“Catholic,” the Doc replied.
“That will be one of your jobs from now on, Lieutenant,” Con said.
“Let’s go,” Ringa said to the Doc reluctantly. And they left.
“I don’t think Ringa went for that,” Niven said.
“Who would?” Con said.
“A nasty job,” Lau’rel said.
“Lau’rel said the Marauders were ‘ratha barbaric,’” Niven mimicked. “Get that: barbaric.”
“Why they ambushed this patrol and the fighting was no sooner over and they rushed out there like a bunch of wildmen,” Lau’rel said clutching the silver medallion that hung from his neck. “I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. One Jap was still alive and one of them cut his cheek open with a knife and began to cut out his gold teeth. Later he showed me a whole bottle of them. He had gotten some of them in the Pacific, he said, and proudly too. He said he bet he had four hundred dollars worth of gold in that little bottle.”
There was a glazed distant look in Lau’rel’s eyes now and a slight trace of hysteria in his voice. Con noticed it at once and at once it reminded him of the shocked incoherent eyes and the uncontrolled voice of a berserk English officer straggler of the 1st Wingate Circus they had picked up in a native village one day. Quickly Con glanced at Niven and saw that he had noticed something too.
“And they practically stripped the yellow of everything,” Lau’rel was saying. “Two of the chaps got in a fight over his wallet and I thought they were going to kill each other. They put a rope around his legs and dragged him all over the camp and everyone was poking bayonets and knives in him. I’ve never seen anyone so frightened as that Jap. It was shocking. Shocking,” he said a little breathlessly and as if talking aloud to himself. And then his eyes seemed to focus in again and his voice gain control. “It’s changed my entire conception of Americans. And yet those very same chaps were kind to me. Offering part of their meager rations and anxious to talk.”
Regardless of the way Lau’rel had spoken he painted a vivid picture, Con thought, almost too goddamn vivid. “Men are pigs sometimes,” Con said disgustedly. “Pigs. Sometimes I’m ashamed of the whole goddamn human race.”
“Yeah,” Niven said. “I was reading in the theatre paper about Japanese atrocities. How they don’t follow the Geneva rules on how to fight a fair war. That’s real shit for the birds how we’re going to punish them guys when it’s over.”
“That Merrill’s O.K. though,” Niven said. “He spent a lot of time up in my neck of the woods.”
“New England?” Con asked.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t get to meet Merrill,” Lau’rel said. “He was back at base one of his officers said.”
“He’s a very mild mannered guy,” Con said. “You’d be surprised. He wears glasses, gold rimmed like Niven’s, and he’s got kind of a sweet face.”
“That other guy,” Niven said. “That works with him. He’s a real glory boy.”
“I’ll go along with that,” Con said.
“I met him,” Lau’rel said. “I was impressed. He served in Manila he told me. And knew my uncle.”
“You still don’t know you’re in a war, do you José?” Niven said.
“I like to forget it as much as I can,” Lau’rel said fondling the silver medallion.
“We got our own outfit to worry about,” Con said. “Let’s go, Lau’rel. I made an inspection of supply when you were gone and we’ll have to make some changes to fit this next move.”
And Niven watched them walk away. Con had made an inspection of supply all right, Niven thought, but there weren’t any changes that he couldn’t just tell Lau’rel about. Con had seen it too. The Filipino was getting jumpy. He would have to be watched. That sort of thing was too goddamn contagious not to be watched. But why shouldn’t he be a little jumpy? Coming off patrol and with this goddamn stinking weather we’ve been having. Who the hell wouldn’t eventually blow their stack in this stinking weather. Christ, he ought to know that everyone got a little jumpy when the weather was stinking like it had been.
That night the infant monkey died. They had a terrible time getting the body away from Scheherezade. The next morning she refused to eat. In the afternoon they got two planes in and the wounded out. Supplies were running low but the weather still wasn’t suitable for an airdrop. Extra hunting parties were sent east.
The second day Scheherezade still hadn’t eaten. She had become a complete alcoholic and suffered immeasurably when she didn’t get her daily ration of scotch. But she refused even that. Her face was sad and she hardly noticed anyone. Con had spent a whole hour trying to coax her to take a little milk but she refused.
Nautaung was concerned. The people would consider it a bad omen for the monkey to die now. It rained hard on the third day and they went on half-ration but Niven’s fever broke. Niven had been bedridden the two days and Ringa had personally brought him periodic cups of bouillon and made him drink it.
Con was getting edgy. He knew he had to move soon since his position was now known. Besides, he wanted at least a few days head start on Merrill. But he was tied to the weather as was the whole operation. Finally on the fifth the ceiling raised and the big planes came in bearing food and ammunition.
After the drop Con made one final effort to get Scheherezade to eat. But her love for the infant monkey had been too great. She refused and died that night. Con had heard of animals and people that had died of a broken heart but he had never seen it, or even considered it.
“I am going to give the monkey a Kachin burial,” Nautaung said late that night. It was raining again. “The soldiers would like that.”
“As you wish,” Con said. “Do you think it is a bad sign.”
“No. Bad signs are only in the minds of men.”
“I’ve never seen anyone die of love,” Con said speaking of Scheherezade as if she were human and still alive.
It always fascinated Ringa when Con spoke like that. He was immobile waiting to hear more.
“That is not love,” Nautaung said. “That is greed.”
Con thought about it for a moment. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?”
“You are born to live. Not to die for love or anything else. You die for other reasons,” the old man said surely.
“I see.”
“But the monkey gave you great service when you needed it most,” Nautaung said. “Will you come to the burial?”
“I will be there.”
“That is good.”
“Du Ringa, you are welcome, too.”
“I’ll come, Nautaung.”
“I will have everyone there if you think the men would be impressed.”
“It would not hurt.”
“We will be there,” Con said. “And the Du Niven too. He is better.”
“Now I will take that portion of scotch you offered two days ago,” Nautaung smiled. “These old bones fight hard against the rain but not hard enough alone.”
They all had a drink to the campaign. In the morning they buried the monkey Scheherezade in a slight drizzle. By noon they were winging east toward the Naura Hyket pass and Myitkyina. The rains had let up but it drizzled constantly, and the going was tough. They made the pass and headed for the Irriwaddy valley, Merrill hot on their tail and meeting no resistance whatsoever.
CHAPTER XXIX
Con turned loose twelve groups of soldiers dressed as civilians and sent them on ahead. They went as individuals, in two’s and three’s. Two of the groups, known as the Troy One and Troy Two groups, bore gifts. All the groups had gotten into Myitkyina and out again by the time the main Kachin force arrived at Riptong. They reported that the Japs were aware of Stilwell’s approaching left-hook but were afraid to reinforce with troops from Mogoung as the English were now approaching that town from the west. It was, Con knew at once, Mad Mike Calvert and a column of the Chindits, predominantly Gurkhas.
The word was radioed, to the Colonel. Colonel Pearson, without the time or faciliti
es to consult with higher command, took the initiative. He ordered Con to send the agents back into the town to spread the word that an entire American Division was included in the attacking force. The Japs bought the story, panicked, and withdrew across the Irriwaddy leaving only minor nuisance forces to occupy Myitkyina. Con sent his main force under Ringa east up the Irriwadddy to encamp. The Marauders came racing through Riptong and into Myitkyina seizing the airfield. The Marauder radio blared, “Cafeteria Lunch,” and with that code word planes of Chinese began to fly into the strip. Colonel Pearson himself landed an hour after the first Chinese infantry and Con nailed him before he had hardly gotten out of the plane door.
“Where’s General Merrill?” Con asked. “For Christ’s sake where is he?”
“Take it easy,” the Colonel said. “I don’t know. He’ll be here. He’s had another heart flutter. I know that.”
“The Japs are across the river, Ray. There’s not a hundred of them in the town. And that S.O.B. commanding Merrill’s won’t try to take the town. He says that’s not in his orders.”
“How do you know what’s in the town?”
“Nautaung and I have been all over it. Hell I took a crap in the railroad station.”
“Do you think the Japs will cross back over?”
“When they find out there’s only a little over a thousand men here, they’re bound to.”
“How can you be so sure?” the Colonel said.
“For one thing, to save face,” Con said. “And because it’s logical. That airfield is important to them; psychologically and militarily.”
They were walking along the edge of the airfield and the DC-3’s were circling in a pattern above and there were several small engagements near the perimeter, but minor engagements provided by the nuisance troops. The Colonel went to the C.P. and afterwards joined Con on the edge of the airstrip.
“He won’t do it,” the Colonel said. “He says the Japs will never come across. Besides, he has his orders.”
“He’s a stupid fool. I know the Japs.”
“He also said you were insubordinate.”
“I was excited.”
“He says if he goes to the river they might take the airfield back,” the Colonel said.
“He’s nuts. Niven and fifty Kachins can hold the airfield if we hold the river line. How they going to attack the airfield if they can’t get across the river? The river’s a mile wide.”
“There’s a chance. They may have left a sizable force hidden somewhere over here.”
“But they didn’t. There’s been Kachin patrols in every direction around here,” Con pleaded.
“But it would be a gamble.”
“A gamble! The whole goddamn thing was a gamble.”
“You’ve done your part. They’ll do theirs.”
“What would you do, Ray?” Con asked slightly wild-eyed. “Tell me. Tell me. What would you do?”
“Go to the river.”
“For Christ’s sake then do something.”
“I can’t.”
“You’ve got to. There’s only two hours until sunset. They got to get there before dark. Jesus, we haven’t given them a bum steer yet. Show them. Make them believe it,” Con said a little hysterically, incoherently.
“Can you take me to the river?” the Colonel asked.
The Colonel and five Kachins and Con went to the river and were back in an hour walking through the side streets of the town. They did not fire a shot nor were they fired upon. The Colonel went back to the C.P. He was there when the sun set, and an hour afterwards.
“They won’t consider it,” he said when he returned.
“I’m getting out of here,” Con said. “I’m going across the river and into the hills. And rest. You guys will be screaming for pressure in two weeks. Pressure to relieve a bunch of shitty, stupid officers and their unsuspecting men. Besides if I’m around here that S.O.B. that’s causing all this trouble will probably want to put my Kachins on the line. And they ain’t going on the line. Never. They’re not line troops.”
“You’d better calm down, boy,” the Colonel said.
It was dark now and there was firing in the distance and confusion around the airfield with supplies piling up and Chinese soldiers separated and lost from their units, and the Americans calling meetings, and the public relations men getting off their dispatches.
“Let’s go eat,” Con said. “Me, I’m going to get drunk.”
That night the Japs crossed back over the river. They attacked the airfield in force. Planes continued to land but in a hail of bullets. The rains came. The Kachin force crossed the river and headed south.
It took eighty-three days and thirteen thousand men wounded and killed to make the walk the Colonel and Con had taken in one hour.
The man who made the decision was duly decorated. The rumor spread that he was a ‘comer’ and might one day be Chief of Staff. In Verdon, Iowa, the editor of the Daily Gazette wrote an editorial praising the man; he had been born there, and Verdon was proud. And proud, too, of the two hometown boys that gave their lives on that airstrip.
Danny approaching Myitkyina from the west side had stayed on to patrol for the now bogged-down forces. Merrill’s force who had been given the word of their gentlemen officers that their mission was complete with the taking of the airfield were made to stay and fight until too sick to go on, or wounded, or dead. The man that made them stay on was, of course, the man that would not take them to the river.
Danny then crossed the river, then the Road and went into the hills encamping about four miles from Con. They met and Danny told him how he had walked through a Merrill position one night undisturbed. He had reported it to one of their officers. The next night the officer took Danny on an inspection of the perimeter. The perimeter was only one hundred yards from the Japanese perimeter but every man was exhaustedly asleep.
“They were so bloody tired, Con, they didn’t care whether they lived or died or were court-martialed. It was a crime.”
Then Danny told Con how he had been with Mad Mike Calvert at Mogaung. Mad Mike had charged a dug in Jap position with three hundred Gurkhas and there was a fifteen minute hand to hand fight. At the dawn the Gurkhas had taken out their Kukri knives and began to chant in real low voices: Kukri Kukriaaaaaaaah. Over and over they chanted. The chants became a war cry. Kukri Kukriaaaaaaah. The war cries became a frenzied hysteria and up the hill they charged.
“It was a magnificent sight,” Danny had said. “Mad Mike was the first one up there. Three hundred Gurkhas against seven hundred Japs and they beat them. Inconceivable.”
The Kachins, both units, were attacking the Road. They blew bridges and blew the Road and attacked convoys. Niven was given his commission. Billingsly had been sent on several missions to distribute the Japanese occupation money. Ringa had established himself as an expert in getting information from civilians as well as Japanese prisoners. It rained every day. Myitkyina was finally secured. It was August 29th, late afternoon, at Con’s C.P. He was reading the afternoon message.
“Well, they finally got to the river,” Con said to the Doc.
It was raining and they were in a basha in the village where their headquarters were. There was a fire in the basha and the Doctor was bare chested peeling the jungle rot from round his arm pits. Outside, not far away, they heard a scream and then cheering.
“They took Myitkyina?” the Doc asked.
“Finally. It looks like we can rest for a while now. There’ll be leaves.”
“Thank God for that.” There was another scream and more cheering. “God, I wish Ringa didn’t have to do that so close to headquarters. Who’s he working on?”
“A Jap. A half-starved one. He speaks English, too.”
“It’s not right,” Doc Travis said. He had a long black beard now, and long hair, and his eyes were glazed. “It’s like.… It’s not right.”
“He saved your life once with that kind of information,” Con said.
“It’s n
ot right.”
“Anything’s right,” Con said. “Anything now. To get it over with.”
“It’s murder; plain murder and we’re part of it.”
“It was a bigger murder not to go to the river at Myitkyina,” Con said.
“That was different.”
“You’re an asshole moralist,” Con said. “Still an asshole moralist.”
The Doctor took a drink. Savagely he swigged some water for a wash. He smacked his lips and swigged some more water and spit it on the bamboo floor, then wiped his drooling mouth and wet beard with the back of his hand.
“You don’t look like no all-American boy anymore,” Con said.
“I’m a pig. We’re all pigs,” the Doctor said disgustedly. “Dirty murdering pigs.”
“You’ll get on my nerves if you keep talking like that.”
“Your nerves were insensitive a long time ago.”
“Insensitive shit. Adjusted. That’s all. Adjusted.”
“You like this life, don’t you. You and Ringa both.”
“Come off it,” Con said. “Remember that Jap Ringa tortured outside of Myitkyina. Near the river.”
“I remember. When he put the bamboo splinter up his penis and lit it.”
“All right, if that’s the way you want to put it. But that goddamn stupid piece of information just happened to have saved the lives of over six hundred Americans and two thousand Chinese. And every Chinese that can fight takes some of it off our guys.”
“I’m impressed,” the Doctor said sarcastically.
“You drink too much,” Con said. “Suppose you had a kid in that Battalion. You got four kids. You know how men feel about their kids. I don’t. Supposing we get down to reality for a minute. What would you think of the guy that saved one of your kids’ life.”
Outside there was another horrible scream, then a moaning, and then the Kachins cheering.
The Doc started to reach for the bottle. Con reached out with his foot and kicked it over.
“You’re not hiding behind that any more, Doctor Grey Travis. You got a lot to learn. If Ringa saved your kid’s life would he still be a murderer? Would he?” Con said piercingly. “Answer me.”
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