Battle Cry - Leon Uris [131]
Cassidy, a stocky redheaded Irishman, slammed a cigarette between his lips, picked up the wire and went over the ridge. Seabags paced several feet behind him, his eyes scanning the brush and treetops as they moved. They followed the white marked wire of Topeka White and were soon away from the battalion area.
“How in hell did they lay this goddam line out here?” Seabags repeated.
“We overran the objective and pulled back onto the ridge after the line was laid,” Cassidy explained.
“Christ, sure is quiet out here, cousin.”
Cassidy tested Topeka White and reached them. But he could not get How Company. They moved on till they were at the stream which ran under the reverse slope of the CP knoll. They splashed across and tested once more, then moved for the small clump of trees and brush which lay to the left. Downstream to the right was the big wood full of Japs.
Cassidy raced along the wire running it through his fingers. “I got a feeling we ain’t alone, cousin,” Seabags said. Another test call. Still no How Company.
“Cassidy, lookit.” Seabags pointed to the wire ahead, cut neatly.
“They must have sneaked out of the woods and sliced it.”
“Plumb in two.” They stood near the small clump of trees. Cassidy found the cut end and quickly peeled the wire to make a splice.
Crack! Twang!
“Sniper. Take cover!”
Seabags crouched behind a tree. Cassidy dove in after him.
“See him?”
“No.”
“I’d better get that line back here so I can splice it.” Cassidy took a step and fell to his knees.
“What’s the matter, Red?”
“Must have twisted my ankle diving in here.” Seabags quickly dragged him to better cover and took off his shoe.
“Hurt?”
“Like hell.”
“It’s busted. Hold my rifle and keep your eye on them woods.”
“Where you going?”
“Got to get that line back here and get it spliced.” Seabags dashed out. Crack! Twang! Rat-a-tat crack! CRACK! He snatched up the wire and rolled back alongside the telephone man, puffing. “Lousy shots,” he wheezed. “Did you see them?” They both looked at the jungle over the stream. It was very still and very quiet.
“You never see them bastards.”
“They’re there, cousin.” Seabags rolled the friction tape over the wires. “How the hell do you test this, Red?”
The Irishman gritted his teeth. “Screw…one cap on each wire and hook into the test phone…”
“Your ankle bad?”
“It’s starting to swell.”
Seabags tested into the command post and then into How Company. The circuit was at last complete. “Hold on a minute, Seabags,” the CP said, “Sam wants to talk to you.”
“Hello, Seabags, this is Sam Huxley.”
“Howdy, Sam.”
“Where was the break?”
“The little bunch of trees over the stream. They must have sneaked over the creek and clipped it because it’s the only part of the line that runs close to them. They can’t tap it as long as we’re down here—who the hell laid this line here, anyhow? Surer than hell they’ll cut it again, soon as it turns dark. You’d better run another line to How.”
At the CP, Huxley consulted the Gunner and Sergeant Barry. “We can’t get another line laid. It’s getting dark and there’s a gully between us and How, probably full of Japs.”
“Ain’t that just peachy,” Seabags moaned. “I got a hurt boy here too.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Cassidy’s ankle’s broke. The bone looks about ready to bust through the skin. He’s in gawd-awful misery.”
A wild train of thoughts raced through Huxley’s mind. The line had to be kept open. There was no time either now or at dawn to get another one in before the attack on the woods. That wire was to direct a walking curtain of mortar fire from the stream to the woods. At dawn the Tenth Marines’ artillery and the destroyer were going to blast the woods apart and planes from Henderson Field would rake it clean. The two boys were only a hair away from the line of fire.
Huxley’s eyes narrowed, he clenched his teeth and felt the breath of the men around him on the back of his neck. “Can you guard that line against another break?” he asked Seabags harshly.