Battle Cry - Leon Uris [232]
WARNING: ANYONE CAUGHT STEALING GEAR OR SUPPLIES OF ANY TYPE WILL BE SUBJECTED TO GENERAL COURT-MARTIAL. MAX SHAPIRO, CAPTAIN, USMC.
Another:
IT HAS BEEN CALLED TO MY ATTENTION THAT NUMEROUS SUPPLIES FROM NEIGHBORING CAMPS HAVE BEEN MISSING. ANY INFORMATION LEADING TO THE APPREHENSION OF THE THIEVES WILL BE APPRECIATED BY THIS COMMAND.
Commodore Perkins’ patrol swooped in at daybreak. Jittery over the possibility of having to face armed Marines, they were surprised to find a peaceful little camp of the finest military nature. As the patrol rushed in on three sides, the men of Fox were going through a rigid routine of close order drill and rifle inspection. Perkins left the place, muttering to himself. MacArthur was promoted to corporal and presented with a brand-new machete, something he had always wanted for cutting coconuts down from the palms.
Each day the alligator arrived at the main camp on Bairiki from Buota with new tales of the daring banditry of Shapiro’s Foxes. It made good kindling for bull sessions in the monotonous routine.
The first mailcall from the States, bringing in loads of back letters, was a Godsend but at the same time it only made the men realize how lost and alone they were and how long the war was going to last. The G.I. blues set in in a bad way. And there were the neatly wrapped stacks of letters stamped K.I.A. to remind us that so many of our buddies were gone. There was no talk of Levin or Burnside aside from casual mention once that they were up for medals. The rotten diet, alleviated only by Fox Company’s packages, did little to build the worn bodies. The searing heat and dryrot monotony was bad for an outfit like Huxley’s Whores. We were used to action and life and this sitting on a two-by-four island sucked our vigor. We were listless and soon illness came in the form of dengue fever.
Sam Huxley realized the predicament. He fought hard to prevent demoralization even though morale never seemed to be a Marine problem. Highpockets decided to enlarge the Fox outpost by sending fifty men at a time to Buota for four-day periods. A fill of beer, a look at the women and a chance for atoll liberty did wonders. The four days on Buota rejuvenated them.
Each group returned to Bairiki loaded with beer and Fox Company hospitality, dressed in Navy fatigues and full of tales as tall as the palms. One unfortunate event occurred. The Sisters of the Mission passed the word throughout the villages that all women were to wear halters. They explained discreetly that their exposure caused desires in peoples of Western civilization. A dirty trick! However, a few brave native girls held out for their time-honored bare freedom and it made friendships between them and the Marines much easier, as the unhaltered directly invited establishment of better relations.
As anywhere, the American troops spoiled the natives rotten till the price of services for menial tasks performed soared tenfold.
The jeep stuck in the mud of a rut on the road that ran through the middle of an Army camp on Karen Island. At the sight of a jeep full of Marines the soldiers ducked from sight to protect their belongings. McQuade had made the cardinal mistake of taking a jeep out in the daylight. As its wheels spun about sinking it deeper in the mire, an Army major rushed from his tent.
“Goddammit!” the major screamed. “My jeep!”
McQuade cut off the motor and leaned back. “You say this is your jeep, Major?”
“You’re damned right it is. I caught you red-handed.”
“Well, what