The Long Patrol: World War II Novel

by Chris Glatte

  Hooper didn’t look back, but it took every fiber of willpower. He expected to be shot in the back any second. When they were safely in the jungle he let out a long breath. “Holy shit, I thought they were gonna plug us.”

  Morrisey looked back, “Hmm, very odd. I didn’t expect him to fight us, but I certainly didn’t think he’d let you go after what his daughter told him.” He looked hard at Dunphy. “You didn’t rape her, did you?” Dunphy looked at him in disgust. Morrisey nodded, “Didn’t think so. Poor girl’s in love with you.”

  “Love? She nearly killed me back there.” He rubbed the knot forming under his cut forehead.

  Morrisey grinned, “A lover spurned and all that you know.”

  “I didn’t spurn her. I only said see you around. Girl’s crazy.”

  “Well perhaps ‘see you around’ wasn’t what she wanted to hear.”

  Hooper chimed in, “She’s a real looker. Quite a catch.”

  Dunphy flipped him the bird.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  By the time the group got back to the village, it was completely dark. Hooper and Dunphy were exhausted and in no shape to continue to the ridge. They decided to sleep in the village and leave first thing in the morning.

  Morrisey invited them to dine with them in the center of the village. The meal was light since the following day would be one of feasting. It was still better than C-rations and by the end of the meal both men’s eyes were drooping. Captain Morrisey brought out a flask and poured them each a cup of clear liquid. “We captured this off some Jap soldiers we dispatched a couple weeks back. It’s awful stuff, but not bad in a pinch.”

  Hooper smiled and took the cup as did Dunphy. “Don’t mind if I do.” Dunphy took a big gulp and nearly spurted it back out but managed to keep it down. “Damn, that’s fire.”

  Hooper laughed and tipped his cup back and held it out for more. “Pussy,” he said.

  Dunphy looked around the group, “Hey, where’s Welch?”

  Morrisey gestured to a group of huts. “I’ve got him under house arrest until I figure out what to do with him. Probably let him go with time served.”

  Dunphy looked confused. “House arrest?”

  “He disobeyed my orders by going to the American line, so yes, house arrest.”

  “That means he has to stay under guard in his hut then. Is that right? Can’t leave?” Morrisey nodded. Dunphy took another bite of dried lizard meat, “You just start that? The house arrest, I mean?”

  Morrisey looked annoyed, “No, he’s been there all week. We’ve been delivering his food. He’s only allowed out to defecate.”

  Dunphy threw an unidentifiable piece of the meat into the smoldering fire. “Then why’d I see him in Chief Ahio’s village three days ago?”

  Morrisey stopped chewing. “Are you sure?” he looked to one of his men and said something in Pidgin. The man darted away towards the hut.

  “Course I’m sure. How many white men are there around here? And that accent’s pretty hard to miss.”

  “Tell me what you saw and heard.”

  Dunphy told him he couldn’t hear nor understand anything but he did see him give one of the new carbines to Chief Ahio. He told him they seemed to want their meeting secret. “I figured Ahio didn’t want to share the guns.”

  The native man came trotting back and spoke in Morrisey’s ear. Morrisey shook his head and said something else. The man trotted back the way he’d come. “Tangar checked; he’s still in his hut. He’s asleep.”

  Another man trotted up and kneeled next to Morrisey. The man spoke and lowered his head. Morrisey fired off in rapid Pidgin. The man’s shoulders slumped. He stood without raising his eyes and walked away.

  Morrisey shook his head, “The guards have been letting him “get his exercise” a couple of hours a day. They say he never leaves for longer than a few hours. Plenty of time to get there and back.” He looked at Dunphy and Hooper, “These men are trusting, there’s very little spite in them. I’m afraid this war will change that.”

  Hooper said, “What’s going on? You think Welch is up to no good?”

  Morrisey looked to the stars and rocked back and forth on his butt. Just when Hooper thought he might not have heard him he said, “Probably nothing.” He stood up and stretched, “You men should hit the rack. You’ve got to meet up with what’s left of your squad in the morning and I’ve got a busy day of mourning and celebrating some fine men’s lives.”

  Dunphy held up his cup, “Think I’ll stay up and drink more of this Jap hootch if you don’t mind.”

  Morrisey nodded, “Be my guest.”

  Hooper clinked the hollowed out coconut cup against Dunphy’s and took a long gulp.

  ***

  In the morning before the sun came up, Sergeant Carver and Private O'Connor sat on the edge of the jungle looking into the village. They were surprised to come upon the village without being challenged by a native. Did they feel safe because all the Japanese soldiers were defending the line against the American advance? Carver didn’t think that was Morrisey’s style; he was more careful and pragmatic than that. Carver rubbed his chin, wondering if he should go in or wait for more light. He decided another ten minutes wouldn’t hurt. He pointed to their back-trail and Hooper nodded. He moved up the trail a few yards to watch for any unwanted guests.

  The twilight brought the scene to life in front of Carver. He could see the slain villagers lined up in the center. Each body had one female sitting with her head down, spending one last night with their husband, son, or father. He didn’t see any men, including his two delinquent soldiers. He gave a low whistle and O'Connor came up beside him without making a sound. Carver turned to see where he was and almost bumped into him. He shook his head, how’d he do that?

  He pointed to the women and shrugged. The men stood and left the safety of the bush. Their guns were slung, but they kept them at the ready until they figured out where everyone was. The women looked up, but didn’t rise from their vigil. The men stood over them and looked around at the sleeping village. There were some women milling around and some coming in from the wood pile to stoke the smoldering fire. Carver waved his hand in greeting and one of the older women approached him. He tried to make her understand. “Men? Where are the men?” he pointed to himself and O'Connor, “Men.” Then shrugged. She pointed to a hut, the one next to Morrisey’s and pushed him toward it. Carver knew it was the old chief’s hut. He couldn’t remember his name.

  They pulled back the door and stuck their heads into the dimly lit room. The air smelled like a combination of smoke and mint. Sergeant Carver’s eyes adjusted and he saw the old chief staring at him from a chair in the far corner. Carver raised his hand and said, “Hello.”

  The Chief raised his hand and stood up. He didn’t bother speaking, but grabbed Carver by the arm and led him back outside. He indicated he should follow as he led him to another hut, the same one he’d stayed in a couple nights before. It seemed like a lifetime ago. The chief extended his hand to the door and Carver went inside. This hut smelled decidedly worse than the chief’s. He took another step in and heard his boot squelch into something wet. He looked down and scowled, his boot dripping vomit. The smell assaulted him and he grit his teeth when he saw Dunphy and Hooper lying on the bare ground, snoring. Dunphy clutched an empty coconut cup.

  He kicked Hooper’s foot, but he didn’t wake. He kicked harder, still no movement. He called to O'Connor still standing outside, “Get some water.”

  O'Connor looked around the room and picked up what was left of the Saki, “it’s not water, but it’s wet.” He handed it to Carver who went to the mens’ heads and threw it across their faces. The men both sputtered and sat up. Dunphy grumbled, “Dammit, what the hell’s going on?” He rubbed his face. “Ah, shit, that burns dammit.” Trying to clear his vision, he said, “who the fuck did that?”

  Carver put his nose to the bottle and sniffed. The alcohol was pungent. “I did, assholes. You’ve got five minutes to get your
shit together and fall out of this hut.”

  Hooper sat bolt upright, wiping the alcohol from his face. The tiny cuts they’d accumulated from weeks of traversing the jungle stung like fire. “Sarge? Is that you?”

  “You’re damned right it’s me. Now hurry up. You men are a disgrace.” He threw the empty bottle and it hit Dunphy in the gut. Carver went outside and stood next to O'Connor who was bent over laughing. Even the old chief had a toothless grin spread across his withered face. Carver shook his head and smiled, “They deserved that.”

  Five minutes later Dunphy and Hooper stood before their sergeant trying to keep from swaying. Both men looked white as sheets and were obviously still drunk. Carver handed his canteen to Hooper who dumped it over his head, washing off the Saki. O'Connor gave his to Dunphy who did the same. Dunphy leaned forward and threw up whatever was left in his gut. The smell, the sound and the mere thought had Hooper joining him in an instant.

  Once they were done Carver asked, “No more horseshit. Where the fuck’s Morrisey and the rest of the men?”

  Hooper looked around the compound, “I dunno Sarge.” He pointed to the Chief, “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “Cause I don’t speak Pidgin, numbnuts.”

  Dunphy wiped his mouth and held his hand up, “I do, kind of.” Carver looked at him skeptically, “My time with the natives; it’s not a hard language.” Carver nodded and Dunphy fumbled through an awkward sentence. He listened to the response. Dunphy looked confused and asked a question. The chief shook his head and gestured them to follow. “I can’t make out what he means. Something about enemies and ambush and something about Welch, I think.” Carver looked at him sideways, “He wants us to follow him.”

  They fell in step behind the chief who moved with perfect grace despite his age. When they got to the jungle edge the chief went into a crouch. The move was unmistakably combat-like and the men pulled their carbines from their shoulders, glancing at one another. Hooper licked his lips, the alcohol buzz much subdued. The chief didn’t have a rifle, but he pulled a long beat up machete from his belt.

  They went as silent as they could for fifty yards before the chief stopped and they crouched behind him. The chief smiled and pointed. The jungle came alive around them with men appearing as if from thin air. The squad clenched their carbines, but they were caught completely by surprise.

  When they saw Captain Morrisey and his thick beard appear, they all breathed easier. He sidled up next to them and whispered, “Welcome to the show, lads.”

  “What show? What’re we up against.” It was obvious they were waiting in ambush for some enemy force. It was no use asking a lot of questions. “Where you want us?”

  Morrisey pointed with two fingers and two of his men waved them to follow. They did so and found themselves in the back of the ambush, out of the way. The natives signaled them to stay put. They went to ground lying flat on their stomachs on the lush jungle floor.

  The ground was still cool from the night, but the sun was rising higher bringing heat and humidity. Soon the men were sweating. Carver could smell the alcohol seeping from Dunphy’s and Hooper’s pores. It was a stale, fetid smell that turned his stomach.

  An hour passed. Carver was anxious to figure out what the hell they were doing. He had a mission to complete and sitting on his ass in the jungle wasn’t helping him complete it, but Morrisey wouldn’t have his men out here for nothing.

  He felt O'Connor slap his boot lightly. He looked at him and O'Connor tilted his chin to the front. He’d seen or heard something. Carver listened and strained his eyes, but didn’t detect anything. He was about to give up when he saw a slight movement. He’d only caught it because of his low angle. He focused on the spot and realized it was a human foot taking careful steps towards the ambush. He patted his carbine, knowing he could have it in firing position in an instant. The action would be in front of him though and he didn’t know exactly where all the friendlies were. He would be sitting this one out unless he was needed.

  He watched the foot, his eyes slits. The foot was barely discernible, but it was a bare foot, not the notched toe boots of the Japanese soldier. It looked like a native’s foot. Were they that far out?

  The foot moved forward, and was blocked by foliage. He lost track of it and was about to look to O'Connor, but sudden movement from all sides caught his eye. The ambush was being sprung, but there was no shooting. The natives had their ancient rifles aimed and ready to fire.

  Carver stood, confusion on his face. He looked back at his men who were also standing and trying to see what was happening. Carver walked forward and stood beside Morrisey who was standing with his new carbine aimed at the ground. In front of him were twenty natives, all armed and looking from muzzle to muzzle. The natives stood in the killing zone of the L shaped ambush. Their weapons were down. There was a white man amongst them. Carver recognized Welch instantly. Carver wanted to know what the hell was going on, but kept his mouth shut.

  Morrisey spoke in Pidgin and addressed a big native beside Welch. Dunphy sidled up beside Carver and tried to translate. He whispered, “He’s telling them they’re surrounded and they should put down their weapons.” Ahio spoke and Dunphy translated again, “He’s saying something about coming to eat, or feast or something.”

  Morrisey laughed and continued. “You always come in battle formation? And where are your women? They don’t enjoy our hospitality?” he pointed at Welch, “I fear my colleague has promised you things he has no right to promise, Chief.” His eyes went dark, “Now, put down your weapons and go back to your village.”

  Welch spoke, “You pompous ass. Chief Ahio deserves to rule both villages as it was long ago.”

  “I fear Mr. Welch’s view of history is as false as his friendship, Ahio. He is an ambitious man who has no interest in anything except his own advancement. He’s using you, coercing you to war for his own ends. He’s no friend to you or your village.”

  Ahio looked at Welch and was about to speak, but Welch spoke first, in English. “You’re a disgrace, Morrisey. You’re leading your men against the very men you should be fighting for. The Japanese will win this war and the sooner you realize that, the more of your precious natives you’ll save from the slaughter.”

  Captain Morrisey stood in stunned silence. His eyes hardened and he found his voice, “You’re a traitor.” He bared his teeth like a feral animal, “You were the one that led those yellow bastards to the village. You killed my wife and child.” The realization struck him like a blow. The image of his baby boy and his mutilated wife crossed his mind. He saw red.

  Quick as a jungle cat, Welch brought up his carbine and fired three quick shots. Morrisey went to his knee bringing his carbine to his shoulder with practiced calm. The bullets sliced past his ear. He fired in rapid succession, but Welch was already diving away. As Welch lunged, he fired into the surprised ambushers. Two went down spinning. Ahio’s natives brought up their rifles, but Morrisey’s men were ready and fired into the men at close range. Plumes of blood spouted and sprayed as men’s bodies shattered.

  Morrisey tried to track Welch, but he was too quick. A native was bringing his rifle to bear, but Morrisey pulled the trigger and dropped him, his mouth in a surprised 0 shape. The survivors turned and ran. Ahio hadn’t moved a muscle during the slaughter. Now, in a booming voice he yelled, “Stop!”

  Morrisey’s men looked at him and the fleeing men stopped, heeding their leader’s command. The sound of a man crashing through the jungle faded as Welch ignored the order and continued to flee. Morrisey pointed at two of his men, then towards the sound. The two natives took off like they’d been shot out of a cannon.

  Captain Morrisey stood and walked up to Ahio, who handed his brand new carbine to him. Morrisey hefted it, realizing it was one of the American weapons. Welch must have stolen it.

  Ahio’s men returned to his side and each man kneeled down and placed his rifle on the jungle floor. Ahio said, “We surrender to you.”

  Morrise
y nodded and was about to speak when there was a loud wail from behind the ambush. Soon more cries filled the air and Morrisey’s men started fading from their ambush positions, leaving them unguarded. Carver and his men filled in the gaps as the natives rushed to their comrades.

  Morrisey, seeing the Americans had the situation in hand, turned to see what had happened. He went to the men forming a circle around someone on the ground. Lying prone was old Chief Pavu, his lifeless eyes staring into the jungle canopy above. He looked like he may be resting. The only indication of anything awry was the perfect hole in the center of his forehead with a thin trickle of blood snaking down past his nose. The men were in mourning, tears flowed from the eyes that only moments before had been hard and deadly.

  Chief Pavu had been old when they were born. There had never been another chief. He seemed to never age and the men thought him impervious to the passing of time. They believed he would live forever and now the impossible had happened. He was dead.

  Morrisey looked at his old friend and felt bile rise in his throat. He knelt and put his hand over his old friend’s face and closed his eyes. He looked like he was merely sleeping, his lined face serene. He was at peace. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and went back to Ahio and his men.

  They knew what had happened and were as sad as the others. Their heads were bowed, their arms hanging from their sides. They’d been excited for war only minutes before, but none of them wished any harm towards the legendary Chief Pavu. Even the stoic Ahio had his head bowed in sorrow. Morrisey clenched his jaw. These simple men wanted war, seeing only glory. Now good men are dead and they’ve lost their stomach for it. Fools.

  He spoke, “This is murder and there must be punishment.” He pointed into the jungle, “The man who pulled the trigger has escaped, but you, Chief Ahio are complicit in this heinous act. It cannot go unpunished.”

  Ahio nodded once and looked Morrisey in the eye. “I agree. I take responsibility for Chief Pavu’s death.” He looked around at the other men feeding the earth with their blood. “And these.”