Battle Cry - Leon Uris [224]
“Dammit,” Huxley said. “We haven’t enough ammo to keep this up.”
“Maybe we’d better radio for fire support from the destroyer,” Marlin suggested.
“No. We are on top of each other now. One bad salvo and we’ll fix ourselves up for good, and air support would be even riskier.”
Shapiro popped his head outside the hut. “Hey, you people,” he called to the riflemen behind the trees, who were covering the CP, “can’t you tell when they’re shooting down on you? Spray those treetops to your right.” He stuck his head back in. “The way it looks to me, skipper, the brush they are in is only about fifty yards deep. If we can bust through it we can make them pull back past the next clearing. That will take the pressure off Harper and get the line connected.”
“How?” Huxley said. “We can’t rush them.”
“Sam,” Marlin said excitedly, “why not retreat till morning and let the destroyer have a go at them? Maybe we can starve them out in two or three days and bag the lot of them as prisoners.”
Huxley turned purple. He looked for a moment as though he was going to spit at his operations officer. Marlin cowered back.
“Those Nips are as beat out as we are,” Shapiro said. “Maybe we can suck them into charging us.”
“They won’t fall for anything like that.”
“They’ve been pulling it on us the whole damned war. If we quit shooting and start yelling they may whip up into a banzai try. The way we’re going now we’ll be out of ammo and men before we are able to move. We’ve got to do something and fast.”
Huxley pondered. His line was thin and his casualties were piling up. He had to beat them out of that brush before dark or suffer a night attack. They were simply trying to outlast him and held the superior position. Yes, something unorthodox had to be done…. “O.K., Max, we will give hera try.”
He cranked the phone. “Wellman, this is Sam. Have Harper hold at all costs. We are going to try to lure the Nips out in the open. If they come out, Whistler is to move his boys right past us into that brush. He is not to come to the assistance of Fox Company but to bypass us and drive forward, understand.”
“Yes, Sam. Good luck.”
“Funny,” Shapiro mused, “Ed Coleman used that same trick, Sam. I underestimated you.”
Huxley sluffed off the compliment. “Runner.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get out there and pass the word to cease firing except at visible targets. They are to just sit there and start yelling, and tell them to make it loud, clear, and nasty. If the Japs charge, stay put till they reach our position and then use bayonets.”
“Aye aye, sir.” The runner grabbed his helmet and shot out from the hut. From lip to lip the word soon passed over the field. Behind rocks and trees the men of Fox Company slowly fixed bayonets and their rifles became silent. They grasped their weapons tightly and glued their eyes on the green mass of brush before them. Suddenly, the Japanese rifles stopped firing. The switch had caught them off balance; they feared a trick. A faint jabbering was heard. Max Shapiro stepped from the hut and cupped his hands to his lips.
“Hey Tojo!” he shouted. “You bastards sure are lousy shots. Looks like the vultures will be having a meal of Jap meat tonight!”
“Show your faces, you yellow-bellied bastards!”
“Hey, maggot bait!”
“Have a drink, Jap.” A coconut was hurled into the brush, followed by a barrage of them.
“Take a shot, Tojo.” A Marine stuck his head from behind a rock. A shot whistled by. “Hey Tojo, three for a quarter.”
Huxley watched anxiously as the barrage of words was hurled out. Then, it became very silent. Only the drifting smoke of a cigarette could be seen. A wind rippled through the camp. For ten minutes the eerie quiet continued. Then a weird song arose down the line of Marines:
“Did you ever think
When a hearse goes by,
That you might be the next to die….”
There was no sound of joy in the voices that blended in the chorus that cut the hot afternoon stickiness. It was trembly,