Battle Cry - Leon Uris [109]
The use of the flat of your hand, elbow smashes, knees, use of the forehead to butt—nothing was overlooked. We’d get in a circle and face inward and were blindfolded. One man would rove around the edge of the circle and throw a stranglehold on one of us and we had to break it or get half choked.
“You people are bigger and stronger and faster than them Jap bastards. Use your football training, play rough, gouge his eyes, kick his nuts, deck him and finish him.”
We were encouraged to attack each other, just for the fun of it. Little fellows like Ski and Lighttower learned their business and overcame, with speed and knowledge of weak spots, their lack of brawn.
We were conscious, at all times, of sneak attack….
DECEMBER 18, 1942: CAMP MCKAY TO ALL
BATTALION COMMANDERS
Inasmuch as the Sixth Regiment will be moving into the field in the near future, the regimental purchasing officer wishes to call attention to the following: several thousand cases of American beer will be surplus at warehouse six, Wellington Docks. It is suggested that said beer be released to the officers and men at cost and that no limit on purchases be made. It is desired that no beer be left when the regiment departs….
You could hardly walk into our tent for the stacks of beer cases. We had utilized every square inch of space, until space and money ran out. We sat about, sipping our brews, and discussed the things that men discuss when they are drinking: women—and women.
Marion entered the tent and deftly dodged and twisted his way to his sack, threw down his manuscript and picked up his Reising gun to clean it.
L.Q. Jones winked at Speedy Gray and Andy, who had already seated themselves alongside Marion.
“Us fellows was having a little talk,” Speedy said.
“Couldn’t have been anything constructive,” Marion countered as he eyed the bore of his gun and ran a thong through it.
“I wouldn’t let them talk about you that way, I stick up for your good name,” L.Q. said. “I went and bet my last shilling I was going on liberty with you.”
“Me and Speedy bet with L.Q. that you couldn’t drink a bottle of beer,” Andy announced.
“Pay off, L.Q.,” Marion said, “you know I don’t drink.”
I stopped my letter writing as L.Q. went into his act. He pleaded and begged as Andy and Speedy gibed from the background. Marion stood fast. L.Q. fell to his knees and began licking Marion’s shoes and at last took his fair leather belt and demanded that Marion hang him from the tent top rather than betray their “friendship.”
“Pay us off, L.Q.” Speedy winked. “The man’s worthless as tits on a boar hog.”
L.Q. dug for his wallet with a great show of dismay. We all gathered about, needling Marion into the trap. “Bastard forgets the night he was catting around in Dago and old L.Q. stuck his neck out at rollcall. Bastard forgets that,” he moaned, handing a ten-shilling note over to Andy. “Now Olga is going to think I stood her up.”
“From what I’ve heard of Olga, I think it far better this way,” Marion said.
“That’s the final insult,” Jones wept, “our friendship has just gone pfffft! Pfffft, do you hear?” He slumped to his sack, muttering.
Marion stopped wiping his gun and sighed. “Give me a darned bottle.”
“Old buddy, old bunkmate!”
“I wouldn’t do this for anyone else, L.Q. I hope you are happy.”
I snatched a bottle, capped it with my belt buckle and thrust it in Marion’s face. He had a very sour look. We gathered about, almost falling on top of him as he lifted the bottle to his lips. He took a short sip, his face screwed up in pain.
“He’ll never make it.”
“Money in the bank.”
“Come on, Mary, you can do it.”