Battle Cry - Leon Uris [218]
Huxley mumbled an oath. He signaled us to spin the generator again. “Hello Sarah. I’m going to make a check of what we’ll need and radio it. I want that stuff waiting there when the alligator gets in and you’d better not foul it up, understand?”
“Hello Lincoln White. Who the hell you think you are talking to, Huxley?”
“Hello Sarah. I don’t give a damn if I’m talking to Doug MacArthur. Have the supplies ready…over and out.” Huxley returned the earphones to Spanish Joe.
Sergeant Paris ducked into the hut, breathless. “Sir, we have found the Jasco squad.”
“Are they dead?”
“Yes, sir, all ten of them, over by the ocean.” We ran out, following Paris over the clearing, down the sloping jagged boulders to the surf. He shoved through some brush and we saw them. The Jasco boys lay grotesquely stiff on the deck, like figures in a wax museum, holding the pose they had when they were shot. The radio operator sat erect, his earphones on and his hand on the key of the smashed radio. The generator man stood slumped against a tree, his fingers clutching the handle of the generator. We passed among them quietly.
“At least the Japs didn’t cut them up,” Huxley whispered. “LeForce, get a burial party organized. Dig graves by the clearing. Make sure they are properly identified. Bring me a list and the personal belongings.”
“Aye aye, sir,” LeForce said, almost inaudibly.
I walked from the place. I should have been immune to the sight of blood after so many years in the Corps, but whenever I saw a dead man, especially a Marine, I got sick. I took a deep breath and cursed a few times to ease the pounding in my chest. I got to thinking about a bunch of people sitting in a living room, crying and grieving. It always hit me that way.
My eyes turned to the sky. From out of nowhere a monstrous black cloud swept in from the ocean and a swift breeze swished past. Then, as if turned on by a high pressure faucet, the sky opened in a torrent of rain.
“Have Captain Whistler double the guard. This is Jap weather,” Huxley said.
Lieutenant Bryce had crouched in the brush and watched as the last shovelful of coral was thrown atop the graves of the Jasco squad, and crudely made wooden crosses were sunk into the ground.
He slumped to the deck, chewed his fingernails and doubled over, sobbing hysterically. It was dark, dark and wet in the rainy night. He looked around. Those dead men…those stiff bodies….
I will die…we all will die. We will float in the water like the men in the lagoon. Huxley wants me to die…Shapiro will kill me! He will kill me! They want to kill themselves like the men in the lagoon…like the enemy kill themselves. I’ve got to live…I’ve got to tell the world that Marines live on blood! Blood! Blood! One island…another and another…it will never end. Tomorrow we will meet the Japanese and we will all kill ourselves. I’ve got to live. I’ll hide…yes, that’s it. Run back. The natives will hide me…I’ll say I was lost. Huxley can’t hurt me then…they won’t let him touch me.
He crawled to the road on his hands and knees.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
Bryce sprang to his feet and dashed down the road.
Crack! A shot whistled in the air.
Bryce fell to the road, groveling in the mud. “Don’t shoot me…don’t shoot me!” He pounded his fists into the dirt and screamed and clawed at the mud as if trying to dig. Doc Kyser and Huxley raced over to him. The doctor shouted to the rest to stay back.
Huxley jumped on Bryce and pinioned his arms behind him. The raving man fought back like a tiger. They rolled on the ground. Bryce slashed out as if his fingers were claws. Huxley struggled to his feet. The Lieutenant, his strength spent, crawled on his knees and threw his arms about Huxley’s legs.
“Don’t kill me…God, don’t kill me!”
He rolled over into the mud, emitting little laughs. For several moments Huxley stood over him and stared down. He shook his head and gritted his teeth.
“He is completely insane,” Kyser said.
“Poor devil,” Huxley said. “I am to blame.”
“Not any more than you are to blame for the war.” Kyser turned to the men. “You fellows