Battle Cry - Leon Uris [255]
I caught a train in Chicago with a feeling of relief, knowing I had but one more stop to make. As I neared Baltimore I looked through the window and as the scenes passed before me it somehow felt familiar, the way Danny had told me it was time and again.
It was raining outside. I closed my eyes and rested back. The clickety-clack of the wheels nearly lulled me to sleep and I thought about my boys and about Huxley’s Whores. The fresh-faced kids and the misfits that had made the old-timers wince at first sight of them. And I remembered Huxley’s words: “Make Marines out of them….”
Yes, they took us back and the roadsigns were white—white crosses. And they were still taking them back, to a place called Iwo Jima. Three divisions of Marines were there, within fighter-plane range of Japan. At this moment they were on the hottest rock of them all.
Like any gyrene I thought there had never been an outfit like mine. But in my heart I knew that we were but one of fifty assault battalions in a Corps that had grown beyond comprehension. There were other outfits that had seen much rougher fighting and shed more blood. Five Marine Divisions, with a Sixth being formed. The Corps had sure grown.
I looked through the rainstreaked window and caught a fleeting glimpse of a wide-lawned street with a set of huge buildings. It must have been Johns Hopkins Hospital. Then the train plunged into a long tunnel.
“Baltimore! There will be a ten-minute stopover.”
I nudged the sleeping boy sitting beside me. “Wake up, Danny, you’re home.”
He opened his eyes and stood. I helped him square away his field scarf and button his blouse.
“How do I look?”
“Like a doll.” The train lurched as it braked to a stop. I caught him to prevent his falling. Danny winced. “Hurt?” I asked.
“No.”
“How’s the old flipper feel?”
He grinned. “It won’t be much good for tossing fifty-yard passes. They told me they’ll be pulling shrapnel out of my back for ten years.”
The train halted. I pulled Danny’s gear from the luggage rack and edged to the door. We stepped from the train. I gave the bags to a porter and handed him a bill.
For many moments Danny and I looked at each other. Both of us wanted to say something but neither of us knew what to say. Something had passed from our lives that would never return. For me, just a cruise was over. For me there would be another station, another batch of kids to train, another campaign. Our two lives, which had once been so important to each other, were now a long way apart.
“Sure you won’t stay a couple of days, Mac?”
“Naw, you don’t want me around. I got to get to New York and see Levin’s dad and get on back to the coast. Not much time left.”
A crowd surged past us to fight onto the already crowded train. Behind us a gang of kids stood with their handbags. A Marine recruiting sergeant in dress blues paced up and down. “You have five minutes,” he barked. Voices rose behind Danny and me.
“Take care of yourself, son.”
“Get a Jap for me, will you?”
“Write.”
“Now don’t worry, Mom, everything is going to be all right.”
“They’re putting us in a place called boot camp for a few weeks.”
“You’ll be sorreee,” a uniformed Marine sang out as he passed them.
Danny and I embraced clumsily. “So long, you salty old sonofabitch.”
“So long, gyrene.”
Danny turned and pushed his way down the platform to the foot of the stairs. I followed, several paces behind him.
A news vendor shouted his headline. “Marines take Surabatchi on Iwo Jima! Get your latest News-Post and Sun. Marines on Iwo Jima!” I caught a glimpse of the front page he waved. They were raising the flag on the mountain top in the picture.
Danny fought step by step up the long stairs. Then, he stopped and looked up. She was there. Surely she’s the angel I pictured for him.
“Danny!” she shouted over the din.
“Kathy…Kathy!” And they fought through the mass of hurrying people into each other