Chapter 43
Egan halts and is instantly alert. From off to your
right there has come the sound of singing. Singing! First
with a few voices and then with the deeper, throatier
swelling of many more. It is incongruous and unaccountable and
singularly out of place. Egan looks at you and mutters,
"What do the Japs think this is -- Gilbert and Sullivan?"
"Captain, the Nips are singing some kind of a song.". . .
"Singing? Hold the mouthpiece so I can hear it.". . .You
do as he directs, creeping toward the sound. Through the
trees you can make out the blurred outline of human
forms gathered together in small groups. Captain MacDonald
mmmis saying,
"That's the Banzai they're singing. They always do it before
attacking. Just like savages hopping themselves up.". . .
mmm"But if they're
going to attack, why are they occupying their defensive
mmmpositions?". . .
"That's what I want you to find out. Can you
get any closer?". . ."I'm about ten yards away now. If
they keep up the racket I'll be able to crawl
right into their second tenor section without being noticed.". . .
"Good. Tell me everything that goes on.". . .You insinuate
mmmyour way
past clumps of fern and over the large, leathery leaves
of ground-hugging plants. Egan is over to your left, making
for a patch of heavy growth. You try to move
with your body supported on your elbows and knees. Here's
a good spot, well screened without seriously limiting your visibility.
"This is about as near to them as I dare
to go." You speak softly, cloaking your voice with a
hand. The chant is rising in loudness and intensity and
the men are swaying with the fervor of their incantation.
This is screwy. This is haywire. This is something out
of a pulp magazine with a girl in red tights
on the cover being readied for a strange, ritualistic torture by
the high priests of a secret cult. But there it
is. Real, live Japs, wasting the most valuable moments of
their lives invoking their honorable ancestors for strength in battle.
Egan kicks your outstretched leg. You twist your head. He
is extremely agitated, and points to his helmet and then
toward the enemy soldiers. From your position you cannot see
any point higher than the waistline of the Jap closest
to you, but by craning your neck and extending your
shoulders slightly you are able to observe a foot or
two above. "Holy mother of God! They're wearing American
mmmhelmets!"
You can barely control your voice. "The bastards are wearing
our tin hats!" Captain MacDonald is icily calm. "So that's
it. Infiltration. The sons of bitches will try to get
among us and do their dirty work before they're discovered.
It's an old trick. But you can bet every one
of them will be carrying a coffin on his back."
The singing has stopped. There is an expectant hush and
all eyes are centered on an officer who has appeared
from one side. He is a little taller than the
others and his manner is imposing and deliberate. "Looks like
the commander is getting set to take over.". . ."What is
he doing?". . ."Well, right now he's glaring pretty viciously in
the direction of the beach. He just yelled something that
sounded like 'Chikusho' and all the boys are repeating it". . .
"That's a curse word. It means damned animal.". . ."Now he's
got his fist up in the air and he's screaming
something else. 'Yaruzo'.". . ."That means Let's do it.". . .
mmmEverybody's stamping
with their feet and lifting up their rifles and shouting."
They are a means in search of a justified end.
* * *
