Battle Cry - Leon Uris [234]
“V.I.P.s,” Danny whispered.
“That’s the courier plane,” a nearby Seabee whispered. “She transports secret messages, maps, and information to bases all over the Pacific.”
“Yeah?”
“She’s got a Brigadier General in command of her.”
“You mean a Brigadier for just one plane?”
“Not one plane…the plane. Picked crew too.”
Following the high rank with the cute crushed caps, a pair of high and mighty looking sergeants debarked. On their sleeves was a patch which read: Yank Correspondent. The two Marines stepped forward and poked their heads into the door. As they did one correspondent bumped into Danny.
“’Scuse me, soldier,” Danny said.
“Watch where you’re going.”
“Suppose we could go in and take a look around?” Andy said. “I never seen the inside of a big job like this before. I’d sure like to sit me in one of them there turrets.”
The writer spun about and looked at the ill-clad pair before him. They wore blue Navy dungarees, Army shoes, green tops, and battered pith helmets and stood bleary-eyed and bearded, in contrast to the neatly starched men all about. The sergeant lifted his nose and sputtered, “Just shove off. You’re in the way. Of course you can’t board this plane.”
“Don’t get unfriendly, dogface, I just asked a simple question.”
The correspondent took a step back as if the leprous-looking creatures were going to touch him.
“You boys are Marines, aren’t you?” a voice behind them said.
They turned and faced a tanned well-built young man and were amazed to see a silver star gleaming from his collar.
“Yes, sir, we’re Marines.”
“Kind of hard to tell in that get-up,” the general said.
They blushed self-consciously at their tattered clothes.
“I’m afraid the sergeant left his manners in the States,” the general continued. “You see, Marines, the Yank boys are elite, they like the smell of brass. Real working brass.” He turned to the sergeant. “I’m afraid you missed the real story on this island. These Marines took the atoll. Were you in the invasion, lads?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well, come aboard…Corporal Flowers.”
“Yes sir,” the corporal said, inching down the narrow gangway.
“These lads are Marines. Show them around the ship. You boys made a lot of noise in the States with this invasion. We are all proud of you.”
The red-faced correspondent stood openmouthed as Danny and Andy boarded and were welcomed by Corporal Flowers.
“Say, he’s a regular guy,” Danny said to the corporal after the general had gone in Perkins’ jeep.
“I’ll say he is. Most of them are. Young guys, you know,” the airman answered.
“Could we go up to the cockpit?”
“Sure, but don’t touch anything. Say, were you guys in on the landing? I’ll bet it was rough…. I can’t stand that Yank guy either.”
Meanwhile Marion pursued the more cultural aspects of the atoll in his off duty hours. Many times he made the long journey to Aboakoro, Nellie Island, where the largest village was located. He explored the natural wonders, studied the customs, and even made an attempt at mastering the tongue of the Gilbertese. On occasion he went out fishing in the masterfully handled hollowed-out coconut log canoes and on other occasions he enlarged his friendship with the Eurasian Calvin McIntosh, and kept his promise by bringing him all the books he could secure. The unhappy halfbreed had a field day when a Fox raiding party stole a case of books by accident and turned them over to Marion.
In the evenings when the tide was low in the lagoon Marion hunted down the million odd-shaped and magnificently colored shells in the sand and dug out the weirdly beautiful cat’s eyes to make bracelets and necklaces and earrings for his mother and Rae. Particularly fine specimens he sent back via the alligator to Shining Lighttower. The Navajo was adept in the ancient skill of his tribe, the art of silver smithing. Lighttower mounted the cat’s eyes on flawlessly shined and