Battle Cry - Leon Uris [60]
“Just like a man,” Rae sighed. “It’s a beautiful opera and so many pretty songs. I didn’t know one person could write so many.” She looked at him lazily. “It’s almost daybreak, Marion; don’t you have to be back in camp?”
“I have a little time,” he answered. “It’s Friday—that means field day. Clean up for Saturday inspection. Old Man Huxley inspects the barracks with white gloves on.”
“Sam Huxley?”
“That’s right, how did you know?”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“Rae.”
“Yes, Marion.”
“Well—look, Rae, couldn’t we meet in San Diego next liberty and you and I go to dinner and a show or something?”
The redhead bit her lip. “I like it here on the boat, same as you do. Couldn’t we just go on meeting and…oh, now I’ve hurt your feelings.”
“I thought that…well, it’s been over a month and I kind of felt you liked me.”
“Marion, I do like you. I like you a lot.”
“I’m just a nice kid, is that it?”
“Golly, fellow, do you think I’d sit here with you till five in the morning if…well, honestly, Marion, you said yourself you hated the city. Couldn’t we just go on meeting here?”
“If you want to make it a big mystery.”
“I want to see you, I really do. I like it here with you.” The boat creaked against the wharf. The weary hands roped her up.
“I’d better shove off.”
“Will I see you Saturday night?” she called after him.
He looked over his shoulder. “Maybe.”
I marched my squad past the last barracks in camp into the sand dunes towards the practice landing nets. The rig-up consisted of a sheer wooden wall thirty-five feet high representing the side of a ship. From the top platform hung a heavy cargo net ending in a Higgins boat, nestled in the sand below. The men struggled over the sand with the communications cart bogging down under the weight of a full load of radios.
“If we got to do mules’ work, they could at least give us mules’ rating. I hear them animals are at least corporals. I think I’ll bang ears for a transfer.”
“Come on, jackass, turn off the air and pull.”
“O.K., you meatheads, take off your packs and stand at ease,” I ordered. “If you don’t learn anything else in this lash-up, for Chrisake learn how to get up and down these nets and in and out of the assault boats.” They were looking up thirty-five feet to the top of the platform, unhappily. “This is simple. Wait till you hit the bow net of a live ship on a choppy sea.”
“I want to go back to the reservation, me no like white man’s war.”
“I ought to run him up one of them sixty-foot redwoods,” Andy, the lumberjack, ribbed.
“Mother, I’ve come home to die.”
“Teamwork is essential. Fubar on the nets and you can louse up an entire landing team.” I jumped into the boat. “We’ll start the problem backwards. Andy, knock off the grab ass and pay attention!” They gathered about. “To get out of this contraption, you place your hands on the guardrail and spring away from the boat, like this.” I shot myself clear, tumbling over and chewing up a mouthful of sand. They roared.
“Encore,” L.Q. said.
“It isn’t funny egghead. It isn’t going to hurt to get your panties wet, but it’s sure as hell going to hurt if you don’t clear the boat and it bounces back on one of your legs…besides, I hear they’ve got new LCTs with drop ramps in the front. Load the gear and cart and we’ll practice hitting shore and charging up the beach.” I drilled them till their fannies dragged. “Move, you bastards! We got no place for stragglers in the Marine Corps! Come on, Andy, not head first! Grab that battery case, hang on to it…hit the deck, Injun! When going up the net, use your legs and not your arms or you’ll be bearing too much weight. Let your legs carry the load. Keep your eyes on your hands at all times…four abreast, up the net, let’s go.”
They tried it. Then I went on, “If you are on the bow net of the ship, you’ll have no support from the side of the ship. The net will be swinging free and your