The Final Storm - Jeff Shaara [78]
Adams nodded toward the lieutenant, wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Uh … thank you.”
Porter moved away, past the others, to the head of the platoon, toward the walkie-talkie. But there were sounds on the road behind them and Adams saw Captain Bennett walking a short distance behind the other lieutenant, Berkeley. Berkeley’s platoon spread out in the ditches, most down on one knee, some with canteens, faint clouds of cigarette smoke. Porter came back, and Adams heard him take a deep breath, moving close to the captain, and Porter said, “Problem solved. Charlie two got him.”
“Yeah, I saw. Good job, all of you. I want us out of this hilly stuff, where we can dig in tonight and watch our flanks. Maps show a road that goes down the hill, flatter ground closer to the beach. We’ve got two more companies joining us along the way and the colonel is making sure we get some heavy support pretty quick. Recon reports that the enemy was seen in force all over the next hill, just beyond the intersection. They seem to be pulling away from us every step of the way, but in case they decide to stick around, there are some 75s coming up on the road behind us. The artillery boys will raise hell all over that place, bust up whatever might be there.”
Porter nodded, and Adams looked at the other lieutenant, who kept his distance. Adams thought of the sergeant on the hilltop. Yep, I guess your looey’s smart. One mortar shell comes down right here, and we’d be in a fix.
Bennett turned, scanned the road in both directions.
“We get to the intersection, the whole company will go to the left. Once we’re on flatter ground, I’ll set up a CP on the beach side. The colonel will give us orders, probably in the morning. Let’s not lose anybody tonight. Eyes sharp!”
Bennett moved away, and Porter said, “Saddle up! Let’s go! Keep your gap!”
Adams saw Ferucci, realized he hadn’t seen him on the hillside. The sergeant was pulling thorns out of his pant leg, said, “Well, we got the bastard. The looey’s right though. You’re one lucky son of a bitch. But for chrissakes, wipe that crud off your face. You look like hell.”
Adams obeyed, a rough sleeve scraping the crust around his nose. Ferucci moved away and Adams waited for the prescribed five yards, and then began to move as well. The road made a wide sweeping curve to the right, dropping down into a narrow gully, out of the line of sight of whoever might have been in the trees above. He moved down the hill, kept a close watch on the brush and rocks above him, could see the beach far below. He felt the cold wetness in his shirt, soaked with his own sweat, realized now, his pants were wet. He had tried to ignore that, knew it had come when he had been pinned down by the Nambu gun, so close to being hit. He cursed to himself, carried the rifle low across his front, glanced across the road, saw Yablonski, the others, no one staring at him, no humiliation, at least not yet. He thought of Ferucci’s words. Lucky? Maybe so. Maybe stupid. You wanted someone to climb up on that rock and see what was beyond those flat rocks. And so I shot my mouth off. Private Adams, volunteer. Next time, don’t be Mr. Stupid Ass Rock Climber. If the sarge wants to see over the next hill, let him climb his own damn rocks.
Welty came up close, violated the gap between them, hard breathing, a hand on Adams’s arm.
“Damn, that was something. Surprised hell out of me, that’s for sure. You did good.”
Adams looked back at him, was beginning to wonder if the whole world had gone stupid.
“Good? That Jap nearly blew my head off. I stood up there like a damn lighthouse, for all the world to see. And then I froze, didn’t know