The Final Storm - Jeff Shaara [75]
He realized Ferucci was talking to him, but he couldn’t speak, coughed violently, put a shaking hand on his nose. He looked at the blood on his dirty fingers, saw the torn pant legs, more blood at his knees, took a breath, no pain, no other blood on his clothes.
“I’m okay, I think. Bloody nose. I think that’s it.”
“Get a corpsman up here! I’m not losing anybody today! Why the hell didn’t you run? I told you to get your ass back down here!”
Adams felt helpless, like a small child, still shaking, said in a stammer, “I don’t know. I couldn’t …”
He saw the lieutenant crawling toward them, the officer making a sharp glance toward Ferucci, who said, “He’s okay. Not hit. We couldn’t spot that bastard. He’s up in that brush somewhere.”
“Sergeant, next time you want to designate somebody for recon, use your damn brains! You sent him up there in the wide damn open!”
“Aye, sir. But we hadn’t seen any Japs … I thought …” Ferucci stopped, frozen by the lieutenant’s stare. “Aye, sir.”
Porter looked at Adams, seemed to scan him.
“All right. Maybe that son of a bitch is gone, crawled back into his hole. Unless we give him another target. Let’s stay in cover, keep close to the ditch, get past this guy. He can’t be the only damn Nambu gun in these hills, so stay low, use whatever cover you can. And keep your distance. Five yards apart! Move out on my signal. Walkie-talkie!”
“Sir!”
The man crawled along the rocky depression, pulled the equipment from his back, handed it to Porter.
“Charlie six, this is Charlie two. We’re taking Nambu fire. You hear it?”
The response was a crackling garble, the words just audible.
“Roger, Charlie six … a clump of trees … two hundred yards above …”
Porter spoke again, “Charlie two, we’re moving out. Watch your flank. The enemy is still up there, but looks like a lone duck. Pretty sure we missed him.”
A new voice came now, and Porter’s reaction was different, his authority fading. It was Captain Bennett.
“Charlie six, negative that. We can’t leave him in our rear. Charlie two, move up the hill. Charlie six, do the same. Find him!”
Porter lowered the walkie-talkie, seemed to pause, stared down, thoughts Adams couldn’t read. Then Porter said, “Aye, sir. Charlie six … out.” The lieutenant handed the walkie-talkie to Hunley, the carrier, said in a low voice, “Guess we’ve got a job to do.” He peered up briefly over a low flat rock, no fire coming down. In the ditch across the road, Yablonski called out, “If that bastard is still up there, I’ll draw his fire. I poured two clips into those trees. I saw something move, but that’s it. I mighta hit him.”
Porter pointed a finger toward Yablonski, toward the others on that side of the road.
“Whether you hit him or not … you’re our cover! We’re going up, and if that bastard opens fire again, lay down as much return fire as you can! Where’s the BAR?”
Gridley was across the road as well, responded, “Here!”
“Good! Use it, son. Anything moves up there, blow hell out of it! Watch out for Charlie two. They’ll be moving up on our right, beyond that rise.”
The lieutenant took a long breath, glanced both ways, the others on the near side of the road watching him. Adams saw something new in the lieutenant’s eyes, a hard glaze, staring right through the men closest to him. The words came out slowly, precise, a slight wavering, and Adams realized now, the man was afraid.
“Keep low. Use the cover. That bastard fires, hit the deck, let these boys nail him from back here. They might see him before we do.” He paused, looked to