Chapter 24
Sgt. Lindstrom is ready to start on the reconnaissance mission.
He waves his Tommy and says, "Come on, you guys,
let's go." You hastily pick up your rifle and join
the other three men in their diamond formation. Egan is
at the front point, while Lindstrom and Whitney will comprise
the flanks. You will maintain the rear position and serve
as getaway man. In the event of an enemy attack
you will detach yourself from the rest of the patrol
and attempt to carry important data back to the CO.
You will also look toward the rear at frequent intervals
so as to give warning against a possible Japanese trap.
The sergeant removes his lensatic compass from its leather case.
He opens it and keeps it level in his palm.
He next allows the sensitive dial to come to rest
and then turns it slowly around until the luminous line
and the indicating arrow coincide. Then he compresses the damper
and sights the compass with a prominent object just ahead.
He takes the azimuth, an angle clockwise from magnetic North
to the point on which he happens to be sighting,
and moves off in a direction of seven degrees northwest,
which, allowing for magnetic declination,
mmmwill be approximately due west.
Egan and Whitney have machetes, and they carry their pieces
slung. Lindstrom says, "We are patrol Red 21. The password
Is 'Halleluja,' and the countersign is 'You said it, brother'."
There ahead of you is the jungle, looming and ominous.
This is the test. The books have been put away.
When you reach the perimeter defenses and pass beyond them,
Egan and Whitney will go forward alternately, covering each other
to the limit of visibility — probably about a dozen yards —
while Lindstrom will select the route and maintain the direction.
He carries a CE-11 lightweight, portable communications unit with
a sound-powered telephone slung around his neck,
mmmand the reel equipment
gripped in his left hand. The steel spool holds about
a quarter of a mile of assault wire which he
will lay along the jungle floor as he moves onward
and over which he will maintain contact with Captain MacDonald. . .
This way for a personally conducted tour of the community.
The shadowy dugout on your right is the Officers' Club,
where leaders by act of Congress take off their insignia
and work with the men in the anonymity of half-nakedness.
Over there is the amusement center, where a deluxe restaurant
is a dumped assortment of boxes and cases of rations,
a legshow is the rolled-up trouser cuffs of perspiring soldiers
and the penny palace is equipped with ultra-modern
mmmshooting galleries.
On your left are the department stores, open for business,
advertising clearance sales in drugs, hardware, fireworks
mmmand hunting equipment,
while pawnshops negotiate for collections of secondhand
mmmimported goods — unclaimed.
And nearer the beach, streets are being carefully laid out
for a quiet residential suburb, with homes of uniform construction
Each with a white wooden cross hanging above the door.
But not without amiable irony are the crudely lettered posters
that have cropped up outside of new foxholes and dugouts
which announce that "Through these portals pass the fastest mortals,"
Or cheerfully caution the ignorant, bungling wayfarer
mmmagainst "Wet Paint."
And sticking out of nowhere are the inevitable little signposts
that title an imaginary boulevard, "Ocean Parkway" and inform you
that you have just turned the corner into "42nd Street"
and that Egan's size elevens have slogged into "Broadway," and
spattered you thoroughly from head to foot with "Times Square."
If you hurry, you might catch a subway express home.
