To the Last Man - Jeff Shaara [270]
“If you say so.” Scarabelli had Temple by the arm now, said, “So, what about Ballou? You hear anything?”
Temple shook his head. “He’s dead.”
The smile faded from Scarabelli’s face. “Oh, hell. When?”
“Couple days ago. I was with him. He caught a grenade.”
“Quick then. Damn. I’m gonna miss that cowboy.” Scarabelli sat now, beside Parker, said, “Some kinda hell, wasn’t it? Not over yet, either.”
Parker said nothing, and Temple sat as well, said, “They say we lost half the company.”
Scarabelli was looking at Parker now, said, “At least. Bannister, Brown, Clark. Lost track. Most everybody I knew at Quantico . . . except you two. Even the officers. I heard Ashley’s gone. Not sure what the hell we’re supposed to do now. They’ll bunch us in with a couple other platoons, most likely. Some new sergeant, probably. Hope like hell we don’t get some ninety-day wonder for a lieutenant. If we do, he won’t last long enough to be a problem.”
Parker looked at Scarabelli now, said, “You sound like you’re enjoying all this, Jersey.”
Scarabelli thought a moment, the smile gone. “We’re just doing what we’re supposed to do. You got a better way, Mountain Man?” He looked at Temple. “What about you? You survived this with . . . what? That damned scratch on your face? What do you think about that?”
Temple heard a slight quiver in Scarabelli’s voice, felt a tightness in his own throat. He fought it, said, “I don’t know, Gino. I was never so scared in my life. I was afraid I’d freeze up. But when they started shooting at us . . . I just put my head down and kept moving. I didn’t even think about what I was doing. Just shoot the bastards. Shoot every damned one of them!”
Scarabelli was staring at him, said, “More than that, Roscoe. For everything else that went on in these damned woods, nothing meant any more to me than putting my bayonet right into one of them son of a bitch’s heart. All I had to do was think of Sergeant Dugan or Conway lying back there in the wheat. That’s all it took. You oughta understand that, Mountain Man. The wrath of God. I enjoyed killing every one of them, and dammit, I’m ready to do it again!”
Parker looked at Scarabelli now, and Temple was surprised to see tears. Parker said in a slow drawl, “You’re right, Jersey. As scared as I was, when I got close to ’em, when I could see that gray uniform in my sights . . . I enjoyed it. God help me. God help all of us.”
SLEEP HAD COME, THE LONG NARROW TRENCH LINED WITH EXHAUSTED and filthy men, the warm air settling on them all. Out front the scouts and guards were spread in a thin line, fresh men, sent forward to watch the thickets, any sign that the enemy might begin to stir, each one of them holding tightly to the enthusiasm of the officers far behind the lines, rumors filtering forward that the Germans might well be pulling out altogether, giving up their position in the wood.
Temple turned over on his side, his arm bent beneath his head, his elbow aching. He was awake now, sat up, blinked through the dirt in his eyes, worked the kink out of his arm. The smells rolled over him, the trench ripe with the odor from the men and their uniforms. Temple scratched at an itch under his arm, scanned the trench in both directions, saw some men stirring, lumps of filthy khaki moving slowly, some now starting to sit upright, low curses. The itching continued, and he scratched his leg, massaged his back against the side of the trench. The sensation seemed to spread, and he rubbed one hand along his arm, down his side, along both thighs. His uniform was thick with grime, crusted mud. He realized that he had not removed any part of his uniform for nearly two weeks, and he understood something that Dugan had cautioned them about, long weeks ago. With the filth had come the cooties.
The men were coming awake all through the trench, and Temple continued to scratch his sides, felt as though his shirt was coming alive. He saw men undressing, ripping their shirts off, more curses, and one man close by said, “Bugs! Worms! What the hell?”
There was laughter now, and Temple started to