Battle Cry - Leon Uris [120]
“We’re going to hit the lines, end the drive, and go straight back to the States for a parade up Market Street in Frisco.”
“The Japs know the Sixth has landed and they’re bringing in five hundred planes tonight.”
The wonderful strangeness of landing at Lunga on Guadalcanal—Guadalcanal, where they first hit. Guadalcanal, the legend. “Look, there’s the Slot, there’s Skylark Channel, and Florida and Tulagi, over there.” Where is Henderson Field from here? Where is the Tenaru? Yes, we were here, right on the spot where history was made. A million questions and wild stories ended any thinking.
Spanish Joe called the squad into a huddle, excepting me and Burnside. “There is an army ordnance shed about a mile from here,” he said, “loaded with Garand rifles. Who is with me?”
“How about ammo?”
“There’s lots of it.”
“I’m for it,” Andy said. “Let’s dump these goddam Reising guns in the drink.”
“Let’s go,” Seabags said.
“How about you, Mary?” Danny asked.
They waited anxiously as he surveyed the situation. He looked at his weapon, which was rusting badly from a splash in the landing. He looked toward the front lines. “Count me in,” Marion said.
By nightfall Burnside and me were about the only two left in Headquarters Company who still carried Reisings. I looked at the rusty barrel and sighed with envy.
Dusk fell on the still-excited encampment. I passed among my squad. “The password for tonight is Philadelphia,” I said. A real password in a real battle zone—their eyes lit up. The passwords were picked with two or more of the letter “l” in it. The Japs supposedly had difficulty pronouncing the letter, as it is nonexistent in their language.
Darkness found the camp still wrapped in nervous chatter. The rumors, the discoveries of the strange new land, and the questions were still on their lips. Soon, exhausted from the day, a fitful hush set in.
L.Q. Jones patted his new Garand rifle and walked to his guard post. It was very dark and very quiet. The sound of the surf on the beach made him uneasy…. I wonder how far the lines are, he thought. Any Japs around here? Jesus, it’s quiet. What was that! Only Burnside snoring.
He lifted the cover on the luminous dial of his watch. Still three hours to go. He slapped a mosquito, then reached in his helmet and pulled out his headnet and put it on. Another mosquito bit right through his dungarees—then a dozen more. Christ, it’s quiet.
Two hours and fifty minutes to go. What was that! Something moving! L.Q. fell on his stomach and edged toward the sound, slowly, carefully. Maybe I should stand up and scream…careful, boy, they’re tricky. Investigate first, then scream. His hand shot out quickly in the dark and clutched the moving object!
Andy sprung up with a knife in his hand and with the other grabbed L.Q.’s throat. They looked at each other.
“What you grab my toe for, you crazy bastard!”
L.Q. trembled. He managed a sickly grin and mumbled an apology. They both sighed with relief and said, “I thought you was a Jap.”
Two hours to go. They must be crazy to let a guy stand guard alone like this. What was that! Dammit, something had moved this time. He slipped quickly behind a tree and lowered his rifle. On a path, heading into the camp, he saw the dim outline of a figure. Small…thin…look at that silhouette—a Jap!
“Halt,” he squeaked, “what’s the password?”
“Password?”
“I’ll give you three to give me the password.”
“Hey, wait a minute, I’m a Marine.”
“One…”
“It’s a city. Dayton…Boston…Baltimore…Florida…”
“Two…”
“Don’t shoot! I’m a Marine…San Diego…Albany…Chicago….”
“Three.” BLAM!
Shining Lighttower dropped in his tracks. “Philadelphia! That’s it, Philadelphia!”
The shot aroused the camp and in a fraction of a second the place was rattling with gunfire. BLAM…RAT-A-TAT…BLAM…POW! Rifle bullets cut the air, grenades exploded and men ran wildly and aimlessly in the dark, their weapons spitting fire in all directions.
“Philadelphia!” Sam Huxley rushed from his tent and blew a whistle. The firing stopped as abruptly as it had started.
“What the hell is