Chapter 37
The end of the line is probably hitched to a
magnetic phone and you'll have to monitor before you can
get through. Don't raise your voice. Speak softly.
mmm"Captain MacDonald,
Red 21. . .Red 21 calling Captain MacDonald". . .You pause for
a second, waiting. There is a click and you recognize
the captain's voice. "Red 21. This is headquarters. E Company.
I've been parked on my ass here, sweating you out.
Why in hell haven't you been keeping me informed on
what gives?" You identify yourself. "We had a little argument
with two Japs we encountered at an enemy observation post.
Sgt. Lindstrom is a casualty, with a bayonet wound in
the stomach. Whitney is going to bring him back in.
Can you have him met with a couple of corpsmen
and some whole blood? Just have them follow the telephone
wire." He says, "Lindstrom? Jesus, that's bad."
mmmHis speech withdraws
as though he had removed his mouth from the transmitter
in order to give instructions to a waiting orderly, then
it comes back strongly, "Okay. What is your present position?"
You answer, "We started out at 270 azimuth and can't
be more than about five minutes away from the outer
perimeter. Whitney is almost ready to start, and Egan and
I are pushing on to complete the mission." He replies,
"Good. I'll hold on at this end for anything you
are able to report. Tell me everything you see or
hear." You affirm, "Will do." He clicks off. You disconnect.
Whitney and Egan have partially succeeded in trussing
mmmLindstrom up.
He lies quietly, and his movements are weak and spasmodic.
You say, "The medics will meet him with blood." Your
eyes focus on the soaked bandage. "Lord knows he needs
a change of oil." Whitney urges, "You guys take off.
I can handle him by myself." You ask, "Are you
sure, Whit?" He doesn't look up. "Sure I'm sure, Goddamit!"
You remove Lindstrom's lensatic compass and you fasten it onto
your own belt. Then you pick up the Tommy gun
and prepare to move. Egan is on his feet, with
his rifle in his hands. He says, "So long, Whit,"
and Whitney answers, "So long." Then you say, "So long,"
and Whitney lifts up his arm and replies, "So Long."
The two of your turn and direct your bodies into
The jungle, with you leading and Egan following closely behind.
"So long. . .So long." That's all there is to it,
Egan and Whitney and you saying So long to each
other when all the time you're really talking to the
guy on the ground. "So long. . .So long." Nobody gets
a cork in his throat and nobody tries to play
hero, because the feeling of a man for a man
is one of those shining jewels that custom decrees must
be worn inconspicuously. He'll get the lavender gizzard for this
and maybe the DSC and he'll tell everybody that he
got his medals for doing what he intended doing anyhow.
You feel that Egan is looking at you and that
his eyes are asking, Now what? You wish you had
a more detailed map of the island, but your mouth
curls when you think of a flat piece of paper
with lines and numbers on it to indicate elevation and
some pretty green coloring to represent jungle. Forward,
mmmgo forward.
Slip on the wet gorse and fall blindly into mud
and stagger free of roots and vines and trip over
thorny entanglements and stumble and pitch and lurch and totter.
Chaos created this lump of clay in its own image.
* * *
