The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [283]
Despite all his internal objections he had been busy, he had given all his attention to the advance, concentrated on all the reports that came in. It had been exhausting, demanding work, and by nightfall he was tired, needed some diversion. Almost always when the division was in action he found it stimulating to tour the front daily, but at night now it would be impossible for him to inspect the infantry positions. He decided instead to visit his artillery bivouacs.
Cummings phoned for his jeep and driver, and about eight P.M. he set out on the road. The moon was almost full. He relaxed in the front seat of the jeep, and watched the play of the headlights against the jungle foliage. They were far enough behind the lines to avoid blacking out, and the General smoked idly, feeling the wind wash pleasantly against his face. He felt drained, yet still tense; the passing sentient traces of the ride, the sound of the motor, the jouncing against the seat cushions, the smell of his cigarette, lulled him, caressed his nerves like a warm lapping bath. He began to fell cheerful and pleasantly empty.
After a fifteen-minute ride, they reached a battery of 105s off the side of the road. On an impulse he told his driver to turn in, and the jeep jounced over a crude culvert made by aligning empty gasoline drums in a ditch and covering them with earth. The wheels sloughed through the mud of the motor pool, and they came to a halt on a stretch of relatively dry earth. The guard at the entrance had phoned the Captain, who came up to the jeep to meet the General.
"Sir?"
Cummings nodded. "Just looking around. How's the battery coming?"
"Fine, sir."
"Service battery was supposed to bring up two hundred rounds about an hour ago. You get them?"
"Yes, sir." The Captain paused. "Have your touch on everything, don't you, sir?"
This pleased Cummings. "Have you told the men how successful the battalion concentration was this afternoon?" he asked.
"I did say something about it, sir."
"You can't emphasize it enough. When the men have completed a good fire mission, it's smart to tell them so. It's good for the men to have a sense of participation."
"Yes, sir."
The General strode away from the jeep with the Captain tagging at his side. "Your routine orders are for harassing fire every fifteen minutes, is that correct?"
"Since last night, sir."
"How're you resting your cannoneers?"
The Captain smiled deprecatingly. "I've cut the gun crews in half, sir, and each half-squad is on for an hour, firing four missions. That way the men miss only an extra hour's sleep."
"I think that's a pretty good setup," the General agreed. They crossed a small clearing which contained the battery mess tent and the orderly room tent. In the moonlight the tents were silver, and their roofs sloped upward precipitously to give them the appearance of miniature cathedrals. They passed through, and walked along a footpath which cut for fifty feet through a patch of brush. On the other side the four howitzers were extended in a short battery front, not more than fifty yards separating the two flank pieces, their nozzles pointing above the jungle in the direction of the Japanese lines. The moonlight played over them in random mottled patches, tracing over the barrel and trails the stippled outline of the leaves above. Behind the guns five squad tents were dispersed irregularly in the brush, almost blending into the deep shadows of the jungle. This was virtually the entire battery: the motor pool, the supply and mess, the howitzers, and the tents. The General surveyed it, scrutinized the few cannoneers who sprawled between the trails of one of the 105s, and had a mild nostalgia. For a moment or two he was weary, felt an unimportant passing regret that he could not be a cannoneer himself with only his belly to be filled,