Battle Cry - Leon Uris [172]
My long years of Marine training brought me to my feet.
“We’ll have to carry Marion,” L.Q. said.
We bid our hosts a quick adieu and shoved off over an open field toward the depot. The fresh air brought Marion around and lightened the load. As we ran over the field he called to us from some twenty yards behind. “Hey, fellows, wait!”
“Come on, Mary, we’re late!”
“I can’t run forwards.”
We tried to drag him. It was no go. “I tell you I can’t move forward!” he screamed. “I’m crippled for life!”
We spun him around and he ran backwards for the depot.
“Fellows!”
“What is it now, Mary?”
“Hold up. I got to take a leak.”
He held out his hand to lean against a brick wall. The wall was forty feet away. He fell flat on his face. We lifted him, turned him backwards and lit out again. We hurdled a small ditch and waited for him. Mary took careful aim, jumped and landed in the slush at the bottom of the hole.
“Gawd, what did them drinks have in them?”
The milk train pulled into Otaki and for once some Marines were thankful to the New Zealand Government that the trains ran late. We piled into an open boxcar and fell asleep.
CHAPTER 7
IN THE capacity of best man, I shoved off with Andy for Masterton a day before the wedding. The rest of the squad, under Burnside, would come up the following day. They had been granted three-day passes for the event. Before we left, Andy was presented with a twelve-piece setting of sterling silver from the company. The squad gave him a couple dozen cundrums but we smiled and kept our little secret.
The boys were bush brushing and polishing up. They were to catch a train to Wellington and stay overnight and take the first train to Masterton in the morning. It was the long way around, but they reckoned it was better to stay in Wellington than try to ride the sleeping cars with their beds running crosswise. A night in the sleeping car of a New Zealand train gave you the choice of either smashing into a wall or dangling in the aisle.
As they rushed about, preparing to depart, they made a last minute canvas of the company to secure loans until pay call. Amidst all the bustle, Jake Levin lay quietly on his bunk feigning interest in an already read letter.
“Anybody got an extra battle pin?”
“How about a left ornament…somebody got off with mine. Joe?”
“I just borrowed it. I was going to give it back.”
“How much loot we got in the kicker?”
“Over twenty pounds.”
“Hey, get the lead out of your ass. We got to make Paikak at five.”
“Too bad Danny is in Silverstream with the bug.”
“Yeah, too bad.”
Seabags walked over to Levin and slapped his feet hard across the soles. “Come on, Levin, get your ass in gear.”
The homely boy looked up, smiled feebly, and said nothing.
“For Chrisake, Levin, hurry up,” echoed L.Q.
“I…wasn’t invited,” he sputtered.
“What do you mean you wasn’t invited?”
“Nobody told me I was.”
“What the hell you want—a fur-lined pisspot? All the squad was invited.”
“Nobody told me.”
Burnside grasped the situation and almost barked an order. “You’re in the squad aren’t you? Better hustle.”
“Yeah, Andy will have a hemorrhage if you don’t show up.”
“But…but I got mess duty.”
“I already got a guy from telephone to relieve you,” Burnside said.
“My greens are messed up.”
“You can get them pressed in Wellington.”
Levin sat up and looked across the tent to Speedy Gray. Gray turned half away from him. “Better hurry, Levin,” he said, “or we’ll miss the train.”
They found overnight accommodations in a servicemen’s hostel, dumped their gear, and headed for the Cecil Hotel. Spanish Joe was sent out to round up bootleg liquor. It was reported that Masterton was dry and Andy could hardly have a dry wedding. Sister Mary escorted Joe to hold the money until a transaction could be made, and then to escort the liquor back to the hostel. He was the only man who could be trusted with a full bottle and was therefore elected as the guardian.
The Cecil Hotel was leased by the American Red Cross for a servicemen’s club. The airy old building was across from the train depot. It had