Battle Cry - Leon Uris [174]
“Where did you get rum?”
“From a British sailor.”
“Probably watered. Better taste it.”
“No!”
They undressed and went to sleep, thirsty.
The train ride to Masterton was slow and tiresome. The squad commandeered two double seats across the aisle from each other and each foursome rigged up a makeshift table to enable them to indulge in some poker to kill time. As the morning wore on, more and more glances were cast in the direction of the liquor which Marion was guarding.
“Come to think of it,” Seabags said in the course of shuffling the cards, “that bootleg stuff might be poison.”
“Correct,” L.Q. said. “You can go blind from it.”
“Sure might be something wrong with it easy enough,” chimed in Burnside.
Marion continued to be enraptured with the scenery and didn’t honor their prying leads. Several miles passed.
“There’s going to be an awful big reception.”
“Hundreds, I hear say, cousin.”
“Sure would be terrible if we was responsible for getting everybody poisoned.”
“Yeah, I’d feel right bad about that.”
“If Spanish Joe got it, there must be something wrong with it.”
“Gawd, it’s a long trip.”
“Yep.”
“Never forgive myself if somebody died from it.”
Several more miles passed.
“I wonder, Mary, if’n we couldn’t just sort of open a bottle and sort of smell it. Just to make sure it’s all right?”
“Seriously, Mary,” Danny said earnestly, “we’d better check.”
With the idea of poisoned whisky preying on his mind for over an hour, Marion conceded that a spot check might be in order. He uncorked a bottle of gin and a bottle of Scotch as the squad huddled about him. The bottle passed from hand to hand. Each man sniffed and nodded warily. “What’s the matter?” Marion asked.
“Don’t smell right, cousin, just don’t smell right. Where did Joe round this up?”
“What’s the matter?” Marion asked anxiously.
“Don’t smell right to me,” the Injun said, shaking his head.
“’Fraid we’ll make a lot of trouble if we bring this in.”
“Better throw it away,” L.Q. said.
“Maybe I’d better sip it—I mean, just for a double check.”
“Well…” Marion pondered.
“Think we’d better all take one and get a conclusive result,” Burnside said seriously.
The bottle was up before Marion could register a strong protest. It passed from lip to smacking lip.
“Can’t tell much from one swig…better try another.”
The gin went around for the second time, followed by the Scotch.
“Is it all right or isn’t it?” Marion demanded.
“Just a minute, Marion, while I offer a drink to these fellows,” Danny said, nodding to four Kiwi airmen behind him. “I don’t want them to think we’re unfriendly.”
“Better sample that rum.”
“Yeah, I got some British Navy rum and had the G.I. craps for a week.”
The rum bottle was grabbed by Speedy as the Injun diverted Marion to some passing scenery. Marion lost control of the situation by trying to look in ten places at the same time. Only by direct threats did he manage to salvage three of the original seven bottles.
It was a jolly crew I met pouring from the train at Masterton. I hustled them into two waiting cabs and headed for the Red Cross club to clean them up before the ceremony.
As we entered, they were singing at the top of their lungs. Even pie-eyed their harmony was good, but I questioned the choice of lyrics in this public place. The effect of the jump whisky was hitting home and after I got their faces washed and their greens squared away I herded them into the canteen for a sobering cup or two of coffee.
Andy entered. I had managed to keep him calm but his composure had shattered when I left him and went to meet the squad. Andy was trembling so badly he couldn’t light up his cigarette. The sweat was rolling over his face and he could hardly talk. I led him to the counter and patted his back.
“Hey, Andy, you look awful,” L.Q. said.
“I feel awful,” he moaned. “The whole church is filled up.”
“Buck up, old buddy. We’re with you.”
“What you scared for, cousin?”
“I…dunno…I’d rather be hitting a beach.”
“Shucks, ain’t nothing but a wedding. I seen lots of them.”
“Got the ring, Mac, got the ring? Sure you got