Battle Cry - Leon Uris [110]
Marion gulped two swallows and almost choked. He held his breath, closed his eyes and tilted the bottle back. Half of it ran out of his mouth and down the front of his shirt. L.Q. let out a victory whoop as the bottle drained. Marion flung it to the deck, coughing madly. He returned to his Reising gun. Andy and Speedy made an alleged transfer of money to L.Q.
“Now look here, L.Q., only a rattlesnake wouldn’t give a man a chance to get his money back,” Speedy drawled.
“Never let it be said that L.Q. Jones is a snake. A pound sterling on the corporal, my dearest buddy.”
I shoved another bottle under Marion’s nose before he could protest. “You guys are in cahoots!” he cried as L.Q. shoved the bottle into his mouth. He finished the second one with considerably less torture and smacked his lips, looked at the dead soldier with smug satisfaction and flipped it cockily to the deck.
“Tell you what I’m going to do,” L.Q. said. “I’m going to give you men a chance. I wager the full winnings that Mary can’t chugalug one down.”
“I’ll take that bet,” Marion whooped. We all relaxed with great satisfaction. At long last we were going to get Marion drunk. The next four bottles went quickly and Marion was soon embarked on the vivid adventures of Dangerous Dan McGrew in the Yukon.
“Tenshun!” Andy barked as Major Huxley lowered his shoulders to fit through our tent flap. We all snapped up, except Danny, who caught Huxley as he tripped over a beer case. Marion staggered over to Sam Huxley before I could shove him under a cot. He was stinking.
“Well, if it isn’t my old buddy, Highpockets…what ya doing, slumming?” Huxley nearly fell out of the tent. He caught his bearings and glared down at the wavering genius.
“Now don’t give me that goddam holier than thou look…you’re a man and I’m a man and I got a few little gripes to discuss with you, see?” He emitted a long, loud belch in Huxley’s face.
“Hodgkiss, you’re drunk!”
“Don’t tell me you made Major with such sharp observations.” He placed his hands on Huxley’s shoulders. “Seriously, old bean,” he mumbled, bleary eyed. “You’re hiking these men too hard…seriously, old bean. Know what they call this outfit? Huxley’s Whores—that’s a hell of a name.” He fell against the Major, who straightened him up at arm’s length.
“Looks like this man is the victim of a conspiracy,” Huxley said.
“To be truthful, sir, you might say we did uncap a bottle or so for him,” Speedy said.
“Hummmmm.”
“I’ll write a book exposing this goddam outfit!” Marion proclaimed dangling from Huxley’s arms with an up-pointed finger. Suddenly he slumped to the deck in a peaceful heap.
Huxley tilted his head back and roared, “Sister Mary!” Then he cut us down with a stern look. “If this ever leaves this tent I’ll bust you all to privates and ship you to field music and I’ll have this guy on piss and punk for the rest of the cruise!”
“Not a word from us,” Andy vowed.
“Us guys are all men of honor,” Speedy added with reverence.
“Amen, deacon,” Huxley said, “and when he gets sobered up, send him to my quarters. Public relations wants him to write a story on the qualities of leadership.”
We burped with relief as Highpockets stamped from the tent.
Andy and Seabags lifted the prostrate body and dumped it on his sack.
“Out like a light.”
“Well, Sister Mary finally got his cherry busted.”
“Hey, Mac, he’s puking.”
“So what you want me to do? Let him puke.”
“But he’s puking on his sack.”
“So I’ll spray him with cologne later.”
We sat about, uncorked bottle after bottle with our trusty belts, and after two cases had diminished, entered a thick-tongued 3.2 glow. Speedy, the squad ballad singer, broke into song and we joined in.
“I’ve got sixpence, a jolly jolly sixpence,
I’ve got sixpence, to last me all my life,
I’ve got tuppence to spend and tuppence to lend,
And tuppence to send home to my wife…DEAR WIFE,
I’ve got no friends to grieve me,
No pretty little girls to deceive meeeeee,
Happy as the day the Marine Corps gets its pay,
As we go rolling rolling home…DEAD DRUNK….”
“L.Q., why don’t you keep your fool