Battle Cry - Leon Uris [160]
The grand finale on the U.S.S. Feland was a full-scale fubard mess. All we had taught the swabbies for a week they forgot. I guess we forgot a little too, for the thought of getting rid of each other for a night in Wellington was what really messed up the landing.
Danny had been packing a heavy walkie-talkie for hours, keeping in communication with Beach Control. He didn’t get a chance to lift it off for a single minute to give his back a rest as the officers worked his radio continuously to unscramble the mess on the beach. Landing boats were way off time and course, equipment piled up in the wrong places, and the Heavy Weapons Company landed ahead of the assault troops. The engineers attached to us who were to clear alleged obstacles came in two hours late and the artillery was blowing up our own command post. Air support was shooting the transport in the bay, naval gunfire was hitting a hospital instead of the objectives. C-ration came instead of blood plasma, and the wounded were dumped in the water instead of empty oilcans. This was typical of a Marine maneuver. Anyhow, the Japs would never outguess us.
Exhausted and constantly on the move, Danny felt his radio cut into his shoulders until they were numb. At last the LCTs and other landing craft made for the long pier a mile down the beach and loaded us up to reboard the ship. Danny sat with the staff officers keeping in communication until the entire battalion loaded up in groups of sixties and sped back to the Feland.
The radio had not been off his back for six hours. He had no feeling in the upper reaches of his body. Finally he boarded the last craft still in communication with Sister Mary on the ship. The boat bounced over the choppy waves and pulled up under the bow net. The hated bow net, which was hanging from the highest point of the deck, offered no support as it fell free. The coxswain gunned his boat as Danny, last out, hit the net. The boat pulled out from under him as he started the long climb to deck. He was weak all over. He pushed up a few strands and then made the mistake of looking down to the water. He saw that the boat was gone.
He braced and worked up a few more steps. The weight on his shoulders began pulling him backwards till his body was nearly horizontal. He quickly threw his helmet and ammunition into the bay and pressed every muscle to straighten up.
He broke into a cold sweat as his foot and then a hand slipped. His arms locked in the net and he froze. He looked at the water again and gritted his teeth and shuddered as he realized that his strength was completely gone. It seemed as though the water was rising up to meet him. In desperation he looked up to the deck and screamed, “I’m ditching the radio…can’t hold!”
“Hang on!” I shouted. “Lock in and don’t look at the water!” I raced down one side of the net and Sam Huxley tore down the other. We caught the straps of the radio just as Danny began to slip away. We lifted the weight from him.
“Can you make it now?” Huxley asked.
“I think so. The goddam radio was pulling me backwards.”
Huxley and I took the radio and Danny slowly worked up to the deck. As they pulled him aboard he sighed.
“You used your head, son,” Huxley said. “Are you all right?”
“Fine, sir, just tired.” He caught his breath and looked over the side of the ship once more. Then he turned pale and began shaking all over as he stared into the cold green water far below.
Huxley laughed. “Delayed action. Take him to sick bay, Mac, and get him a double shot of brandy.”
Spanish Joe turned his back to the mahogany bar, propped himself up on an elbow and bellowed, “I ain’t so tough, even Joe Louis can lick me.” He spun about, slamming a large ale mug down. “Survey this!”
New Zealanders about the pub gathered in close around him. Gomez flashed a smile, displaying a mouthful of ivory-white teeth in contrast to his sultry