Chapter 46
You swing your body around so that you face the
source of the Japanese fire, and you lift up the
Tommy gun and level it at a clump of bushes
that are still oscillating from enemy muzzle blasts. You are
angry. You are more angry now that you have ever
been in your life, and in your furious energy you
press the trigger until you feel that it has pierced
the skin of your forefinger. You are firing in a
single, continuous burst and you spray the tree trunks and the
rocks and the rises in the ground with a wild
whiplash of lead. The gun is getting hot and your
flesh becomes prickly and your shoulder is throbbing with the
recoil, but you keep on shooting until the ammunition drum
gives out and there is only the dull click of
the breeching mechanism. The noise is cleft and there is
gaping silence. That's all, brother. That's all. No more ammo.
You've had your fling and now they can come and
ring your doorbell and tell you that the men are
here to remove the corpses. You look toward Egan and
you see him twisted into an agonized posture, inflexible and
stony, like a personal monument to pain. He is in
blood an inch deep and it has darkened the earth
in an irregular blotch. You roll over into a small
depression next to him. See if he's alive. See if
anything can be done for him. Even if it's only
a gesture. Even if it's the last thing you do.
You stretch out your hand and place it over his
heart and you flatten your palm against his shirt, hoping
to catch a beat, a flutter, a vibration, a throb.
But there is only the sodden dampness of his sweat
and the thin tingle of human warmth turning to coldness.
He is dead in his own blood and in his
own shadow. This is light to pallor and flame to
cinder and fruit to dry core. You liked this man.
You liked the way his mouth opened when he smiled
and the asterisks that were formed in the corners of
his eyes and his large nose like a strong handle
for his face. And now the quietness of other eternities.
Maybe you should have told him that you had been
hit. Maybe you should have pointed to the wound in
your hip that now feels wet and clammy and stings
like a hot pincers and said that you whole side
was numb and paralyzed and that was why you couldn't
make a break for it. Then he would have stayed
behind and not tried to escape the ambush. But if
there was any chance of getting away, you wanted him
to have it and so you controlled your breathing and
kept your voice normal and hoped he wouldn't notice that
agony was walking across your face without wiping its shoes.
The Japs must have seen you moving, but they are
wary about exposing themselves because of your submachine
mmmgun. That's
a good one. That's rich. Afraid of an empty Tommy.
But you've still got a grenade in your shirt pocket
and enough hatred left in your arm to throw it,
so let them come. Your eyes focus momentarily on a
rifle barrel drawing a bead on you from some shrubs
and you duck your head. There is a shot and
Egan's body quivers and you gulp your breath down quickly.
Then another Jap fires and another and another and another.
You want to be brave. You also want to be.
* * *
