“Esther’s going, I think. Why don’t you come along, Nickie?” Carla asked.
They were looking at each other, Con noted, in that way that two women have of looking at each other as if what they had said had some secret implication that was beyond a man’s understanding.
Slowly Carla shifted her eyes to Gus. “Gus won’t mind,” the madonna-face said, smiling her most imperial smile.
And Con couldn’t tell whether she was smiling with him or at him. That was the way she smiled. Between a this and a that. She seemed to leave it up to you. Maybe that’s what was confusing him?
“It’s up to Nickie,” Gus said insincerely, his beady eyes shifting towards her.
“Some other time and place,” Nickie said gayly. “I go where it’s warm, hot. There’s not enough heat, not enough sun for me,” she said.
And Gus laughed his satisfied laugh.
“Let me get you a drink,” Con said suddenly to Carla.
“I’d like to,” she said with a razor’s edge of overpoliteness in her tone, “but I have some business with Gus. Later perhaps.” She took the Greek by the arm and led him away.
And Con watched. It struck him oddly. Inwardly he laughed. Mother taking Junior off to school. Or better yet: Fay Wray leading King Kong around New York by the hand. Which? he wondered, then spotted Danny.
And Nickie saw the devilish little-boy-pulled-a-quickie of his laughing eyes that were really those merciless, spooky little boy’s eyes, she thought, not lost little boy’s eyes, not the kind that gave you that sudden womanly anxiety to protect, to cuddle, she thought with that sudden nameless fear that precedes any emotion. And then a sudden gushing tenderness sifted through her warmly. No they were not like Lau’rel’s eyes she said to herself.
Lau’rel. She had said it. The dam that never leaked but always burst had tonight leaked, spilled over, suddenly bitterly over. She had believed in love. She had never tried love before she met Lau’rel because she had never known anyone except her father that had believed in it.
From her father she had learned some of the values of love. She had learned because he had warned her vehemently and he hardly ever warned about anything. Never, he had said, idealize love, or romanticize it, because romanticism and idealism were only as big as the people that created them, but love was much bigger than the ideals of any one person, or two persons, or groups of persons.
Love was the simple gift. That was why it played on man’s complications so. Men stood in awe of love; reverent, marveling at the power of love. Nickie was twelve then, she remembered. Often it bothered her; whatever did power have to do with love?
She had mistaken Lau’rel’s persistence. That’s why she had gone away with him. She really believed that his persistence was part of the love that was in him. For a while sailing with him on the company schooner to visit the coffee plantations she belived she had found love. Gratefully with a holy urgency she returned it the only way she knew how.
She did not know then that when a man was given love—all love, pure love, the kind that was a tribute to all men through one—that he would not be content to accept it humbly, to leave it as it was. Because in loving, Lau’rel had felt the power her father had spoken of. And love was replaced by desire.
It was, she recalled achingly bitterly, as if he had suddenly discovered a new marketable merchandise. It was like the merchandise of patriotism without political ideology, it was like education without curiosity, it was like prayer without religion. It was to Lau’rel the epitome of materialistic exhibitionism; she, Nickie, his living breathing capital gain.
That was her great love she had found out gradually. So very, very gradually. Woman Loves Son-of-a-bitch. But she made him pay. She had made him pay for destroying that which he didn’t know he was destroying, remembering him vividly now as she had last seen him two months after she had left him finally, seeing him there crying pitifully on the floor begging her to come back after he had broken into her apartment and attacked a guest, an English commodore; the commodore laying him flat in seconds and he, Lau’rel, pleading that he had only done what he had truly believed best for her, that he had only wanted to protect her. And she believing him suddenly angrily, knowing that she only believed him because she had wanted to. Then suddenly seeing the smug, knowing expression of the commodore; the expression that said he’d seen this sort of thing before, wasn’t it a pity. And Nickie having that instant to make up her mind but not knowing what she was making up her mind about but making it up suddenly, anyhow, and walking instinctively past the figure on the floor over to the commodore kissing him hard.
And she had been glad then. She had been glad she hadn’t gone tortuously grinding love into little bits as Lau’rel had wanted to go on grinding it. She had finished love quickly and cleanly; decently, she had told herself then.
But had she? The war came and after moving about she had begun to think of him. One day she heard he was in the army and she had written him care of his consul; never believing he was in the army because it didn’t fit for him, believing it was some politics he had spread and that he was living as he always had lived, richly placidly somewhere. In writing she had told herself that she would make him pay once more, knowing secretly sheepishly that she was trying to salvage something from the wreck they had made; any little thing that would give some meaning, some justification to this living. But he had never answered.
Abruptly, she was in the kitchen again. Con was standing a few feet in front of her talking to Danny engrossedly. She gulped her gin-tonic. She had a sudden half-hysterical urge to holler: And that’s the cold facts. But Con wouldn’t know anything about the cold facts. No, he wouldn’t. How about the warm facts? she asked herself, suddenly inwardly giggly. “Get me a gin-tonic,” she commanded laughing.
“Sure,” Con said. “Have you given Danny his welcome yet?”
“In the livingroom,” she said. “He’s easy.”
Danny flushed.
“I’m easier,” Con said over his shoulder walking away. And passing Carla he had a sudden exuberant desire to slap her playfully on the tail. And she turned and caught the impish twist of his mouth and position of his eyes, turning her head away abruptly, feeling an unfamiliar warm girlish redness forming somewhere in her, spreading out slowly in a rush of flashing vivid pictures of long forgotten young-girl memories.
Later, when they all sat down to eat Danny mentioned that he would like to ride, and Gus said that Carla rode every day and he was sure she’d be glad to show them the new trails. Nickie was getting a little drunk and rather familiar with one of the men in the orchestra who was eating with them, and finally Gus suggested that they leave. Carla asked to be dropped and Gus said he would be glad to escort her, too.
After that the party broke up rapidly. Con and Danny hit one of the clubs downtown and had a few drinks and watched the gambling for a while.
When they awakened the next day it was raining hard. Danny sent a message to Carla that maybe it would be best if they ride the day after, then he and Con browsed the hotel library. Danny suggested a copy of Thackeray’s Vanity Fair for Con. For himself he took Meredith’s The Ordeal of Richard Feverel saying that often he had wanted to get into it but something always came up.
The rain continued and their rooms grew damp. They built up the fire and bundled in blankets and read, and a couple of times Con fell asleep. About five they decided they would go out to eat, the hell with the rain. Then for the first time in almost twentyfour hours Con mentioned the Island situation.
“I think I’ll leave a message where we’re going. In case there’s a wire.”
“Sure,” Danny smiled. “It’s all over down there by now. It seems odd, doesn’t it? Especially after the way we’ve spent the day.”
“Unreal,” Con said, and started for the bath.
CHAPTER XVI
They did not attempt to attack the body free that day as Danny and Con had expected. Niven had received a message that the priest and a replace
ment named Ringa were to be flown in and they spent the morning building a strip on a flat pocket in the higher foothills. The plane had arrived on schedule at fourteen hundred hours and they had returned to their encampment in the upper valley five miles from where Island’s body lay captive.
“We can get the body out,” Danforth was saying. “But there ain’t no sense in riskin’ anybody’s ass.”
“And I suppose you know how to get it out without riskin’ anybody’s ass,” Niven said.
“Now lads,” the priest spoke calmly, “this isn’t any time to argue. Remember you still have your orders to move north.”
“No reflection on you, Father,” Niven said. “But I don’t want anybody to speak without raising their hand. It’ll be dark in an hour and with no fires we can’t have any meeting tonight. We have to make a decision now.”
“I know how to get the body out,” Danforth said. “I figured it out. I talked it over with La Bung La.”
“Yes, Du,” the Subadar Major grinned his crooked grin. “We have a plan.”
“I think it is a good plan,” Nautaung said.
“I think I might have a scheme myself,” Lau’rel said.
For an instant Danforth shifted his eyes coldly towards the Filipino.
“Just remember that we have only sixty men in this encampment,” Niven said. “The main body is two miles from here and the main body leaves for the training area as ordered at sunset. Whatever the plan no more than these sixty men are to be utilized. Go ahead, Danforth.”
“Well, there ain’t no natives in the town accordin’ to our information and our information looks solid,” Danforth spoke authoritatively. “And Island’s dead. So why not have the airforce flatten the town, then we go in and take the body.”
“Yes, Du,” the Subadar Major supported. “We can fire smoke mortar shells into the village and the air-force can bomb the smoke,” he grinned.
They were sitting in a circle in the heavy foliage of the upper valley jungle out of sight and sound of the main trail. Monkeys chattered in the trees above and strange bird whistles filled the air.
Niven was fingering his gold rimmed glasses. He didn’t have to think it over. It was a natural: “It’s a good plan,” he said. “Simple and good.”
“I’m afraid my scheme couldn’t come up to that,” Lau’rel said.
Ringa was studying Niven. He sure looked rich and studious and about to drop dead just like everyone at base said, Ringa thought. But he’s one sharp little punk for a rich punk. He wondered what it would be like to feel rich like that.
“How many men do you figure we’ll need for your plan?” Niven asked Danforth.
“What d’ya mean we,” Danforth’s dark eyes flashed balefully. “I can handle it. It’s my plan.”
“And it’s my outfit,” Niven glared back at him, then remembered how Danforth was when he was drunk and shifted his eyes. Well, he wasn’t drunk now, thank God. “And my responsibility, too.”
“’Tis only right, Jim,” the priest said to Niven. “’Tis Johnnie’s plan. He should have his chance.”
“Of course I’d like to go along myself,” Lau’rel offered weakly.
“Besides, lad,” the priest said to Niven, “as commander of the group you should be in a position where you have better overall command.”
“Yeh,” Danforth said. “You got duties of yer own.”
“It was good luck that the Du Danforth and the Subadar Major should think of such a fine plan,” Nautaung eyed Niven. “I think it would be bad not to utilize such luck,” the old man grinned.
To Niven the words came like an ultimatum: “O.K., Danforth, it’s your baby,” Niven said dramatically. “How many men will you need?”
“Twenty men.”
“Pick them yourself,” Niven said. “But I’m staying a mile or so beyond you with a group in support.”
“Fair enough,” Danforth grinned sardonically. “Can you get base for the airsupport?”
“I’ve got them on a twentyfour hour standby. I’ll get on the radio now.”
“Then I better line up my men,” Danforth got up, then the Subadar Major got up. “I’m takin’ La Bung for one.”
“How about me?” Ringa spoke for the first time.
“’Tis the lad’s first day,” the priest interjected.
Niven was looking at Ringa, then shifted his eyes to Danforth. “It’s your party.”
“Why not?” Danforth half-sneered. “He’s gotta learn sometime. O.K. Ringa,” he threw his head back signalling him to come along.
Ringa got up and slung his carbine. The Subadar Major saluted rigidly. Danforth lumbered away and they followed.
Niven watched Ringa. He had seen them come freshly green since the beginning with Con; always with an over-zealous eagerness or with an obviously calculated nonchalance. But not Ringa, Niven thought. He’s been in it before. Maybe the Pacific. There was a rumor that some of the guys that fought in the Pacific were coming out here. Christ, you’d think base would let you know about an experienced man, considering all the jerks they send us.
“Do you think you should have sent the new man, lad?” the priest asked. “He’s not really in this outfit. He’s going over to Danny’s with me. That’s orders. He’s Danny’s man.”
“I think he’s been in it before, anyhow.” Niven contemplated.
“I’m not so sure. He was drivin’ for the Colonel, he was. A nice lad, Ringa.”
Niven got up. “You come with me,” he said to Lau’rel. “You’ll be in charge of the main body. We’ll have to figure a march route to the training area,” he looked around. “I’ll give the rest of my instructions in the morning,” he sighed deeply to Nautaung and the priest.
Then with considerable effort, the Father saw, he slung his carbine. He seemed to have to set his feet in motion, then strode loosely, about to fall apart, disappearing into the thick, now darkening jungle.
“The young Dus they grow up fast now,” Nautaung said.
“Ay. It’s a grand plan they have,” the priest spoke distantly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plug and bit wincingly into it.
“It is a variation of one of Dua Con’s plans,” Nautaung said.
“I figured as much. I saw the Dua Con only yesterday.”
“He returns soon?”
“Ay.”
“That is good,” the old man smiled. “Then we do bigger things.”
“And how do you know that?” the Priest chewed.
Nautaung grinned: “You laugh when I say it. But I say it. I feel it.”
“Glory. You’re worse than a woman,” his eyes twinkled. He spat and his face grew suddenly solemn. “And do you feel that bigger things will have a bad effect on your people?”
“My people will make the best of what must be. I do not worry,” the old man smiled. “I must go. I must check the mules.”
“Ay, Subadar Major still has you with the mules,” the priest ribbed.
“Yes,” the old man grinned. “The Subadar Major is very efficient. He keeps the jackasses with the jackasses. I do not mind.”
“Before you go, old man,” the priest put his hand on Nautaung’s shoulder and looked at him solemnly. “What of this Island mess?”
“What was done was done. It couldn’t be helped.”
“It was quick?”
Nautaung raised his brows slightly, thoughtfully. “I think it was bad for him that way. I think he was still alive when they got him.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” the priest said whitely, crossing himself with a quick jerky little motion that ended with his hands clasped piously on his breast. “It wasn’t in the dispatches.”
“I was the first one of the group that rescued those ambushed. That was my opinion from the men I talked to. But I did not think it was necessary to mention it.”
The priest was staring emptily at the ground. “You did right. But it was true the lad used a weapon?”
“He had no choice. They charged his flank
four to one. He stopped it with the automatic.”
“I will pray for him. I will say my next mass for him.”
“He was a good man, Du Father. You would do better to pray for some of us that are not so good. And for tomorrow. It is us that have not been saved.” Nautaung paused, slung his rifle. “I will see you at the meal,” he grinned.
“Synchronize your watches,” Niven said. “It is now oh-fivethirty hours base time.” His teeth chattered from the damp early morning cold. The vapor mist lay thick and heavy on the half-dark jungle floor and the over anxious jabbering and clattering of the preparing troops came heavily, foliage-muffled into the headquarters area from all around.
“Fighter planes with special bomb loads will appear over the target at thirteen hundred hours and will bomb on smoke signal after final ground to air confirmation. I repeat thirteen hundred hours over the target. Danforth?”
“Thirteen hundred hours,” Danforth said.
“La Bung La?”
“Thirteen hundred hours,” the Subadar Major said.
“Your plan, Danforth?” Niven asked.
Christ, you’d think he was Napoleon starting off for Italy, Danforth thought. “There’s high ground to the north and east. A small hill that according to the map looks down on the village. I’ll cut through the jungle and set up there.”
“Good,” Niven said. “I checked the wind first thing this morning. It’s from the north so your smoke shells won’t blow back on you. If it changes I suggest you fire the first one long.”
“I know all that shit,” Danforth said edgily. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll be behind you a mile just off the trail with forty men,” Niven said. “Lau’rel will leave now with the main body less First Company for the training area. Nautaung and the Father will take the radio headquarters and join First Company. They will follow Lau’rel for two miles, find good ground, dig in and wait until we join them.…”
“Just a minute, Jim lad. I belong here with you,” the priest interrupted. “It’s my.…”
“You have your orders, Father,” Niven spoke sharply. “You go with Nautaung,” he said flushing. “And I’ll thank you not to interrupt anymore.”
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