Battle Cry - Leon Uris [229]
“Thank you, Sister Joan. What can we do for you? What do you need here? We will be happy to send anything.”
“Don’t you worry yourself about that, my son. You are very tired.”
“You shall hear from us, I promise.”
“Colonel Huxley.”
“Yes, Sister?”
“About the Japanese dead…would your men…?”
“I’m afraid not. I understand your feelings, but this is war, you know.”
“Very well. The natives shall dig their graves.”
I looked down the road and saw the remains of Fox Company limping back. Shapiro was at their head, a cigar clenched in his teeth and a look of triumph on his face as he went to Huxley to report the end of resistance. McQuade walked by him, his dungaree shirt in shreds and his huge belly hanging over his pistol belt.
“Where is that candy-ass Burnside?” McQuade roared. “He can come out of his hole now, the fighting’s over.” Gunner Keats went to him and put his arm on his shoulder, led him over the road, and whispered to him. McQuade stopped short and spun about. He stood dazed for a moment. Keats patted his back slowly and then took the helmet from his balding head and walked slowly toward the gravediggers to the long line of bodies awaiting their final sack.
“Mac.”
I scrambled to my feet. “Yes, sir?”
“Are any radios working?” Huxley asked.
“The one in the alligator.”
“The next time it comes in, send this message.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
ENEMY CONTACTED AND DESTROYED ON CORA ISLAND THIS DATE. JAPANESE CASUALTIES: FOUR HUNDRED AND TWENTY-THREE DEAD. WOUNDED NONE. CAPTURED NONE. OUR CASUALTIES: NINETY-EIGHT DEAD. TWO HUNDRED THIRTEEN WOUNDED. TARAWA ATOLL IS SECURED. SIGNED, SAMUEL HUXLEY, LT. COLONEL, COMMANDER, SECOND BATTALION, SIXTH MARINES.
CHAPTER 8
AGAIN Huxley’s Whores were a garrison force. We had no sooner set foot on Bairiki Island, once known as Sarah, than Huxley reminded us that we were Marines. In a matter of a few days we had set up an immaculate camp. Every cigarette butt was up, the slit trenches were dug squarely, we lined up for roll call, working parties, chow, and inspection. All hands shaved, bathed and slowly returned to the human race. When our packs arrived from Helen it was like meeting old friends. We were the only Marine troops on the atoll and no provision had been made to survey our ragged clothing. We hung our stuff together with sewing kits. The order went out that we were to stay fully clothed at all times as the flies carried a new brand of poison, dengue fever.
We dug a deep shelter for a new radio, organized ball teams, L.Q. put out a daily newspaper made up of armed forces newscasts, and generally we steadied ourselves for the dryrot boredom of inaction.
I was amazed at the speed with which Tarawa was built into a major striking base. The airstrip at Betio was going full blast and installations sprang up daily along the chain of islands.
A lesser man than Highpockets would have had a job on his hands to keep us under control. However, on Sarah we were isolated and left alone to bitch our heads off over the lousy chow, ragged uniforms, and solid coral beds.
This wasn’t the case with Fox Company. Shapiro’s outfit was dispatched several islands up near a defense battery and very close to the new airstrip and the center of activity. What Shapiro’s Foxes did to the Army and Seabees in the next six weeks more than avenged the rest of us on Bairiki.
No sooner was the Fox campsite chosen than the men were over on the Seabees by the airstrip on Lulu. The first things they took were sufficient cots and pads for themselves. In order to escape detection, they cut the legs off and fixed their cots in the deck so that when covered by a poncho it appeared to be nothing more than a hole in the ground. This didn’t aggravate the Seabees, they were fond of the Marines, showed them respect and made no effort to locate the missing cots. In fact, they anticipated and encouraged the boys of Fox Company to frequent their mess hall. Their chow call was never held without half of Shapiro’s men in line for the fresh juices, vegetables, ice cream, and a variety of meats.
Away from Huxley