Battle Cry - Leon Uris [236]
“But the tide is in, no can cross.”
“Get the duck then.”
“But Max, we’ll all get court-martialed.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass…I’ll take full responsibility.”
“We have to get instructions quicker,” Pedro said. “The round trip will take several hours. Radio to Sarah, quick.”
They hung on every word as the generator whined out and Pedro’s voice skipped down the chain of islands.
I was on watch at Sarah when the call came through and sent a runner to fetch Doc Kyser. I turned the mike and earphones over to him.
“How sick is he?”
“A hundred and five point two temp.”
“How long has he been ill?”
“Several days.”
“Pains in back and stomach?”
“Seems terrible agony…he’s delirious now, Doctor.”
“It’s dengue all right. We can’t do a damned thing for him.”
“What?”
“We don’t know what to do, Pedro. Give him aspirin and take the normal high-fever precautions and just wait it out.”
“But Doc, is there nothing…”
“We don’t know anything about dengue, Pedro. We don’t know what to do.”
“Can you not get up here?”
“I have fifty boys here full of fever now. I’ll try to get up there tomorrow. I’m sorry.”
Pedro handed the earphones back to L.Q. and seated himself once more on the edge of the cot and told the others to get some sleep. There was no sleep for Andy, L.Q. and Marion. The three and the corpsman kept a drowsy watch through the night, starting at each new moan and cry of anguish from Danny. A hundred times he called his wife’s name, “Kathy…Kathy,” through lips which turned from cracked dry to sweating wet. His voice moaned weaker as the hours wore on. He would toss and squirm and then make a sudden scream and shoot to a sitting position, his eyes glassy and unseeing. Pedro fought him back down and tried to cool his body before another chill set in.
Dawn found Danny in an exhausted slumber, drained of his strength. Pedro once more worked a thermometer between Danny’s lips. The three buddies nodded in quiet anxiousness as Pedro took the reading.
“It is good. It has dropped to a hundred and two.”
McQuade made his way into the tent. He was barefooted and half asleep. “Pedro, can you get over to my tent for a minute. One of my boys is down with the fever. He’s trying to make his peace with God.”
Pedro arose, wavering, and put his pack together.
“Thanks a lot,” Marion said.
“When he come to make him drink plenty juice. He’s all dry out. I come back right after sick call.” He left.
“Looks like we’re in for an epidemic,” McQuade said.
Danny opened his eyes. Everything whirled. He tried to speak but it felt as though his throat were caked solid. He raised his hand, then felt his head being lifted by a pair of strong hands and an icy trickle forced its way down his mouth. He gagged and fell back on the cot. He looked up and made out Andy’s broad form. It looked like he was standing behind a veil. Danny winced and grabbed his side and rolled and gasped to fight back tears from the knifing pain.
“How’s it going, Danny?”
He answered with a mumbled shaking of his head.
“Drink some more juice.” He rolled Danny over gently and poured down another few hard-taken swallows. Danny’s hand feebly clutched Andy’s lapel.
“I’m going to die.”
“No you ain’t.”
“I’m going to die, Andy.” L.Q. was frightened by the terrible change that had come over Danny. “No worse than when you had the bug in New Zealand and they packed you away to Silverstream,” he said.
L.Q. didn’t like the hollow wild stare of his buddy’s eyes.
Danny was the kind of guy you had to have in a squad. He never made mistakes. You could always feel relieved knowing he was alongside you.
Danny began crying.
Now, that looked rotten. They had seen him sick before, out of his head with malaria. They had lived through the lonely gnawing at his heart together. But Danny losing his will, lying there and crying? A hulk weeping and groaning with pain, whining like a beaten dog. It scared them all.
“I’m going to die. I never got it like this—everything hurts me.”
They stood over him awkwardly trying to reach for words of comfort.
“I want