Battle Cry - Leon Uris [211]
“Hey, Colonel,” Shapiro stormed, “what’s the scoop? Yesterday you had Harper’s Company on the point, today Whistler’s. Are you saving Fox for the burial detail?”
“Don’t get your crap hot, Max.”
“My boys are getting pissed, Colonel.”
“By my calculations, Max, this hike will last three days before we hit the last island—Cora. It will be your turn to take the point tomorrow.” He winked at Shapiro.
“Whistler better not find any Japs today then.”
“Don’t worry. I think there’ll be plenty to go around.”
“Well, don’t forget it. We get the point tomorrow.”
Huxley smiled as the big plump sergeant and the little plump captain stood fast waiting for their rearguard company to reach them. Huxley was confident that Fox Company would be the one to contact the enemy. He had maneuvered the march so it would turn out that way. His gamble on that hothead Shapiro would then pay off, he hoped. The little skipper had the finest and toughest hundred and sixty men he had ever seen, outside of the Raiders. Shapiro turned to him once more.
“Colonel, you got to do me a favor.”
“I’m listening.”
“Be a good guy and leave that candy-assed Looey, Bryce, in the CP when the action starts or send him to Bairiki for supplies.”
“Not so loud, Max.”
“I’ve been a good sport, Colonel, haven’t I? I know you palmed the bastard off as my exec just for kicks…but be a good guy.”
“I’ll talk to you tonight about it.”
CHAPTER 6
THE SCENERY was much the same as on the first day, only we found more evidence of Jap flight. Every several hundred yards a group of abandoned huts was spotted in clearings near the path. We didn’t stop to inspect them this time. Highpockets was pulling off a Huxley special. The sweat started coming as we turned from east to northwest around the corner of Karen Island. From out of nowhere, more of Lancelot’s buddies began appearing at the roadside and joining the march. Alone and in small groups they came until we had over fifty eager beavers prancing up and down the line making friendly chatter, gleeful about the big adventure. With the natives came stray dogs. They looked lean and hungry; their ribs poked against their skins. They soon had themselves a field day with tidbits from softhearted Marines who dug into rations to feed them during the breaks.
Although we weren’t burdened with packs, we carried two canteens of water, a first aid kit, a machete, a G.I. knife, a trenching shovel, a poncho, a compass, and two hundred rounds of ammunition and four grenades. Somehow, I just couldn’t get the stuff to ride right. We were also burdened with the extra weight of the radios and we switched off the load every fifteen minutes to keep up maximum speed.
We got a lucky break when the natives began insisting on taking a turn in carrying the radios and heavy gear. We were grateful although they couldn’t handle the canvas straps on bare skin and Huxley’s pace for more than a few minutes at a time. The tempo of their life was much slower than the tempo of Highpockets on the march.
At last we came to an exhausted halt as Captain Whistler raced back to us. We fell to the roadside, gasping, and shared a few gulps of water and cigarettes with the Gilbertese. Jubilant at their reward, they were soon scaling some of the nearby palm trees and slinging down green husked fruit. When the deck was piled high, they cut the tops open with amazing dexterity. The whitish juice was sugary and cool in the natural refrigeration of layers of soft rind. It tasted wonderful.
Whistler, Huxley, Wellman, and Marlin wiped their sweat-soaked faces, doffed their helmets and lit up. “Better come up and take a look, skipper.” the beetle-browed Captain of Easy Company said. “We’re at the end of the island and there’s about sixty yards of water to the next one.”
“Did you send any of your boys across?”
“No, sir, we pulled up. I didn’t want to commit them without permission.”
“I hope it isn’t too deep. We’re running into a