The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [263]
He talked to Hearn. "I ought to take just a few men with me, Lootenant. Any more ain't gonna be no help, and just that much more chance of some other trooper getting hit."
Hearn nodded. His big body sagged, and his cold eyes were wary, a little reflective. He ought to go back himself, for it was a mistake to let Croft take the initiative, but he knew Croft's experience would be more effective. Besides, there had been other reactions, things about himself which he distrusted. He had been angry too when he had heard Wilson was lost, and his first impulse had been to leave him.
There were so many desires in him at the moment, conflicting, ambiguous, things he had never quite felt before. He had to stop and think it out. "All right, take anybody you want." He lit a cigarette, and stared at his leggings, dismissing Croft.
Around them, the men were pacing moodily through the hollow, agitated, a little hysterical from the suddenness of the ambush and the discovery that Wilson had been lost. They snapped at each other irritably.
Brown and Red were having an argument. "You bastards weren't in the field, you were sitting there behind that goddam rock. Couldn't you even keep your fuggin heads up high enough to see if anybody got hit?" Red swore.
"What the hell are you talkin' about, Red? If it hadn't been for us covering you guys, you all woulda been knocked off."
"Aaah, balls, you yellow bastards, ducking down behind that rock."
"Fug you, Red."
Red slapped his forehead. "Jesus Christ, Wilson, of all the guys to be lost."
Gallagher wandered back and forth, smacking his hand against his forehead. "How the fug did we lose him?" he demanded. "Where is he?"
"Sit down, Gallagher," Stanley shouted.
"Blow it out."
"All you men can just shut your mouth," Croft snapped. "Pack of goddam women." He stood up and looked at them. "I'm gonna take a few men back to find Wilson. Who wants to go?" Red nodded, and Gallagher nodded his head in agreement.
The others were silent for a perceptible second or two. "Shoot, Ah might as well go," Ridges announced.
"I want one more man."
"I'll go," Brown said.
"I ain't taking any noncoms. The Lootenant'll be needing ya."
He looked around, staring at them. I shouldn't take any chances, Goldstein told himself. What'll Natalie do if something happens to me? But he felt a sense of guilt when everyone remained silent. "I'll go too," he said abruptly.
"All right. We'll jus' leave our packs in case we got to move fast."
They picked up their rifles, and filed out of the hollow, heading back toward the field where they had been ambushed. They moved silently, strung out in a long column, each man ten yards apart. The sun was moving toward the west, and it glared in their eyes. They were a little reluctant now.
They followed in reverse the route of their retreat, moving quickly without any attempt at concealment except when they crossed a ridge. The country was dotted with groves of bushes and trees, but they gave them only a cursory examination. Croft was certain Wilson had been wounded in the ambush, and hadn't left the field.
It took them less than half an hour to reach the ledge, and they advanced toward it stealthily, crouching close to the ground. There seemed no one about, no sound at all. Croft bellied forward over the rock slab, raised his head slowly, and searched the field. He could see nothing, and in the grove at the other end of the field, nothing seemed to be stirring.
"Goddam, goddam sonofabitching belly."
The men stiffened at the sound. Someone was moaning only ten or twenty yards away. "Goddam, ohhhhhhhh."
Croft stared into the grass. "Ohhhh, that mother-fuggin. . ." The voice trailed off in a babble of curses.
He slid down from the ledge, and joined the others, who waited for him nervously, their rifles unslung. "I think it's Wilson. Come on." He worked over to the left, slid up the broad flat slab