Battle Cry - Leon Uris [159]
“Minor dose of frostbite,” Kyser said. “Called chilblain. Keep him off his feet a couple of days. Don’t wear any colored socks and check in tomorrow morning. And for Christ sake keep those feet away from any stoves. You’ll feel this for months—just massage when the itch comes.”
I helped Levin back to the tent.
“Christ,” he said, “I’m sorry, Mac.”
“For what?”
“The way I acted. The guys will think I’m chicken.”
“Well, quit worrying about it. You should have had better sense.”
He sat disgustedly. I offered him a smoke. “You’d better ride the TCS jeep till the Doc okays you to full duty.”
“The…the guys won’t like that. Me working the jeep radio.”
“Look, Levin,” I said, “if it will make you feel any better I know what the Indian pulled today. Those guys have been getting captured for years. Nobody is griping about your work. You might even get a stripe in a couple of months.”
“But…but Lighttower and Joe ain’t got one yet.”
“They probably never will and if they do they’ll lose it the first liberty they go on.”
He sucked deeply and silent on his cigarette.
“Look, Levin. I know you’ve been busting your ass to prove yourself. You can ease up. You’ve made the grade.”
“No I ain’t. I ain’t made it till I been in combat like them. I’ll never make it till then.”
“In their minds or yours?”
“Just leave me alone, Mac.”
“Levin, why are you trying so hard? Is it because you are a Jew?”
He turned pale. I went over to him and put my arm around his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to knife you. I guess you can read a guy’s mind after a while. Has Speedy been riding you?”
“I don’t know why he don’t like me. I done everything to make friends. I don’t want no trouble, Mac, but honest to God I’m going to clout him if he don’t lay off. I don’t care if they court-martial me. I know the rest of the guys are just kidding, but not Speedy.”
“Speedy isn’t a bad guy. Maybe one of these days he’ll see the light.”
“He says we’re fighting the war because of Jews. He says Jews are yellow…I’m going to clout him, Mac…I only been taking it because I don’t want no trouble.”
“Levin, you can’t beat a thing like that out of a man. Come on, let’s go to the clubroom.”
We sat in the middle of the bay and fumed. Morning, noon and night we scampered up and down the nets teaching the swabbies how to run an invasion. Three times a day we charged out of the landing craft into the surf and up the beach. We had a queer feeling that Huxley asked for this detail.
Beyond the narrow beach was a five-foot seawall and past it a street of the town of Petone. On our first landings, we charged up the beach, over the wall and straight for the pubs. We grabbed a fast beer and put in apologetic phone calls to our girls and charged back to the beach again. The natives got a big bang out of us playing like invaders. By the second day the seawall was lined with housewives, children, and a general gathering of kibitzers who shouted and cheered and applauded as we plunged from the boats into hip-deep water and zigzagged up the sand.
“Thumbs up, Yanks!”
“Up your ass,” we whispered under our breath.
Also awaiting us on the second day was a solid line of M.P.s to keep our invasions limited to the beach. When Marines on liberty came to gawk, it was downright humiliating.
“Hey, ain’t that a fine-looking outfit?”
“Fine-looking, fine-looking.”
“Hey, how come you guys ain’t wearing your pogey bait whistles?”
“Got a number, pogey bait? I’ll keep her warm tonight.”
That put the M.P.s into action to keep us from going up after them.
We’d reboard the ship, change our wet and sandy clothes and before a poker game could get going or we could chalk up a few minutes sack drill the intercom would blast general quarters and we were at it again. “Now hear this: Marines, man your debarkation stations.”
On the fourth day we tried night landing and rang up a dozen casualties.