Battle Cry - Leon Uris [81]
We were in the barracks when the news broke. First by radio, then a paper boy came through and quickly sold out. Danny was lying on his sack. He had a tortured expression on his face. It was twisted-like, to hold off tears. His newspaper fell to the deck and he left the room quickly and went to the porch outside. The list was on the first page. There, in a short column on the bottom, he saw it.
FIRST CASUALTY REPORT FROM SOLOMONS’ FIGHTING
August 8, 1942 (AP) Guadalcanal, BSI with the First Marine Division: Although fighting on Guadalcanal was comparatively free of casualties, sharp resistance was met by attached units landing on the islands across the waters of Skylark Channel; on Tulagi, Gavutu, and Tanembogo. The Navy Department makes this first American casualty list public:
KILLED IN ACTION:
Aarons, Jacob, Cpl., Newbury, Conn.
Burns, Joseph, Pvt., San Francisco, Calif.
Martinelli, Gino., Cpl., Monterey, Calif.
Nix, James B., Lt., Little Rock, Ark.
Norton, Milton, Pfc., Philadelphia, Penn….
WOUNDED IN ACTION:…
I, too, read the list and saw the light. The Marine Corps had not changed. War was still war and they would be dying, no matter what.
I gathered the squad about my bunk. “I just came from the First Sergeant’s office and here is the scoop you fellows have been pestering me about. We have four furloughs open for the squad.”
A murmur of a special kind of excitement passed through them. “There are nine of you fellows. Burnside and me don’t count. There will be two shifts. Two weeks and no travel time. There is only one fair way to do it, draw numbers.”
“Just a minute,” Andy interrupted. “Count me out. I…I ain’t got no special place to go. I just ain’t interested.”
“Me, too,” said Ski. The two walked away.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll make slips up and number them from one to seven. Low numbers are in. Numbers one and two will leave this Saturday.” I dropped the folded papers into my canteen cup and shook it up. I didn’t like it—someone was going to be left out. They tensely reached in and sat almost afraid to unroll their slips.
Lighttower’s face lit up. “I’m going back to the reservation,” he sighed.
“Number one,” L.Q. said.
“Iowa, here I come,” announced Seabags.
“I’m in,” Speedy Gray said.
“Number eight.” Spanish Joe said and shrugged and walked away. “Don’t make no difference, I’d of sold my trip.”
Marion and Danny managed a grin. “Lucky seven,” Danny said. “I guess you and me are it,” he said to Marion.
Just a bad break. Everyone wanted to go home. Danny and Marion went to Danny’s bunk. He began cleaning his Reising gun. In a few moments, L.Q. Jones walked over.
“Hey, Big Dan and Mary.”
“What?”
“Why don’t you two guys fight over my place? I live in L.A. and get home almost every weekend.”
“Naw,” Danny said, “I couldn’t take your furlough.”
“Mac, Pucchi, and Keats already said it is O.K.”
Danny turned to Marion.
“Look, Danny,” Marion said, “I know you won’t believe this, but I don’t want to go back until it is all over. I mean that.”
“I…I don’t know what to say.”
“Better start packing, Danny,” Marion said.
“But…but…”
“Just say we’re big and easy,” L.Q. said and slapped his back.
Danny arrived in Philadelphia from the airport. He went directly to the Thirtieth Street station and purchased a ticket for Baltimore and checked his canvas officer’s bag in a locker. He caught a cab at the stand outside the huge marble monument to travel.
“Where to, soldier?” the driver asked.
“I’m a Marine,” Danny barked.
“’Scuse me, didn’t notice. You guys are sure touchy about it. All the same country and the same war.”
“Three-fifty College Way,” Danny directed.
The cabbie’s incessant chatter fell on dumb ears. Danny felt uneasy as they whisked past the ancient brick walls and ivy covered buildings of what obviously was the University of Pennsylvania. In a side street, just a short walk from the school, the taxi pulled to a stop.
He found himself standing on the sidewalk looking up at a Victorian structure. The boards creaked beneath his feet as he slowly walked to the porch and