The Final Storm - Jeff Shaara [77]
Porter said only, “Stay down. Could be more. I see the bastard.”
The two men crawled up past some low pines, and Adams felt a burning curiosity, followed, tried to ignore the pain in his scraped knees. The sergeant sat, facing Porter, raised a machine gun up from the brushy thicket, stood it upright on its butt, a look of pure joy on his face.
“Look at this piece of crap. That the best they got?”
Adams moved closer, staring at the machine gun, could see the enemy soldier now, the dull brown uniform, coated in blood, the man lying facedown beside what looked like a small round foxhole. The lieutenant eased over close to the hole, stared down, said, “Spider hole. Not big enough for a rabbit. These sons of bitches could be all over the place. I bet we’ve been walking right past them.”
“Not this one. I’ll take credit for him, but I know your BAR ripped hell out of the trees, could have nailed him too.”
The sergeant was beaming, the star of his own show, his squad gathering up through the trees. He stood now, still held the Nambu, aimed it upward, his words directed toward his men.
“Pretty light weight. If this is the best they can do, it’s gonna be a short fight.”
Adams saw Porter looking away, toward his own men, ignoring the sergeant’s bluster. Porter seemed to freeze now, pointed past Adams, said in a low voice, “There!”
Adams followed the man’s eyes, saw a fat tuft of grass, a patch of raw earth a few yards away. He felt a jolt, a nervous stab in his stomach, pointed the M-1 at the odd clump. He stepped slowly, aiming, saw it was another hole, round and deep, like a home for some giant worm. Porter moved out to the side, covering him, and Adams said, “It’s another one!”
Behind them, the sergeant was dismissive, said, “Passed a few more on the way up here. Looks like they skedaddled, left this one stupid asshole behind to keep us honest. Guess it didn’t work.”
Porter moved up close to Adams, examined the hole, ignored the sergeant’s arrogance.
“Let’s get moving.”
Long pointed back into the trees.
“My looey sent his walkie-talkie guy with us. He’s right back there. You wanna use it?”
“Use your head. We’re on a damn ridgeline. Anybody holding a walkie-talkie is a target for every Jap around here! We’re not sightseeing. Get your asses back down to the road. Your looey and I need to fill in the captain. But not from up here.”
Long was still holding the Nambu, admiring his trophy, but it was too large, too clumsy for a souvenir. He tossed it aside, and Adams was drawn back toward the Japanese soldier, could smell a sweet stink, blood and filth, felt a turn in his stomach. Long was watching him, still with the smile, suddenly launched a hard kick into the body, a sickening crunch against the dead man’s side.
“You ain’t seen too many of these, have you kid?”
“No.”
“Well, I seen a bunch. Before this is over, there’ll be so damn many, you can make a necklace out of their teeth. Nice gift for your girl, huh?”
Adams wasn’t sure if Long was kidding or not, said only, “Sure.”
Adams tried to avoid the wide smile on the sergeant’s face, didn’t know what else to say. Long leaned out closer to him, put one foot on the Japanese corpse, said in a whisper, “Give your looey credit. He led you guys up here. Mine stayed down on the road. Mine might be smarter, but yours has bigger balls!”
Adams nodded, and Long laughed now, waved one arm toward his men.
“Let’s go!”
On the hillside behind him, Porter had waved the men back down the hill. Adams began the descent, blew more dust through the crust of blood in his nose. He tried to spot Porter, but there was just the green, no faces, every man moving quickly through the stubble of brush. They settled back down on the roadbed, no one standing, all of them returning to their cover. He eased himself off the large flat rock, dropped down, grunted from the pain in his leg, saw he was next to Porter again, the lieutenant looking both ways, a silent head count. Adams wiped a rough hand on the crust of blood on