The airdrop came in. The DC-3s were forced to drop from a higher altitude than usual because of heavy harassing fire from the Japanese. The ground to air radio informed Con that one of the co-pilots in one of the planes had been wounded and was in critical condition from a bullet in his chest.
The drop was not as successful as the day before but there was now water for two days, and K-rations for two days, and they were getting adequately ahead in their build-up of ammunition.
The sun was unmerciful, hotter than the two previous days. There was no wind but in the distance was a cloud.
“It is going to rain day after tomorrow,” Nautaung said.
“Are you sure?” Con asked.
“Is that good or bad?” Ringa asked.
“It’s good,” Nautaung said.
“How do you know it’s going to rain?” Niven asked Nautaung.
“It’s good and bad,” Con said. “We’ll have water and they’ll have a hell of a time maneuvering in the slop.”
“But we might not be able to get an airdrop,” Niven said. “Or air support.”
“But we might have a chance to fight our way out,” Con said. “If the rain were heavy enough.”
“If the priest made it he’ll be eating steak tonight,” Niven said. “Sitting there in the Colonel’s big house sipping martinis and eating steak, and French fries and salad.”
“And ketchup on the French fries,” Ringa said.
“I never heard of ketchup on French fries until I come in this Polack army.… It’s vinegar on my French fries,” Niven said. “Did you ever hear of ketchup on French fries?” Niven asked Con.
“In Indiana they put ketchup on scrambled eggs,” Con said.
“I’d settle for a couple of cheeseburgers and a milkshake,” Ringa said wiping the sweat from his face. “A nice cold thick milkshake …”
“Yeah,” Niven said. “In a nice air-conditioned drug store. And a couple of cokes on the side. All full of ice. Not to drink but just to look at.”
“And maybe a banana-split for dessert,” Ringa went on dreamily.
“Shut-up,” Goodwin said suddenly, meanly.
“You don’t have to eat,” Ringa said. “You can go down the street.”
“If you don’t like it here, blow,” Niven said. “Maybe this restaurant’s too expensive for you in the first place.”
“I wonder how he got in without a tie,” Ringa needled. “It must be the come to Jesus look of his and that golden hair.”
Goodwin got up and stalked away.
“I guess he ain’t hungry,” Ringa said.
“He likes momma’s cooking that’s all,” Niven said.
“What would you like to eat, Nautaung?” Ringa asked.
“A hot dog,” the old man grinned. “With mustard.”
“Jee-sus Christ,” Con said, grinning. “All right, let’s break this up. We’ve got plenty to do. I’m going to see Danny.”
“I’ll come,” Niven said.
“All right. Keep alert for an attack about six,” Con said.
“I feel it, too,” Nautaung said.
“Then get to your positions,” Con said. “Alert the men.”
Niven and Con walked over to the hospital. Danny wasn’t there. He had ordered himself transported to the line, Doc Travis said, to the vicinity where the attacks had been.
They found Danny propped up against the edge of a hole in which were two other Kachins. He had had a shelf cut out of the earth about six inches below the top of the hole. There were eight grenades lined up on the shelf. In front of him lying on the ground were two carbines, a Thompson submachine-gun, and a .45.
Con and Niven lay down on their bellies next to the hole.
“How do you feel, Danny,” Niven asked awkwardly.
“A little pissed,” Danny smiled forcedly.
He hurts, Niven thought. He hurts bad.
“I think they’re going to hit,” Con said.
“It sounds like it,” Danny said. “They’ll make their effort tonight. It has to be tonight.”
Niven said something in Kachin to one of the soldiers in the hole with Danny. The soldier handed Niven a blanket that was lying on the floor of the hole. Niven folded it thickly, reached down into the hole placing it between Danny’s left side and the wall of the hole, propping him.
Deep in the jungle to their front they heard voices.
“They’re getting ready,” Con said.
“Worked up,” Danny said.
“You’d better get to your position,” Con said to Niven.
Niven took hold of Danny’s arm. “Good-luck, cue-ball,” he said smiling a little awkwardly, almost sadly.
“Give them bloody hell, Jim,” Danny said. Niven crawled away.
“What was it Danforth used to call him,” Danny asked. “Pullmotor?”
“He still looks like he needs oxygen,” Con said.
The unseen voices grew louder.
“You’d better get on,” Danny said. “I can handle this part of the line.”
“Have you got any more morphine?” Con asked. “To see you through? We probed deep. It’s going to hurt when it wears off.”
Danny patted his breast pocket. “When you see that poor excuse for a priest be sure and remind him of my little joke.…”
“What joke?”
“He’ll tell you,” Danny grinned.
“Good-luck, Danny.”
“Good-show,” Danny smiled and turned his good eye to the front, then began to unleash the safetys on his weapons.
Con crawled away, took his position down the line. The voices grew louder. They became hysterical. The Kachin line was silent. There was no wind. The sun began to sink. Enemy mortar fire began, slowly at first. It increased. Ringa retaliated with his mortars. They attacked, hitting the same place as before. They came in standing up, bayonets fixed screaming hysterically.
The Kachins gunned them down but they continued to come on. Several reached the line, two penetrated the line and were shot down finally far to the rear near supply. Night fell and the attack was still in progress. Half-hour after dark it ended.
The artillery without trajectory began. It continued heavily for over an hour. Japanese attempted to infiltrate from the west. Several penetrated. The men lay in their holes firing at anything that moved. The artillery stopped and they attacked again. In the night many made the Kachin lines, bayonets flaying. There were screams in the dark night.
They shelled then attacked four more times in the night. Wounded screamed and moaned and could not be transported to the hospital.
The dawn came and with it silence. A long silence broken only intermittently by the pleas of the wounded.
Con passed the word for all to remain close to their positions. He sent runners to the rear for litter parties, then began to move along the line toward Danny’s position.
Kachins lay dead and wounded in their holes. Japanese lay dead in front of the holes and to their rear.
Con saw Danny. He lay with his arms outside the hole, his back to the back of the hole, a grenade clutched in one closed fist. A Jap lay head down, his head at Danny’s knees inside the hole. The Jap’s bayonet was still in the center of Danny’s chest. Flies flew in and out of the Englishman’s half-opened mouth, dead Japs lay all around him, but his monocle was still in place. Next to him, crumpled in a ball was a dead Kachin. Cowered in the corner of the hole was the other Kachin. He was shaking all over. His lips quivered purpley. His eyeballs were round and white and glazed. He clutched a shoe to his trembling bosom. He didn’t seem to see Con or anything. He began to suck on the tip of the heavy G.I. shoe as an infant to a breast, then suddenly he seemed to see Con. He stopped sucking, clutched harder at the shoe, pushed harder to the back wall of the hole, doubled up, trembled almost convulsively, then began to cry hysterically, uncontrollably.
Con lifted the dead Kachin out of the hole without disturbing Danny. He hit the hysterical Kachin hard on the side of the face with closed fist, then ga
ve the quivering boy a morphine.
Standing up in the hole he stared at Danny. He reached for Danny’s monocle. It was stuck. He put one finger between the eye and the monocle and pried. It came lose. He held it in his hand running his finger over the smooth glass, tears streaming down his face. He wiped away the tears, flipped the monocle like a coin, caught it, put it in his pocket and sprang from the hole.
In Kachin he called to the next hole nine feet away. Two heads peered over the top. Con told one of the soldiers to bring the hysterical one, then Con lifted Danny’s body onto his shoulders and they began to walk toward the hospital.
They came into the hospital area. Niven was bandaging Ringa’s arm. Doc Travis looked up from the make-shift operating table. Wounded and dead lay all around. Flies swarmed.
Gently Con lay Danny down. He took a blanket and covered him. “Bury him with the rest,” he said to no one in particular.
He turned to Niven; then to Ringa standing next to him.
“What happened to you?”
“Bullet. My arm’s busted,” Ringa said.
“You finish Ringa, Doc,” Con said. “Let’s go, Niven. We’ve got to get on that radio.”
Not ten feet away Nautaung watched: “I will finish Ringa, Dua,” he said to Con.
Niven and Con walked away.
Con sent his message, the reply came. There was to be no air support or air drop that day. Base was socked-in solid. Weather forecast for the next week doubtful as to any air coverage at all. The priest had made it and was coming with twentyfive hundred Kachins.
He crumpled the message and for the first time looked at the sky. Dark thick clouds.
“We make it today, or we’ve had it,” Con said.
“Fight our way out?” Niven asked.
Con nodded, tossed the crumpled message to Niven.
The brush rattled, burst open. A Jap was charging Con with fixed bayonet. Con dove out of the way, spun, his carbine spit three times. The Jap fell, twisted convulsively, gurgled rattingly, lay still. Niven fired into the still form once for good measure.
Con picked up the Jap’s rifle, opened the chamber, showed it to Niven. There was no bullet in the chamber.
“Get in the hole,” Con said to Niven. “I’ll go get some men to guard this radio.”
Con took off. Niven lay alone in the hole his carbine ready. He didn’t know which way to turn. The jungle was thick around him. He listened. He could not smell the dead nor feel the flies. The guard arrived in ten minutes. It seemed an hour.
At mid-morning the artillery started again. The smell of rain was thick. It began to thunder. Suddenly the clouds burst and rain poured. The artillery continued intermittently in the rain.
Probing parties were sent against six different places in the line, searching for the soft spot. At noon a message came that the priest was only three miles away approaching the Japs from the higher ground to their rear.
A patrol came in giving a hopeful report. Con decided to reconnoiter personally. He had to be sure, one effort was all they could make, he knew. He slid into the jungle with the patrol leader and one rifleman. Niven waited near the departure point. The rain began to fall hard. Lightning and thunder filled the air. The artillery continued. The black dirt turned quickly to oozing mud. A cool breeze shook the roof of the jungle. The men caught rain water in their bush hats and drank lustily.
Con’s patrol had been gone an hour when Niven heard an exchange of fire to his front. Grenades exploded, a Nambu gun opened finally. A rifleman came racing out of the jungle alone, stumbling and falling into the mud as he neared the line.
“The patrol leader is dead. The Dua Con lives but his face is half-gone.”
“Oh Jesus,” Niven said. “Go to headquarters. Tell Du Ringa to send me ten men. Quick.”
The rifleman took off. Niven checked his carbine quickly, moved forward into the thick undergrowth. The rain fell hard. When he got out about six yards he went to his belly crawling. Crawled twenty more yards cautiously. The leeches that had suddenly appeared with the rain groped to every exposed part of his body. Four clung to the smooth young skin on the side of his face. He slapped at them. Their blood oozed out covering him. A shot rang. He felt a bullet thud into his canteen, missing him. He rolled over once quickly clinging to the wet earth. He raised his head and saw Con about two yards in front of him.
“Con,” he whispered.
Con didn’t move.
“Con,” he whispered again.
The Nambu gun opened spitting dirt around Con.
“I can’t move,” Con said.
Niven worked his way back. Ringa was there with ten men.
“He’s alive. I couldn’t see his face.”
“Let’s go,” Ringa said. His left arm was in a sling and his right arm held a .45.
“He’s pinned,” Niven said.
And Nautaung was watching: “You both should not go,” he said. “Who will command?”
“I have to go,” Niven said. “I know the set-up now.”
“Take charge, Nautaung,” Ringa ordered.
They moved off into the brush. The rain let up. They approached the area where Con lay. Everytime they got near him the Nambu gun opened.
“Make the plan,” Con whispered once. “I can get out of here after dark. It has to be today.”
Ringa and Niven slid back and held a conference. Ringa decided they would take turns watching over Con while the other attended to headquarters duties.
The afternoon passed. Ringa received a message that the Priest was moving into position where he could get long range fire onto the Japs. As yet the Father’s force hadn’t been discovered. The afternoon passed in the rain and the mud. The artillery without trajectory was periodic.
The night came. They still hadn’t found a weak spot. With the first full darkness Niven and Ringa and three riflemen went out and brought back Con. Shrapnel had cut into his chin all along his jawbone. The flesh of the upper neck had been torn loose and hung almost to his chest. He had several other smaller wounds on his forehead, two bullets in his leg, two bullets in his right arm; all flesh wounds. Both feet were full of minute fragments of grenade shrapnel.
The Doc repaired him hastily. The wounded were all readied on makeshift litters. Ringa and Niven made an effort. The Japs were waiting, expecting. The Kachin forces were thrown back with heavy casualties. Niven and Ringa regrouped, then made another effort but it wasn’t in the troops. They were thrown back again.
“They’re not line troops, that’s all,” Niven said.
“Con told them,” Ringa said. “Con told them that fifty times.”
An anxious night passed. The weakened Kachins feared a counterattack. It never came. With the early morning light Ringa and Niven started for the hospital. They told Con.
“What now?” Ringa asked.
“Put everyone on the line,” Con said greyly, weakly. “Stay in there until everyone’s down to the last of their ammo. Then it’s every man for himself. There’s no other choice.”
Niven and Ringa started for the headquarters to meet with the leaders. Nautaung wasn’t there. He had taken out a patrol, the Subadar Major said.
The meeting lasted an hour. The final escape plan was made in detail. There had been no sniper fire during the confo and the silence began to wear on the leaders. Then a fraction of a moment before Ringa was to adjourn the meeting there was great shouting from the south-east perimeter. Minutes later Nautaung walked in with four clean soldiers from the troops the priest was commanding:
“The Japanese are gone,” Nautaung said. And started for the hospital to tell Con.
Men cried openly in front of men. The children that were no longer children cried openly in front of each other.
Half hour later the priest himself arrived with about two hundred more fresh troops. Con’s force prepared to march out, the priest’s force to bury the dead, then bring up their rear.
And Colonel Pearson, who had parachuted into the main Kachin force,
waited on the high ground to the east. And he knew when he saw that he would never forget the intense pride that was more than a unit pride of those weary dirty, battle-eyed little brown men as they marched carrying and supporting their own wounded into the safety of the perimeter of the main force in the safety of the hills.
Three days later the clouds cleared. The wounded were flown out.
Con was near death. Ringa, his arm in a sling, rode out on the same plane with Con. In the stripped light plane Ringa was propped against the wall while Con lay on the floor. Unconsciously Ringa lifted Con’s head and positioned it gently in his lap.
CHAPTER XLVI
When Con arrived at the secret Assam base he was rushed to emergency surgery. The Doctor, Captain Levy, said it was doubtful that he would live through the operation. After the operation to clean out the more deeply embedded shrapnel fragments the Doctor said he was sure Con wouldn’t live through the night, and the next day he was positively positive that he wouldn’t survive until sunset.
When he walked into Con’s private room the early morning of the fourth day and found Con sitting half-up in the bed the Doctor broke into an especially cold and frightening sweat. The Doctor after months of treating the Kachins had secretly, shamefully begun to reflect of their strange recuperative powers especially in relation to their worship of the Hill Spirits. The Doctor who was a strict Orthodox Jew with strict Orthodox beliefs had always been terrified of any speculation outside of the realm of his faith. The Doctor suspicioned strongly that Con too was possessed. Doctor Levy had not lately considered that he himself had been in the Assam jungle for almost two years without a furlough.
Con’s recovery continued at the same astonishing rate for two weeks. He had pain. The dull aching pain of torn flesh mending itself and the stinging abrupt twice daily pain of having the wounds bathed and sterilized. But now it was only pain; something that he lived with but was more outside him than ever. Yet by the end of the second week he was beginning to become nerved by the confines of his bed.
So it was throughout the hospital. Disorder was the order of the day. The hospital was extremely overcrowded since what the Kachins now called the Battle of All Battles, and the presence of Con and Ringa along with several visits from Doc Travis seemed to give the soldiers’ desire to “make a joke” added impetus. It was a fighting man’s right to make jokes, to relieve their tension in whatever way they saw fit. And it was a truth, did not even Nautaung say it was a truth, that in all the history of their people no one had ever fought such a great battle, no one had ever defeated so worthy an enemy.
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