Battle Cry - Leon Uris [242]
Snipes had recently succeeded to the Second Division command. The legend said that no one had ever seen Snipes smile. There is no one to refute that.
“You requested permission to see me, Huxley. I see you wasted no time getting here.” His words were always sharp and to the point to subordinates and superiors alike.
“My battalion is still sitting on top of the mountain in Hawaii, sir.”
“We won’t leave them there.”
“General Snipes. I realize I’m stepping out of line but I must ask you a pertinent question. We were originally assigned to one of the LSTs that blew up, weren’t we?”
“You’re quite right. You are way out of line.”
“Am I to assume, sir, that the LSTs are to spearhead the pending invasion and that we were selected as one of the combat teams to establish a beachhead?”
“I don’t see any reason to carry this conversation further.”
“But we’re going to.”
“What!”
“I further assume that you have been unable to replace all the LSTs and that my outfit has been reassigned to a troop transport.”
“For a junior officer, you do a lot of assuming, Huxley.”
“Then I’m right. You’ve changed our assignment. We aren’t landing first.”
Snipes’ words were arctic cold. “You let us do the figuring. You’ll do as you’re told. Get out of here before I have you court-martialed.” The General began to thumb through the papers on his desk. The tall man before him stood fast. Snipes looked up slowly, his eyes drawn to slits, his face frozen. Tobacco-stained teeth showed between his drawn thin lips.
“Dammit, General! This is the last round. We are getting close to Japan,” Huxley went on. “With five divisions of Marines out here we’ll never get another chance.”
Snipes reached for his phone.
“Go on, call the M.P.s. You and your whole lousy crowd have been shoving the Sixth Marines around too long—you’re jealous of us.”
Snipes studied the rawboned officer before him. “It is common knowledge that you rode General Pritchard on Guadalcanal. You’re getting a reputation as a troublemaker.”
“That’s a lie and you know it. We’ve worked hard. You know damned well we have the finest regiment in the Corps.”
“All right, Huxley, sit down and cool off. I want to show you something.” He walked to a wall safe, spun the dials, and withdrew an immense bound document and threw it on his desk.
“Ever see one of these?”
“No, sir.”
He read the cover: Operation Kingpin, Top Secret.
“Two thousand pages, Huxley. Tides, winds, expected casualties, rounds of ammo, gallons of gas, topography, native customs, history of the enemy commander, Jap fleet disposition, how many rolls of toilet paper we’ll need—name it, we’ve got it here.” He leaned over his desk. “Three divisions are going in, Huxley. Sixty thousand men. We are taking an island to give us a jumping-off place to bomb Tokyo around the clock. Do you hear! So you want to change the entire operation…risk a thousand lives and a billion dollars. Who the hell do you think you are!”
Huxley was white faced. “General Snipes,” he said slowly, “you can take that big book and you know just where you can shove it. You know as well as I do that you can throw the book away when the first shot is fired. Did the book win Guadalcanal? Did the book keep those kids coming in through the lagoon at Tarawa? This one isn’t going to be any different. It’s the little bastards with the rifles and the bayonets and the blood and the guts that will win this war for you, General, and by God, I’ve got the best in the Corps and I want that beachhead!”
“Once upon a time, Huxley, we thought you were a bright young lad. After this campaign you can expect to spend the rest of your life in the Corps inspecting labels on pisspots. I will not tolerate insubordination!”
The color returned to Sam’s cheeks and his big fists unclenched. “General,” he said softly. “When I came here I knew I was going to leave one of two ways. Either by the brig or at the head of my battalion. I want to resign from the Corps. I want an immediate transfer until the resignation is effective. If you pigeonhole it you’ll have to court-martial