Battle Cry - Leon Uris [5]
Danny slumped down in his seat and a weird sensation passed through him. Alone now…I’m sorry to God I did it. His heart pounded. He felt unable to control a cold clammy sweat. Alone…why did I join?…why?
The boy next to him held out a pack of cigarettes. Danny declined, then introduced himself.
“Forrester, Danny Forrester.”
“Jones, L. Q. You don’t want to hear my first name. It drives people mad. I’m from L.A., but I was visiting my uncle here when the war broke out….” His words fell upon deaf ears as the train broke from the tunnel.
Danny looked out of the window. Block after block of attached brick houses with white marble steps flitted by. A wide lawned street and the Johns Hopkins Hospital. Then, tired from the long day of waiting and falling into lines and waiting, he rested back and closed his eyes.
“I’m a Marine…I am a Marine,” he repeated to himself to the clickety-clack of the wheels. Everything seems so unreal. A thrill passed through him…Kathy loves me.
Forest Park High—it seemed so far away already. Forest Park High….
The game was over. The frenzied alma-mater-singing, cheer-calling, goalpost-pulling students had departed from Baltimore Municipal Stadium.
After a slap on the back by Coach Wilbur Grimes, the weary and dejected players of Forest Park left the gear-cluttered dressing room and went into the frosty November air to receive tribute from the remaining loyal fans.
A half hour later Danny Forrester emerged from the shower. The room was empty save for the little equipment manager scurrying about, on a final check. The place had a mixed odor of sweat and steam and the floor was cluttered with misplaced benches and towels. He dressed, slipped into his moccasins and stepped to the mirror and wiped away a circle of mist. He combed his hair and then placed his finger on his right eye which was bruised and quickly swelling.
“Nice game, Danny,” the equipment manager said, slapping him on the back and leaving.
He walked to his locker and took out his green and silver jacket. The door opened, sending a gust of cold air in, and Wilbur Grimes entered, turned down the collar of his coat and pulled up a bench. He took out his pipe and loaded up.
“In a hurry?”
“No, sir.”
“Good news, Danny. I’ve got a letter from the Georgia Tech Alumni Association. The scholarship is all set up.”
“Oh.”
“Come on now, lad—forget the game, it’s all over. The kids were disappointed when you didn’t come out with Virg and the team.”
“I just didn’t see anything to cheer about, Coach. We lost. We wanted to put City’s head on a platter and give it to you. This is our last game, we wanted to win bad.”
The coach smiled. “I’d say we showed pretty good. Losing by one point to a team that hasn’t been defeated for five years is certainly no disgrace. At any rate we would have run them off the field if I had ten more boys like you out there.”
Danny did not look up from his bowed position at Grimes’ compliment, though it was the first he had ever gotten as an individual from the coach, who always praised or berated only the group.
Coach Grimes puffed his pipe. “At least you might be a little happier over the scholarship.”
“I don’t know, sir. Georgia is a little far from home. I was sort of thinking about going to Maryland instead.”
“Oh come now, Danny. You had your heart set on that Civil Engineering course. Why the sudden change?”
Danny just nodded his head.
“Virg didn’t get an offer…that’s it, isn’t it?”
“Well, sir.”
“So that’s it. I smelled it.”
“We sort of made a pact, Coach, that we’d go through college together.”
The coach arose and stood over the boy. “Look, lad, you’ve played your last game for me, so I can speak freely to you. I’ve been coaching at this school fifteen years. I suppose I’ve had a thousand boys under me at one time or another. And