnery Sergeant McQuade swung down the road with Fox Company behind them.

“Hey, candy-ass,” McQuade yelled to Burnside. “I’ll call you when we’ve cleared all the Japs out.”

“Blow it out,” Burnside called back.

In a few minutes the point had stepped into the channel toward the next island. I limped to my gear, glad that the march would soon be over.

The natives, who had had the good sense to get in out of the rain and had disappeared into thin air the night before, reappeared in greater numbers as the column rolled on. It was good to have them aboard. This last day was going to be rough. The strain of listless life aboard ship, our skipping from island to island during the strike on Betio, and now this hike from Huxley’s pace—it was all catching up with the men. A solemn tenseness came over us as we moved northward along the path that ran by the lagoon.

More villages were passed but the novelty of the bare breasts had worn down to passive admiration. The business at hand was the main concern.

By late afternoon we reached the middle of Molly Island—Taratai. We ran into the Sisters of the Sacred Heart Society. Huxley halted us long enough to receive their blessings and to point out to them the place where we had buried the Jasco squad.

As we crossed over Molly, we caught sight of our objective: the end of Tarawa atoll—Cora, Muariki Island loomed closer, two islands up. Shapiro’s company was already working close to the last island. Grim silence set in as Huxley’s Whores bent forward to stiffen the pace. The sweat, the weight, were as before. Palm trees floated past rapidly, each step bringing us closer to the fleeing foe. We now had an army half Marine and half Gilbertese. The tingling anticipation of pending action dampened my palms as I plodded on toward the channel which would bring our journey to a close.

A runner from Fox Company puffed down the column to Huxley. “Sir, Cora dead ahead!” The word shot through us like contact with a live wire.

Huxley held up his hand for the battalion to halt. “Have Captain Shapiro report to me at once.”

“He’s already taken Fox Company over, sir. They’re spread out and waiting for you.” Highpockets’ face reddened.

“I told him not to cross over!”

Wellman smiled. “You knew damned well he would.”

“All right. On your feet, men. This is it.”

We waded to Cora as though we were walking on hot coals. At last we set foot on her with mixed uneasiness—an island shared by a leprosy colony and the Japs. No fighting had started. Maybe they had decided to swim for it or maybe a submarine had evacuated them. We stood by nervously as Fox Company sent a patrol halfway up the island.

There was no enemy to be found. I didn’t like it. Cora was creepy. We moved quickly and quietly up to the narrow waist of the island. At this point it was not more than a hundred yards from lagoon to ocean. The brush was very thick. It showed signs of having been uninhabited for many years. The few huts were filled with holes and smelled moldy and rotten. Past this narrow middle the island suddenly spread to a width of a mile, as the spokes of a fan handle spread to form the fan. The wide part in front of us looked like the Guadalcanal jungle. The hour was late. We halted and set up camp.

A few hundred yards up the narrow waist, before the fan end, Fox Company spread from ocean to lagoon and dug in.

We put all three radios into operation, to Sarah and the alligator, to the destroyer, and to air cover. We set up close to the water of the lagoon. Sarah lay almost due south, twenty-five miles away on a beeline. The battalion had covered better than forty-five miles and crossed twenty-five islands. Still no Japs.

We nervously ate a can of pork and beans, hard crackers, hard candy and cold coffee. Shapiro, McQuade, and Paris ambled into the CP right by us.

“What does it look like, Max?” Huxley asked.

“Beats me. No trace of them.”

“I don’t like it, I don’t like it at all,” Wellman said.

“I couldn’t find anything, not even footprints,” Paris said.

Huxley thought hard as he dragged on his smoke. “How is your position, Max?”

“We’re deployed perfectly from lagoon to ocean. Only about seventy-five yards wide there. The island starts spreading just beyond.”

“We’d better play it safe. I’ll send up the rest of the battalion’s machine guns in case they try something tonight. Marlin, have Captain Harper move George Company right in back of Fox. Max, as soon as it turns dark, send out a patrol and probe the fantail.”