Battle Cry - Leon Uris [136]
“Marine, dammit,” a hoarse voice croaked from down the beach.
“What’s the password?”
“Stop playing dogface, Speedy—it’s yer ole cousin Seabags.”
“Seabags!” Speedy raced faster than he had ever moved in his life. “Seabags, you old fart knocker—we thought you was dead.” He took the unconscious body of Red Cassidy from Brown, threw it over his shoulders, and pumped Seabags’ hand.
“Pardon my steel grip,” Seabags whispered, pitching to his knees, exhausted. Gray assisted him to his feet and half dragged him into the CP, screaming at the top of his lungs: “The farmer’s back—ole Seabags made it!”
“Call up the jeep ambulance on the double.”
“Doc, Doc…get Kyser here quick.”
“Seabags!” We clambered all over him.
“Stop kissing me, you goldarn slobbering bastards.”
“Seabags is back!”
“You shoulda seen the souvenirs I had to toss away.” They laid the two on stretchers. Speedy held Seabags’ hand….
“O.K., stand back, stand back dammit, give them air.”
“I’m plumb tuckered.”
“I told you he’d make it.”
Doc Kyser and Sam Huxley leaned close to Brown, whose voice was fading. Kyser studied his exhausted bloodshot eyes and swollen face.
“Water,” Seabags whispered.
“Not too much, son…just wet your lips.”
“Anybody got a chaw?”
“Here, Seabags.”
“Hey, Doc…I’m O.K. Better take a look at Cassidy. I had to coldcock him. He went loco on me…I been carrying him for two days…his leg is in a bad way.”
Kyser looked at Red’s swollen and discolored limb. “Hurry up with that ambulance,” he cried. “Phone up base hospital to prepare for surgery…hurry, dammit!” The doctor looked up at Sam Huxley. Huxley’s eyes asked the question. Kyser shook his head.
“Too bad,” Highpockets whispered.
CHAPTER 10
January 28, 1943
THE battalion jeep screeched to a stop. Huxley jumped out and dashed into the CP tent. “Get those men up here on the double.” he called to Ziltch.
Paris, Gunnery Sergeant McQuade from Fox Company, Pedro Rojas, and I converged on the tent at the same time.
“Where the hell is that candy-ass Burnside?” McQuade barked.
“In the aid tent,” I answered. “Got the bug in a bad way.”
“Aw hell, I wanted to hike his ass into the deck,” the red-faced gunner moaned.
“Looks like you lost your beer gut, Mac,” I said to him.
“Been on a diet, Mac,” he answered.
“We’d better report,” Paris said. “Highpockets seemed like he was in a real big hurry.”
“What’s the rush, we been sitting here for four days.”
We entered the tent and reported.
“Reporting for the patrol, Sam,” McQuade gruffed.
Huxley looked up from his field map. “I told Keats, Kyser, and LeForce to send me four men, not the squad chiefs!”
“I know, Sam,” I said, “but my boys are kind of corked out and…”
“Er,” Paris took it up, “my men are a little beat too….”
“What’s the matter with you people? Playing hero? Want me to lose all my squad leaders at once? This patrol too dangerous for your little lambs? Never mind, I haven’t time to change now. Who else have you got, Mac?”
“Forrester and Zvonski, the Feathermerchant.”
He looked at McQuade.
“A BAR team. Rackley for scouting, two men to help with the radios and a couple riflemen…Hawk and Kalberg there.”
“Bring them all in. Where’s Harper? He’s holding up the parade.”
“He was taking a crap,” McQuade said, just as the hefty little Southerner entered along with the others. Lieutenant Harper of Fox Company reported, a wad of gum bouncing around nervously in his mouth.
“Get rid of that gum,” Huxley said.
Lieutenant Harper placed it behind his ear and we gathered about the map. “Here’s the scoop,” Huxley said. “The Army has a ring around the base of the mountains up to Esperance. Our present position is here.” He pointed to a spot about six miles from Tassafaronga Point. “The Japs have all their men concentrated in this area. They are pulling them out by submarine every night.”
“I thought we were moving too slow to catch them,” Harper said.
“That wasn’t our fault,” Huxley snapped. “We’ve got to get in there fast and bottle them before the whole gang gets away. We have a