Tough Guys Die Hard

by Len Levinson

  But Shilansky had to admit Butsko was a first-rate soldier and a helluva fighting man. He could outsmart the Japs any day, and a soldier had a better chance of returning alive from a patrol with Butsko than with any other asshole. Butsko understood small-unit tactics better than most officers, and he tried his best to keep his men alive, probably because he wanted to kick the shit out of them himself.

  Shilansky had mixed feelings about Butsko. On one hand he hated him, and on the other hand he respected and even admired him. It was perplexing, and on top of all that he wasn’t even completely sure the soldier he’d just seen was Butsko. It could have been somebody else who resembled him. It was difficult to tell at that distance. The only way to be sure was to go over and have a talk with Pfc. Nick Bombasino.

  Shilansky got to his feet and experienced a few moments of dizziness due to drugs and his wounds. He shook his head to clear out the cobwebs, took a last puff on his cigarette, and fieldstripped it, scattering the grains of tobacco to the wind, balling up the white paper, tossing it over his shoulder.

  He limped toward the parking area and approached the jeep where Pfc. Bombasino slumped in the front seat, his helmet over his face, copping a few Z’s while he had the chance.

  “Hey Bombasino,” Shilansky said.

  Bombasino opened his eyes and tipped back his helmet, leveling a withering stare at Shilansky, who’d had the gall to wake him up. “Whataya want?”

  “Was that Butsko I just saw?”

  “Well, it wasn’t his mother.”

  “It really was him?”

  “I just told you it was him, and you’d better watch out, because him and the colonel just polished off a half-fifth of Old Forester on the way over here.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “They didn’t take the bottle in with them, did they?”

  “No, it’s right in back there in Butsko’s pack.”

  “I need a drink,” Shilansky said, reaching into the backseat.

  Bombasino turned around and grabbed Shilansky’s arm. Shilansky winced, because he had five stitches in that arm.

  “Ouch!” said Shilansky.

  “Hit the fucking road, scumbag.”

  “Lemme have a drink. I’m wounded, for Chrissakes.”

  “You’re gonna be dead if you touch that bourbon, and I will be too, so hit the fucking road, scumbag.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Shilansky said.

  “Get the fuck outta here, nitwit.”

  Shilansky turned up his nose and limped away, heading toward the tree where he’d been sitting before. When he was halfway there, he heard Colonel Hutchins’s voice bellowing inside the hospital tent.

  “There he is!” shouted Colonel Hutchins, pointing to a body lying on the floor. Colonel Hutchins’s eyes glittered with excitement as he stepped over wounded soldiers, nearly kicking one in the head, nearly stepping on another’s balls. He knelt beside Sergeant Snider, whose eyes were closed and whose complexion was ashen. Butsko knelt beside Colonel Hutchins, who grabbed Sergeant Snider’s wrist and felt for his pulse.

  “I think he’s dead,” Colonel Hutchins said, thinking about all that white lightning he’d never drink.

  “If he’s dead,” Butsko replied, “they woulda carried him out back.”

  “But he doesn’t have a pulse.”

  “Lemme see.”

  Colonel Hutchins passed Sergeant Snider’s wrist to Butsko, who touched his forefinger to the spot where he thought Sergeant Snider’s pulse was supposed to be.

  “I don’t feel nothing either.”

  “The sons of bitches let him die,” Colonel Hutchins said. “Fucking Army doctors wouldn’t know their asses from a hole in the ground. I guess I’ll have to drink that fucking GI gin for the rest of my life.”

  At the sound of the word gin, Sergeant Snider groaned.

  “He’s alive!” Colonel Hutchins hollared.

  Colonel Hutchins bent over Sergeant Snider, praying that Sergeant Snider would open his eyes, and then, to Colonel Hutchins’s amazement, Sergeant Snider opened his eyes.

  “Oooooohhhhhhhh,” Sergeant Snider said.

  “Are you all right?” Colonel Hutchins asked anxiously.

  “Ooooohhhhhhhh.”

  “Medic!” Colonel Hutchins yelled. “I need a goddamned medic over here right this goddamned minute!”

  “Quiet over there!” replied a medic from another part of the tent.

  “Who said that?” Colonel Hutchins demanded.

  “I said that!” replied the medic.

  “You’d better have more on your collar than I have, you son of a bitch!”

  The medic was a spindly, dopey-looking character who thought he was king shit because he worked with doctors and nurses all day long, but now his confidence in his acquired status was shaken. He was only a corporal and wore his rank on his sleeve. Officers wore their rank on their collars. The stout man raising hell on the other side of the tent must be an officer.

  “Can I help you, sir?” the medic said in a quavering voice.

  “Get your ass over here!”

  The medic made his way among the dead and wounded, heading toward the officer with the potbelly and the sergeant who looked like a professional wrestler.

  “Yes, sir?” the medic asked.

  “What’s wrong with this man?” Colonel Hutchins demanded, pointing down at Sergeant Snider.

  “Ooooohhhhh,” said Sergeant Snider.

  The medic shrugged. “I really don’t know, sir.”

  “He looks like he needs medical attention right away!” Colonel Hutchins declared. “You’d better get somebody over here to help him right fucking now!”

  “But, sir—”

  “Get moving!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The medic rushed away. Colonel Hutchins knelt beside Sergeant Snider again and held his hand. “Just take it easy there, Old Sarge. I’ll get somebody to take care of you.”

  Butsko looked down at Colonel Hutchins, amazed. He’d never seen Colonel Hutchins demonstrate such tenderness before, but Butsko understood the reason. Sergeant Snider made the best white lightning in the entire Southwest Pacific. Sergeant Snider had to be returned to vibrant good health one way or the other.

  The medic returned a few minutes later with a man in a white uniform with red splotches and flecks all over it. He had curly black hair and wore eyeglasses also flecked with blood.

  “What’s the problem here!” the man said.

  “Who the fuck are you!” Colonel Hutchins demanded.

  “I’m Captain Granger. I’m a surgeon.”

  “I’m Colonel Hutchins, and I’m the commanding officer of the Twenty-third Regiment!”

  “Ah yes,” Captain Granger said with a faint smile. “I know who you are now. What can I do for you, sir?”

  Colonel Hutchins pointed down to Sergeant Snider. “What’s wrong with this man?”

  Captain Granger squinted his eyes at Sergeant Snider’s face, then knelt and read the information taped to his left leg. “He’s been shot in the buttocks and stabbed in the stomach, among other things, but those are his main problems.”

  “Shot in the buttocks!” Colonel Hutchins roared. “You mean he’s been shot in the ass!”

  “Well . . . yes.”

  Colonel Hutchins turned to Butsko. “The son of a bitch was running away and they shot him in the ass.”

  Butsko shrugged. “That’s the way it goes.”

  Colonel Hutchins looked at Captain Granger again. “How bad is he hurt?”

  “Bad enough to get shipped out of here.”

  “What!”

  Captain Granger smiled as he stood. “He’s got his million-dollar wound. He’ll go back to the States on the first boat leaving.”

  “Like hell he will!” Colonel Hutchins screamed.

  Captain Granger wrinkled his nose. “What are you talking about?”

  “This man isn’t going anywhere!”

  “Why the hell not?”
>
  “Because he’s absolutely indispensable to the functioning of my regiment.”

  Captain Granger pointed to Sergeant Snider. “Him?”

  “That’s right!” Colonel Hutchins said belligerently.

  “What does he do that makes him so indispensable?”

  “He’s my mess sergeant!”

  Captain Granger blinked. He hadn’t slept much last night and couldn’t handle this. “You’ll have to speak to Major Sawyer about this,” he said.

  “Which way is he?”

  Captain danger pointed to the rear of the tent system. “That way.”

  “I’ll talk to him right now.”

  Sergeant Snider managed to pull together his energy reserves and say: “No!”

  Colonel Hutchins looked down at him. “Shaddup!”

  “No!”

  Colonel Hutchins turned to Butsko. “Stay with him while I go speak to that asshole Sawyer.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Colonel Hutchins stomped away to the rear of the tent. Butsko kneeled beside Sergeant Snider.

  “No,” Sergeant Snider wheezed.

  “Take it easy Sarge,” Butsko said. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

  Sergeant Snider raised his hand laboriously, his entire body shaking, and motioned for Butsko to get closer. Butsko crouched down and moved his ear close to Sergeant Snider’s mouth.

  “Wanna get shipped out,” Sergeant Snider whispered hoarsely. “Wanna go back to the States.”

  Butsko shook his head and smiled. “Uh-uh, Sarge. We need you here.”

  “Please,” said Sergeant Snider, barely able to move his lips.

  “If you go back to the States, who’ll keep the colonel in white lightning? The colonel needs his white lightning. You know that, Sarge.”

  Sergeant Snider gritted his teeth and pulled his energy reserves together one last time. “Wanna go back to the States.”

  “Sorry, Sarge, but the needs of the service come first.”

  Sergeant Snider closed his eyes and passed out. The exertion had been too much for him. He was only a fat old mess sergeant and hadn’t been prepared for the fighting of the past few days.

  Butsko leaned back, looking at Sergeant Snider, feeling sorry for him, but mixed with his sorrow was the perverse satisfaction of knowing that Sergeant Snider wouldn’t be shipped back to the States, although he deserved it. Butsko thought that if he had to be on New Guinea, swatting mosquitoes and sleeping in foxholes full of mud, so should everybody else.

  Butsko leaned back and sat on his ass, taking out a Camel cigarette and lighting it up. He puffed the cigarette and looked around at all the wounded soldiers. It must have been a helluva fight out there during the past few days, Butsko thought. He was glad he’d missed the action. He hoped enough Japs had been killed so that the fighting would be easy from now on. Butsko didn’t want any tough fights if he could avoid them, but if he couldn’t, he’d kill and maim with the rest of them.

  A nurse entered the tent from the opposite entrance, and Butsko’s eyes were drawn to her. She was a blonde, average height, nothing special at long range, but he felt better looking at her anyway. There was something about women that always had a healing effect on Butsko—at long range. At close range they could be bitches, but the wilder they were, the better Butsko liked them. His wife Dolly back in Hawaii was the worst bitch he’d ever met, and that’s why he’d married her. He couldn’t let one like that get away.

  The nurse on the opposite side of the tent knelt beside a soldier, and Butsko thought there was something familiar about her; but he’d seen so many nurses during the past few months, there was a certain sameness about all of them.

  The nurse stood up and looked around. She touched her finger to her chin, evidently trying to figure something out. The gesture was typically feminine, but Butsko thought there was something singular about it. The gesture prodded his memory. He knew a woman once who touched her forefinger to her chin whenever she tried to figure something out. Who the hell was she?

  She moved toward him. The closer she came, the more familiar she appeared to be. He could see her face more clearly. No, it can’t be, he said to himself. It couldn’t be her.

  Slowly he arose like a boxer who’d just been knocked down, but there were no ropes to lean against. His jaw hung open and his eyes goggled, while his cigarette smoked between the fingers of his right hand.

  She saw him stand and stopped cold, because she recognized him instantly. Something had drawn her to this side of the tent, and she hadn’t known what it was. She’d thought a soldier over here needed her, but now she saw what had been drawing her. It was him.

  She couldn’t move. He pulled himself together and stalked toward her, taking a puff from his cigarette and inhaling real deep. He wished he could take a drink, but the bottles were out in the jeep. He hadn’t seen her since New Caledonia, where he’d been in the hospital with the chest wound. She’d been his nurse and he’d played her like a speckled trout, gradually reeling her in, and finally, on the night before he shipped out, he’d got into her pants in a cheap hotel near the waterfront.

  He stopped in front of her, and neither one knew what to say. They looked into each other’s eyes and examined each other’s face. They’d fucked like wild animals all night long, and it had been a heavy experience for both of them.

  “Hello, Butsko,” she said finally.

  “Hi, Betty.”

  There were a few more moments of silence. He looked at her pert breasts, on which he’d sucked like a maniac on that magic night so long ago. He saw her pretty face, which he’d smothered with kisses. Glancing down at the juncture between her legs, he recalled with some embarrassment that he’d gone down on her too. He didn’t often do that with women, but she’d been something special.

  “How’ve you been, Betty?” he asked.

  “I’ve been all right,” she replied. “I ran into La Barbara a few hours ago, and he told me you were in a hospital on Oahu. When’d you get back?”

  “A few hours ago.”

  “You feeling all right?”

  “Yeah—I guess so.” He looked around to make sure nobody could hear. “It’s nice to see you, Betty.”

  “It’s nice to see you, too, Butsko.” She smiled faintly, a little afraid of him because she was a nice girl from the Midwest, and he’d turned her into a screeching, scratching wildcat during that night in the hotel. She blushed slightly, remembering all the nasty things they’d done together. She’d done things with him that she’d never done before or since.

  “Let’s get together sometime,” he said.

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to see when I can get away.”

  She shrugged. “I’ll be here. I’m sure as hell not going anywhere.”

  “You still engaged to that Navy guy?”

  “No,” she said. “He’s missing in action.”

  “Sorry to hear that. Maybe they’ll find him.”

  “The ship he was on was sunk. I don’t think they’re gonna find him.” She looked back toward the part of the tent complex where operations were performed. “I’ve got to get back to work. Talk to you soon?”

  “Yuh,” Butsko said.

  They looked at each other and wanted to kiss good-bye, but they couldn’t. An officer couldn’t kiss an enlisted man in full view of everybody. It simply wasn’t done. Butsko had a hard-on just looking at her. She was ready to rip off her clothes and jump on him.

  But they had to behave. It was still the Army. She turned around and walked away, her mind tumultuous with raunchy thought. She always figured she’d bump into Butsko again someday, and now it had happened. There he was behind her, and she could feel his eyes burning like hot coals into her back. She knew damn well that he was looking at her, undressing her with his eyes, checking out her ass, and she hoped it hadn’t got too much bigger in the past two years.

  She recalled how he had held her ass in his hands and pumped her so hard, she thought the top of
her head would blow off. She wrapped her legs around him and drooled like somebody having an epileptic fit. It had been a scary experience, but she was ready for another. She thought she was perverse but didn’t care. She wanted more.

  She passed through the tent where the operations were being performed, and saw soldiers lying bloody on the tables, knocked out by ether, being operated upon by doctors. One team of doctors was sawing off a soldier’s leg. She’d seen it all hundreds of times before. Entering the next tent, she looked at soldiers recovering from operations. All of them were unconscious and heavily bandaged. These were the serious cases.

  Betty felt weird. She leaned up against the side of the tent and closed her eyes. Butsko’s face glowed against her eyelids. She could still see him grinning at her. She thought he was the sexiest man in the world, although most women didn’t think he was attractive at all. Most women thought he was a big ugly brute, and she had to agree with them, but he turned her on anyway.

  She still couldn’t believe she could fall for a man like Butsko. She’d always liked light-skinned blond men with slim builds, the poetic types, and when she first met Butsko he was just another wounded GI to her, but slowly she became intrigued with him. It happened so subtly that she hadn’t been aware of it, but finally, on the night before he shipped out, she realized it and made a play for him.

  “You all right, Betty?” asked Captain Smith, passing by.

  “Just resting a minute,” she replied.

  “There’s coffee in Captain Epstein’s office. Maybe you’d better get some.”

  “Maybe I’d better,” she agreed.

  She stepped away from the wall of the tent and headed toward the next tent, where Captain Epstein’s office was. She wondered when Butsko would get in touch with her again.

  She hoped it would be soon.

  SIX . . .

  It was chowtime in Headquarters Company of the Twenty-third Regiment, and everything was screwed up because of Sergeant Snider’s sudden departure from his post. On top of that, rations had been destroyed or stolen by the Japs during the ebb and flow of battle during the past three days. Corporal Dinkel, the new acting mess sergeant, was feeding the regiment scraps of food that he scrounged as best he could. He hoped the supply situation would settle down soon, because the current situation was driving him nuts.