Battle Cry - Leon Uris [169]
“Don’t shout.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t make it harder,” she pleaded. “You are liable to say something now you will always regret. You are shocked and hurt. But we both know it is for the best.”
“I ain’t regretting nothing and I ain’t leaving you.” Andy grasped her and held her tightly in his big arms. “I love you, Pat.”
“Oh, Andy—what did you say?”
“I said, I love you, dammit!”
“You mean, do you really? Darling, you aren’t just saying it for now, are you, Andy?”
“Of course I love you. Any damned fool could tell that.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You know now.”
“A girl likes to be told.”
He released his grip and looked into her misty eyes. He repeated the words, but this time he said them tenderly, the words that had been lying dormant in his bitter heart all his life. “I love you, Pat. An awful lot.”
“Darling,” she cried and they embraced. The room reeled about him.
He held her at arm’s length. “Pat, let’s get married. I know how you feel but, Chrisake, us Swedes are tough. They ain’t made the bullet that can put Andy Hookans away.”
“Don’t say that, don’t!”
“Let’s take a chance. We’ve got to. I’ll get through. I’ve got something to get through for, now.”
“I’m frightened,” she said.
“So am I.”
“But I don’t want to go to America.”
“Who said anything about America? This is my home and you’re my woman. That’s all that makes any difference. The rest of the world can go to hell…. I think I need a drink.”
For the first time since he had known her, the deep sadness was gone from her. Her eyes were alive and dancing. “It’s mad, Andy.”
“Sure it is. What do you say?”
“Yes, Andy, yes.”
She was in his arms again and he felt strong and safe holding her. “I’ll see the chaplain tomorrow. You’ll be investigated,” he said.
“Let them investigate.”
“I feel wonderful, Pat.”
She drew away gently, led him to the divan, and took her place beside him. “Andy,” she whispered, “if we have a little boy would you mind terribly if we named him Timothy after my brother?”
“You mean…we’re going to have a baby?”
She nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me, honey?”
“I didn’t want to use that to hold you, Andy.”
He took her hand and kissed it and laid his head on her shoulder. “You…you’d send me away? Oh Pat, you’d have done that for me.”
“I’ve loved you for a long time, darling,” she whispered. Her arms were about him and she drew him close and he rested his head on her bosom. He closed his eyes as if in a dream from which he never wanted to awake. “I wanted someone,” she cried, “that this war couldn’t take away from me.”
I slapped Andy on the back as we approached Chaplain Peterson’s tent. We glanced at the bulletin board outside. In one corner was a picture of a luscious and naked female. Under the picture the words: No, you can’t marry her unless she looks like this. Chaplain Peterson. The process of getting married involved much red tape and grief and hundreds of men besieged the chaplain. The penalty for failure to go through channels was severe. On several occasions the entire regiment was called out for a reading off of a Marine caught in a bootleg wedding. Dishonorable discharge was often the punishment. I braced Andy again and we entered.
The round-faced man with the crew cut and infectious smile greeted me. “Hello, Mac, what are you doing here? Spying for Father McKale?”
“How’s the T.S. business going?” I retorted to my old friend.
“Listen, Mac, do me a favor. I was in the Navy for twelve years but I’ve never heard anything like the language these Marines use. Talk it up among the boys. I think I’ll give them a sermon on it this Sunday. Excuse me, who’s your friend?”
“Andy Hookans. One of my squad.”
“Sit down, boys. Hookans, huh? Always glad to convert a good Scandahoovian. You a Swede, Andy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Me too, put her there.” They shook hands and Andy felt relaxed. The chaplain broke out a pack of smokes. “Hookans,” Peterson repeated as he dug through the mass of papers on his desk. “I thought the name sounded familiar…oh, here it is.” He opened a paper and glanced at it.
“Er, Chaplain,