Battle Cry - Leon Uris [189]
“All right, Andy.”
“You mean it honey? You really mean it?”
“Yes.”
Her hands fumbled through the cookie jar. She placed some buns on a plate and took sugar from the cupboard. She breathed deeply, afraid her voice would fail. The room seemed to sway. She could not look at him.
“We’ll have to pack fast, right away.”
“I’d better not bring a radio,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because you’d not want to hear about your battalion.”
“Pat!”
She spun about. “What will we name the baby, Andy? Maybe we can call him Rogers—no, even that won’t do. Timmy Huxley Smith. That’s it. Smith is a good common name.” She clenched her teeth. “I hope your buddies come through, Andy.”
“You’re just trying to get me riled up!” he yelled.
“No, I’ll go…I’ll go,” she cried. “Let’s run.”
“Dammit, what do we owe this lousy war? What do we owe the Marines?”
“Each other,” she whispered.
“You don’t care. You don’t care none for me…you’ll have your kid—that’s all you wanted.”
“How dare you! How dare you speak to me that way?”
“Pat…I didn’t mean to say that…I didn’t mean it.”
“I know, Andy.”
“It’s just that I’m almost off my nut. I don’t want to leave you.”
“If you want to, I’ll go with you.”
He fumbled for a smoke. “I guess I was crazy to ask…It…it would never work.”
She clutched the drainboard for support.
“I’d…I’d better get back to my ship.”
“I’ll get my coat.”
“No, I’d better go alone.”
His big paws groped through the air as he tried to speak. “Do you love me, Pat?”
“Very much, my darling, very, very much.”
His arms were about her and he stroked her hair. “Will you write…all the time?”
“Each day.”
“Don’t worry none if you don’t hear from me. Being aboard ship and all that…and take care of yourself and the kid.”
She nodded, her head on his chest.
“With a little luck we might land here again. Soon as the war is over, I mean…I’ll be back just as fast as I can.”
Her eyes closed. She held him, trying to grasp each second for an eternity.
“You ain’t sorry about us, Pat?”
“No.”
“I ain’t either. Just say once more how you love me.”
“I love you, Andy.”
Then her arms were empty. The door shut. He was gone.
There were no tears left in Pat. All night she stood vigil by the window which looked into the bay. Then she donned her greatcoat and in the hours before dawn walked aimlessly through the streets of Wellington. The misty sunrise found her in the Tinokori Hills, looking down over the harbor. A cold wisp of breeze rushed past her and she drew the coat over her belly where she felt the first kick of life from her unborn child.
Below her, in the murk, were the gray outlines of ships. In silence one by one they slipped from the bay to open sea until they were all gone and the water was empty.
PART FIVE
Prologue
MAJOR WELLMAN, the battalion exec, entered Huxley’s office. He dropped a record book on his desk. “Here it is.”
Huxley picked up the hefty record and wrinkled his forehead as he opened the cover and looked at the picture of Captain Max Shapiro. “I don’t know, Wellman. I don’t know but what I’m making a big mistake.” He began to thumb through the pages, which told a story of transfers, demotions, courts-martial, citations for valor, promotions. It was a book of contradictions.
Wellman seated himself, knocked the tobacco from his pipe and placed it in his pocket. “This Shapiro, he’s quite a legend. Some of the stories I’ve heard about him are utterly fantastic.”
“Don’t discount them,” Huxley said. “Don’t discount a thing you hear about that man.”
“I hope you don’t mind me asking a question?”
“Of course not.”
“This Shapiro is an obvious troublemaker. He’s been run out of over a dozen commands and he’s got a list of courts-martial as long as your arm. Why did you grab him out of the replacement pool? Matter of fact, you didn’t have to grab for him—no one else wanted him.”
Huxley smiled. “The book only tells part of the story, Wellman.”
“They call