Battle Cry - Leon Uris [202]
A salty old gunner nearby snarled, “Them goddam pogey baits will come in now and swear they won the battle all by themselves.”
“Listen, you bastard,” Snipes growled, “I don’t care if it takes a bunch of Zulu headhunters throwing spears. We need help.”
“Have you heard from Paxton at Makin?” Philips asked.
“Yes, sir. They are proceeding slowly against heavy sniper fire. They estimate six hundred Japs.”
“Well, we’ve got six thousand here. Radio him that he’s on his own. We’re sending the Sixth Marines in.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Tod,” Bryant said, “we’d better land them through Green Beach. I’m afraid to try that lagoon again.”
“What do you think, Parks?”
“There are minefields and barbed wire and tank traps,” the Admiral said.
“If we take another bath in the lagoon we may be beaten,” Bryant argued. “This is the last thing we’ve got. If we don’t get the drive rolling quick we’re done. We can’t count on help from Paxton.”
“You’re right!” Philips snapped. “The Army will be farting around on Makin for a week. Send Lincoln Red in through Green Beach. Hold Lincoln Blue in ready.”
A message from an aircraft carrier fell on the General’s desk: AIR TO ROCKY. SEVERAL HUNDRED JAPS SEEN WADING FROM HELEN TO SARAH.
“We’d better land Lincoln White on Bairiki, clear it and set up the rest of artillery. If the other two battalions of the Sixth make a breakthrough, the Japs might pull a retreat to Bairiki. Besides, we’ll need every piece of artillery we can get into operation.”
“I hope opposition on Bairiki is light. Whose outfit is Lincoln White?”
“Huxley’s…Sam Huxley’s.”
“Oh, the hiking fool.”
“Right. Contact Lincoln Red. Move to Green Beach at once. Get Huxley and tell him to clean out Bairiki and stop any further retreat. As soon as he clears the island have all remaining artillery move in and set up to blast. Don, this is it…the blue chips are down. The pogey baits had better be on the ball!”
CHAPTER 4
“NOW hear this, now hear this. Marines, man your landing stations.”
Huxley’s Whores scrambled up the ladder topside. Nervous chatter filled the crowded deck of the J. Franklin Bell in the high-noon heat.
“O.K., goddammit,” I ordered. “Fall in and cover down. Answer up when your name is called.”
“I hope they saved something for us.”
“Did you hear? The First Battalion is going wild.”
“Quiet down, you people.”
Sam Huxley paced the steel deck to our station. Without a word he looped his long legs over the rail and jumped into the landing craft which hung from the davits. Ziltch, with much more difficulty under the load of Huxley’s maps, plopped in after.
“O.K., girls,” I said. “First rank move in. Hang on to those guidelines until we are lowered into the water. On the double!”
There was confusion as to our destination. For an hour we circled about the control boat. It wasn’t long before the bumpy ride had rocked us green-gilled.
“If you got to puke, puke inside. Puke outside and it blows back in your face.”
The landing craft plodded into the lagoon and chopped and bounced over the waves. We huddled in close to try to duck the splashes of spray that splattered over the ramp. It seemed we moved at a drone’s pace for mile after mile.
I was in the front of the boat. It continued past the smoking island of Betio till I caught sight of the slanted outline of Sarah or Bairiki, on a downward dip. She was a sharp contrast to the hell in back of me. Palms and white sands beckoned almost lovingly.
Crouched up front, a sudden paralyzing thought shot through my mind. These might be my last minutes on earth. Another ten minutes might find me dead. As the boat dropped I caught a glimpse of the treetops on Sarah and I was struck with a vision of a cross on the coral shore with my name on it. I got queasy all over and for a moment wanted to jump out into the water and get away. I felt the palms of