“Douse that light,” Con says meaningfully, almost desperately, but in as quiet a voice as possible.
The night has ears.
The light races on jerkingly, stumbles finally, falls into the hole the horse flies buzzing around it.
“Christ, you’ve got to give me a hand,” Doc Travis says.
Con seized the light, flashed it to the face once quickly. The Doctor’s hand is brushing the flies away from the heavy beard. The hand is wet with red blood, caked beneath with dry blood. His eyeballs are round and wide and white. The face is a mass of welts. He douses the light. He can hear the Doctor slapping at himself, half-crazed by the flies. He would have smelled the Doc even if he hadn’t seen him.
“Tell Danny to take over,” Con says to Ringa. “I’ll be at the hospital. We’ll build a fire there. In the hole. And try to smudge out the flies. Bring us blankets to cover the hole.”
They stumble away. BOOM. Together they hit the earth. The earth is sweet. BOOM. Shrapnel in the air. They’re up and running. They holler as they run. “Don’t shoot. We are the Du’s.”
A shot passes between them. But they make the field station. The flies make it with them.
Morphine runs low. They sprinkle sulpha powder wildly like a drunken whore powdering. They must equalize the flies. The saw-blade breaks. The Japanese have all the good steel. They amputate with a Kukri knife, chopping like butchers in a supermarket during the Saturday afternoon rush.
The artillery without trajectory forms a pattern. Every six minutes one round. Like the ticking of the clock. Psychological artillery. That’s logical in a psychological age. Tick. Tick.
There is no tomorrow the psychological artillery says. Tick. Tick.
Only night.
Morning comes. With the morning comes the airforce, circling protectively. The artillery ceases. The heads of men, like gophers, like their cave men ancestors, protrude cautiously from their holes. There is no water.
The men begin to talk, wearily at first. They do not look the same to each other, because today they all look the same. They have been reduced. They have left their personalities in the night. They begin to talk loudly now, searching for lost recognitions. They begin to move away from their holes. The day is beautiful. There is light. In the heavens above circle the angels of their now; the airforce.
There is a shot. A soldier falls to the earth. He does not move.
A sniper, unseen, grins in a tree. For the hunter there is joy in the hunt.
There is silence after the shot, the men edge back to their holes. They cannot run for their holes, their womb outside their womb. For they are men and would rather chance they be shot than run for their holes in the presence of other men … They had begun to recognize each other again … And it is only six-o’clock; one hour after the first light.
“Where’s Danny?” Con asked.
“He went into the jungle,” Niven said. “He told me to tell you. With a patrol. They’re looking for a weak spot.”
Con thought about it for a second: “Sure,” he said. “Did you send the message?”
“Half-hour ago,” Niven said.
Goodwin was grinning sillily, Niven noticed.
“You like it here, Billy-boy?”
Goodwin tried to spit but his mouth was too dry. He was smoking.
“Give me that butt,” Ringa said.
“I’m saving them,” Goodwin said coldly. He admired Ringa. He wanted to be like Ringa. He said it just like he thought Ringa would have said it to him.
Niven reached into his pocket, pulled out half a pack, threw it to Ringa. Ringa threw it back without taking one: “I’ve got some. I just wanted to conserve.”
Silently Goodwin handed Ringa the butt. Ringa inhaled twice, succulently, passed it to Niven. Niven dragged twice, passed it to Con. Con dragged twice and handed it back to Goodwin. He finished it almost burning his lips with the final drag. They all stared at the butt as he ground it out; into nothing. One minute it was burning, alive, giving comfort. Then, like that, it was dead.
“I know you guys won’t believe this,” Niven said pokerfaced. “But I had a wet dream last night.”
Con chuckled brushing his nose with a bloodcaked hand. He began to laugh. Then Ringa joined in, then Goodwin.
“For Chris sake,” Niven said still pokerfaced, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. “You think I’d kid at a time like this.”
Doc Travis came in while they were still laughing. They told him what Niven had said. He laughed too. Flies clung to his bloodcaked jungle suit. A pair of rubber gloves protruded from his left breast pocket. His beard was filthy and he smelled the sickening smell of dried blood.
“Where’s the priest?” Niven asked.
“Burial service. Still giving burial service and the last rites,” Doc Travis said. “One of the corpses had a muscle reaction as he was praying. It sat right up on him. He stopped for just a second, pushed it down and kept on praying. Like he was drunk. Or had expected it. But he’s not drunk …”
“I’m thinking of all the whiskey I’ve wasted. I could sure use a drink now,” Niven said dreamily. “I sure could.”
“How many wounded?” Con asked the Doc.
“Twenty walking. Fifteen litter.”
“Let’s put the walking wounded on the line. Stop them from feeling sorry for themselves and bitching.”
“Good idea,” Doc Travis said.
From outside the perimeter was a sudden exchange of fire.
“Danny’s hit something,” Ringa said.
“What do you expect? They’re all around us,” Niven said.
The firing stopped, then suddenly started again.
“He’s measuring them,” Con said. “To see what they return with. That’s the way Danny patrols.”
They listened to the firing until it slackened off.
“I’m going to try and get Danny out of here tonight,” Con said. “We’ll have to make a diverting attack.”
“We getting water today?” Goodwin asked.
“I told them to free drop it,” Con said. “Someone will probably be killed by the drop but we have to take the chance. They can’t hit the area with the chutes and if they do hit the area we can’t get the chutes out of the jungle-top.”
Everyone knew what everyone else was thinking. So Con said it: “I’m putting it this way to Danny if he makes it. He’ll get our main body and move into the area. He’s definitely not to attack the Jap position straight up that hill. But if he can find a way to surprise them or cut in their rear and harrass them then we’ll make an all out effort here. It would be suicide to attack the Japs up that hill. If he can’t manage that he’ll make a diverting raid to one of the flanks. As he raids we’ll disperse, except for a contingent with the wounded, it will be every man for himself.”
“It’s that bad,” Doc Travis said.
“It’s not good. Our only other salvation would be a big Chinese push on the Road. I wouldn’t count on that,” Con said. “Now get back to your units. Dig. And get a prisoner. If at all possible, get a prisoner.”
Ringa and Goodwin left. Niven waited until they were gone, then tried to outwait the Doc. But the Doc wanted to talk to Con too.
“What is it?” Con asked finally.
“I think you ought to send the priest out with Danny,” Niven said. “If anyone can get pressure put on by the Chinese it’s the priest.”
Con eyed Doc Travis. “He’s right, Con,” the Doc said.
“Thanks Jim,” Con said. “I’ll ask him. Tell Nautaung I want to see him.”
“He went with Danny,” Niven said.
“Goddamn it,” Con said caustically. “Goddamn it … Danny ought to know better than that. Nautaung ought to.…” Con stood up and kicked at the dirt. “Christ.…”
“See you later, boss,” Niven said and gangled into the jungle.
Con’s forehead was furrowed constrainedly, thoughtfully. “Well?” He asked Doc Travis.
“Is there any chance that w
e’ll get out of here today?”
“Why?”
“I’ve got four or five wounded that won’t live until tomorrow noon unless we get out of here today. They’re using up what little plasma and morphine we have. If there’s no chance that we get out of here today they ought to be put out of their.…”
“Liquidated,” Con said. “No … there’s a chance. Not much of a chance. But the Japs have done it before. They might pull out. Simply pull out. It’s happened to me before. We’ll wait … at least until morning.”
“Check,” Doc Travis said. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Here,” Con said handing him a canteen. “Give it to the wounded. It was taken from the dead.”
“Sure,” the Doc said. “I’ve got.…”
There was a sudden outburst of fire from the north. It increased rapidly, loudly.
Grenades were exploding, automatics were firing in bursts, and the return fire tore through the jungle stirring the green vegetation, ricocheting chunks of earth, thudding into the wood of the rain forest.
Con reached the Subadar Major’s command post on the north perimeter finally. Together they edged up to the line taking cover in the indented earth where an artillery shell had exploded the night before.
The jungle in front twitched and moved alive with enemy soldiers. Two lay dead in a small clearing to their front.
“They come in like amateurs,” Subadar Major Winston-Smythe Churchill said eloquently. “Standing straight up.”
A Jap, ten yards to their front, peered from behind a tree. He ducked his head back. The white haired old Subadar Major leveled his carbine. The Jap made a run from the tree. The Subadar Major squeezed. The Jap fell a bullet shattering his helmet.
“Go that way,” Con pointed to his left. “I’ll go the other. Slow down this fire.”
As they started off there were jungle-muffled screams of: Banzai. Banzai.
The maze of green to their front moved, twisted, broke open as a group of them charged. They came on straight up bayonets fixed, charging fast.
It seemed that every weapon around them was firing at an unbelievable rate of speed. The Japs fell, twisted, screamed, crawled forward. One kept coming on, standing, untouched, grinning yellowly with glazed eyes. Dirt showered round him but he kept coming. Con fired three times but he still kept coming. He was short, fat, bow-legged. He winced once, but came on. Con saw a piece of his shirt fly from his shoulder and he spun around but didn’t go down. He regained his direction, he was only ten feet from the line. He tripped, fell, clawed forward at the earth. Dirt sprayed. He dropped his rifle crawling with his hands, glassy-eyed. Con hollered loudly in Kachin and sprang from the hole toward the Jap. The Jap smiled as Con raced toward him. Con grabbed his arm and began to tug at him, pulling him toward their line. The Jap’s feet pushed at the earth helping Con to drag him, not seeming to care about anything as long as he made the Kachin line. Con felt the dirt spray stingingly to his face. His leg seared with a sudden hot pain. He dumped the Jap into the artillery hole falling on him. Their faces were inches apart. The Japanese smiled. Con could smell him. His teeth were a dirty, yellowish green. Out of the corner of his eye Con saw a form descending on him. It knocked him free of the Jap. Con started to raise his head but he was half off balance and the something struck him across the head pushing him down. There was an explosion right outside the hole. Dirt flew. Black powder smoke spread and shrapnel whistled.
The Jap had unleashed a grenade. The Subadar Major had seen it. Knocked Con over and threw the grenade out of the hole.
They started to drag the half-alive Jap toward the rear. The attack continued. Con saw Niven’s mobile reserve coming forward, spread out low, moving toward positions on the line. You didn’t have to tell him, Con thought.
They slid the Jap into the hole of the Subadar Major’s command post. Con saw Ringa edging through the jungle toward the line. Con signaled him over. Ringa waved him off, gesturing that he was trying to get the mortar zeroed in.
Con had his forearm across the Jap’s neck. The Jap was shot once in the shoulder, once in the hip, and four times in the leg but Con and the Subadar Major had a hard time trying to truss his hand and legs. He kicked and grinned and slobbered at the mouth. His greenish yellow teeth flashed moldily.
They secured him. They commandeered two young Kachins to watch him and headed for the line. Suddenly the firing stopped.
The jungle stood still. Then there was a sudden outburst of fire. And no return fire. Silence.
The attack was over. Dead Japs lay sprawled on the jungle floor to their front.
They carried the captive Jap to headquarters. They got Doc Travis. He gave the Jap first aid but no morphine. “He’s all hopped up anyhow,” he said to Con.
Niven was going through his wallet. Runners streamed into headquarters. There hadn’t been any Kachins killed but three were wounded. All units requested ammunition.
“Take him,” Con said to Ringa as soon as he came in. “Milk him,” he signaled with his head toward the Jap.
“Goodwin will give me a hand,” Ringa said.
Con who had been discussing the supply problem with the Subadar Major paused apprehensively. He wasn’t sure, but he thought there was the slightest reluctance in Ringa’s voice. His eyes followed Ringa as he walked slowly toward the Jap.
Con finished with the Subadar Major. “Niven,” he called. “Get pencil and paper.”
Niven whipped a pencil and notebook out of his breast pocket.
“Want full scale bomber-fighter attack on enemy hill close to sundown as possible. Situation black. Air-drop not coming in effectively. Jap in Banzai attack. Need pressure of anykind. Can’t commit my Kachin reserve at this time. Reynolds.”
“How about repeating that line about bomber attack?”
“Repeat it,” Con said.
Niven took off.
Danny and Nautaung came in grinning.
“Thanks for the diverting action, old boy,” Danny said.
“We find water, Dua,” Nautaung said.
“Can we get anybody out of here?” Con asked.
“It’ll be bloody rough,” Danny said. “Can we get a message off?”
“I just sent one.”
“I want some Croton oil. The Japs are drinking from that water. I want to put some Croton oil in it.”
“Run tell Niven, will you, Danny? We took a prisoner. I want to stay here and see what we get.”
Danny left.
“You shouldn’t have gone, Nautaung,” Con said.
“I know the Dua Danny would not take too many chances if I went along. That was the reason. Will you try and get the Dua Danny out of here? To bring aid?”
“Tonight. The priest too.”
“There is a chance. The enemy rage. They intend now to avenge themselves for the misery we have caused them. It was strong attack?”
“Fanatic. But those attacks are to our advantage. It’s the artillery that hurts.”
A runner came in and handed Con a note. He put it in his pocket.
“Your leg bleeds,” Nautaung said.
Con looked down. He took out his knife and cut open his pants. There was a gash about two inches long and a half-inch deep on the side of his leg. He spit into his hand and rubbed the spit over the wound. “Ricochet,” he said putting his cupped hand up to Nautaung. Nautaung leaned over and spit into Con’s hand. Con rubbed it on the wound.
“You are busy, Dua. I have two canteens of water. I will take them to the hospital.”
But Con didn’t hear him. He had turned his head and was talking to a Subadar concernedly.
Con finished and went over to where Goodwin and Ringa were working on the Jap.
“He doesn’t speak English,” Ringa said. “Not a word of English. No language that we can get through to him with.”
Goodwin was drawing a diagram on the ground holding the Jap up by the hair so that he could see it. The Jap shook his head grinningly, slobbering at the mouth.<
br />
There were several sniper shots and then a B.A.R. answering, then the jungle-muffled cry: “Du Medic. Du Medic.”
“He’s faking it,” Goodwin said cracking the Jap across the face.
“Give him a cigarette,” Con said to Ringa. “And water. Try to soft soap him.”
“He’s faking it,” Goodwin said. “I can make him talk.”
“You heard me,” Con said. “Leave him go, Goodwin.” Goodwin dropped him. “Go over to the headquarters supply. In the book bag there’s a small Jap dictionary. See if that helps.”
Four young Kachins passed nearby carrying a newly wounded on a makeshift litter.
“You have the head of a water buffalo,” one of the litter bearers was saying to the wounded one in Kachin. “Only a Shan would stand so upright in a clearing.”
“You would not understand you who clings to the earth like the belly of a snake,” the wounded one said. “I have the heart of an elephant. It is in my family.”
“You weigh like an elephant,” another of the litter party said.
“That is my strength you feel,” the wounded one said. “Be careful,” he grimaced from a sudden jolt. “You bear the body of a hero.”
Con jostled up next to the litter party walking along with them. He shoved a lit cigarette in the wounded one’s mouth. He lifted the boy’s blouse. There was a neat hole in his side, through the liver.
“I should take the cigarette back,” Con kidded in Kachin. “I thought the wound was serious.”
The litter bearers laughed.
“It is not a bad wound for a first wound is it, Dua?” the wounded one asked.
“A first wound?” Con said pokerfaced.
“Yes, Dua,” he said proudly.
“That is indeed a fine first wound,” Con said in Kachin. “My first was not half so good.”
Overhead Con heard the first drone of the big plane engines. He doubletimed ahead of the litter party into the aid station. He told the Doc to get all the wounded in their holes as the air transports were going to free drop the supply. He sped back to headquarters and spread the word. The planes began to make their passes. The big crates fell from the sky crashing into the perimeter. The Japs began to open up machine gun fire on the dropping DC-3s. Ringa returned mortar fire.
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