Hot Lead and Cold Steel

by Len Levinson

  Butsko patted Delane on the head. ‘Take it easy, kid. See you later.”

  Butsko turned and walked away, his gait unsteady from fatigue.

  Craig Delane watched him go. “He's a terrific guy.”

  “To each his own,” she replied dryly. “I wish you hadn't volunteered me to drive him back.”

  “Why don't you want to drive him back?”

  Lydia didn't know what to say, because she didn't want to admit the truth: She was starting to feel turned on by Butsko again. And Leo wasn't around to chaperone; he was back with the Twenty-third Regiment, typing his big story about the attack on Kokengolo Hill.

  “I just asked you a question,” Delane said.

  “I've got enough to do without having to operate a taxi service for your platoon sergeant.”

  “But you're going back the same way he is.”

  “I know it,” she said testily.

  Delane laughed.

  “What was that for?” she asked.

  “I was just thinking that what you probably need most right

  now is a good screw, Lydia.”

  “What?”

  Delane laughed again. “You heard me.”

  She balled up her fists. “If you weren't wounded, I'd punch you right in the nose!”

  “If I weren't wounded, I'd probably try to get you myself.”

  “Craig!”

  Craig Delane closed his eyes, a big smile on his face. Lydia ran her fingers through her hair and tried to think. It must be all the drugs they've given him, she thought. He doesn't know what he's saying. He'd never say anything like that if his mind were clear.

  The smile vanished on Craig Delane's face as he dropped into slumber. Lydia looked at her watch. Maybe I'd better get going, she thought. / need some sleep myself. I can always come back tomorrow.

  She slung her camera bag over her shoulder and headed for the door. The tent was full of wounded soldiers lying in rows, and it'd make a good picture, but she didn't feel like taking any more pictures.

  I hope Butsko doesn't show up, she thought. I really don't feel like dealing with him right now.

  Butsko did show up. Lydia sat behind the wheel of her jeep, waiting for him, and he stepped out of the tent, pausing and lighting a cigarette, the flames from his lighter flashing over his face. He looked around, spotted her, and strolled toward her.

  “Move over,” he said. “I'll drive.”.

  “That's all right,” she said, not moving. “I know the way.”

  “At night?”

  “More or less.”

  “I don't feel like getting lost. Move over.”

  “Don't give orders. I'm not in your platoon.”

  “Listen, lady,” Butsko told her, the tent behind him leaking shafts of light, “there's Japs still wandering around out there, looking for somebody to kill, and I don't feel like taking any chances.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  She shifted to the passenger seat, and Butsko got behind the wheel. He tossed his helmet onto the backseat, and his black hair sprawled in all directions. He needed a haircut badly— also a shave and bath.

  “You stink,” she said.

  “Fuck you,” he replied.

  Butsko reached forward and turned on the ignition switch, while Lydia boiled and fumed. She didn't know whether to slap Butsko in the face, tell him what a lowlife he was, or call the MPs.

  “Relax,” he said, shifting into reverse and backing up. He turned the wheel, shifted into first, and pressed the accelerator. The jeep jumped forward and rolled onto the dirt road.

  A full moon shone high in the sky, and the breeze felt good against Lydia's face as Butsko accelerated. The sound of the engine made conversation impossible, which was all right with her. She didn't want to talk with Butsko or have anything to do with him. He was just a brute, a pig, a beast. She glanced sideways at him and saw his profile in the moonlight. Clean him up a little and straighten his broken nose, and he might not be too bad-looking. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway to his waist and she could see the hair on his chest, his bulging shoulders and biceps, and farther down his muscular legs. Despite the breeze, she began to feel warm again.

  Lydia started to get that old horny feeling. She looked away from Butsko, took out a cigarette, held her head below the dash, and lit it up. She felt troubled and angry, because she didn't want to be attracted to him. He definitely wasn't the sort of man for her, and she didn't like sex that much anyway. It was too animalistic and embarrassing, an unwarranted invasion of her privacy. But if she believed that, why did she keep glancing at Butsko? Why was her mind spinning out sex fantasies about him, despite her attempts to think about other things? Why did she want to reach over and squeeze that big bulge between his legs?

  She looked to her right, into the jungle whizzing by. They passed a company of soldiers in a column of twos, and Butsko steered to the side of the road so a deuce-and-a-half truck could get by. The night was clear and the full moon provided excellent visibility. As soon as she returned to the Twenty-third Regiment she'd pack her bags, round up Leo, and get the hell out of there.

  They drove for a half hour, and then Butsko turned to the left. Ahead was the Pacific Ocean, and the full moon made a long golden line across it. Butsko drove onto the sand, turned to the right, continued for twenty yards, and stopped.

  “What are you stopping here for?” she asked.

  “I thought it'd be a good place to fuck,” Butsko replied.

  She couldn't believe her ears. “What was that again?”

  “I said I thought this'd be a good place to fuck.” He pointed to the sky with his hand. “We got the moon, we got the stars, we got the ocean—what could be better?” He reached forward and turned off the ignition switch, then pulled up the emergency brake.

  She wrinkled her nose and forehead in alarm. “Are you crazy?”

  “That's what everybody says.”

  She still couldn't believe it. “You mean you're going to rape me?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I'll scream!”

  “No one will hear you.”

  She looked at him and tried to smile. “C'mon, be a nice guy, okay? Drive me back to the Twenty-third Regiment, and I promise I won't mention this to anybody.”

  “What do I care who you mention it to?”

  Butsko swung his feet around, stood, and walked to her side of the jeep. Lydia didn't know whether to shit or go blind.

  “Now, see here...!” she said.

  He stopped in front of her and grinned. “Let's stop fooling around. You want to fuck me and I want to fuck you, so let's do it and get it over with.”

  “What!”

  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the jeep. She scrambled down, trying to work her hand loose.

  “Let me go!”

  “Cut out the bullshit!”

  He dragged her across the sand and into the jungle, while she struggled to get loose.

  “You can't do this to me!” she screamed.

  “You wanna bet?”

  They came to a little clearing, and he let her wrist go. “This looks like a good spot,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt. “Take your clothes off.”

  “I will not!”

  “If you don't take them off, I'll take them off for you.”

  She turned to run, but he tackled her and they fell to the ground. He rolled her onto her back and lay on top of her.

  “I thought I told you to cut out the bullshit,” he said hoarsely. “You know you're going to give in eventually, so why don't you do it now and save both of us some trouble.”

  She gritted her teeth and her eyes sparkled in the moonlight. “Let me go!”

  “C'mon, you know you want to fuck me.”

  “I do not!”

  “Sure you do. I been around long enough to know how a woman acts when she wants my cock, so I thought I'd do you a favor and give it to you. I don't know why I'm taking the trouble, because women like you are usually lousy fucks a
nyway.”

  “What!”

  He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. His great weight pressed against her and he pinned her wrists to the sand. She could feel something huge against her stomach, and realized it was his dick. He was a big, smelly, muscular man and he was overpowering her. She hated herself because somehow, perversely, she was becoming aroused.

  He kissed her lips so gently that it surprised her. “C'mon,” he said, “don't be such a bitch.”

  “Please let me go,” she whispered, trying to avoid his mouth.

  “You really don't want me to let you go, do you?” He kissed her again and let her wrists go, taking her face in his hands. “You're a real doll, and you've got a real nice ass for a woman your age.”

  “Woman my age? How dare—”

  Before she could spit the words out, he covered her mouth with his and licked her lips with his tongue. Her hands were loose and she thought she should pull his hair or gouge out his eyes, but what she really wanted to do was hug all that strength and virility, so that's what she did, reaching around him and squeezing.

  “That's better,” he said, unbuttoning her shirt.

  “I don't know why I'm doing this,” she murmured.

  “I do,” he replied, lowering his head and kissing the valley between her breasts.

  She reached up and ran her fingers through his shaggy hair, while he pulled her brassiere down and touched his tongue to her left nipple. Lydia felt electricity up and down her spine, and he took her nipple into his mouth, sucking rhythmically, squeezing her breast with his hand. She closed her eyes and thought: What the hell, there really wasn't any harm in a little sex, and he wasn't hurting her; he was being very nice. His big monstrous thing throbbed against her stomach, and she squirmed so she could feel it better.

  “I don't know what I was afraid of,” she whispered to the man in the moon.

  “You're a nervous wreck,” Butsko replied, “but I've got just what you need.” He rolled to the side, lay on his back, and unbuttoned his pants, taking out his primary weapon, which he wagged back and forth. “This.”

  “You're a bastard,” she said.

  “That's true, but I'm your bastard,” he replied, rolling onto her again.

  They made love for nearly three hours, in all the positions, rolling around on the jungle floor, going down on each other, having numerous orgasms. The breeze from the ocean kept the insects away from them and made the air briny as they hugged and kissed and humped like wild animals. It was the greatest sexual experience of Lydia's life, and a few times she thought she'd died and gone to heaven, but for Butsko it was just business as usual; this was the way he loved all his women.

  Lydia never had sucked a cock in her life, and never thought she would, but she sucked Butsko's for long periods of time and with great relish, and he even came in her mouth once. Nobody had ever gone down on her in her life, but Butsko did, chewing and nibbling, licking and slurping, and she thought she'd get so far out she'd never come back again; but she did come back, after she came against his lips and tongue.

  He told her to get on all fours, and he screwed her like a dog. He laid on his back and she sat on his joint, bouncing happily up and down. They lay side by side, facing each other, and did it that way for a while; then she rolled over so that her back was to his front, and he slid it in from that direction, which she thought was really lovely.

  But no one can do it forever, not even a sexual degenerate like Butsko. Finally he was dry and she was sore. All they could do was collapse and fall asleep. The moon rose higher in the sky, and waves gently lapped the white sand of New Georgia as they snored in each other's arms.

  The Mosquito moved through the shadowy jungle, weak from hunger and dizzy with thirst. He'd heard the ocean and smelled the salt air and now headed toward it, hoping to catch a fish so he cold eat its flesh and drink its blood.

  The bright moonlight was a mixed blessing, because it permitted him to see more easily, but it would also make it easier for someone to see him. He walked hunched over, hiding behind bushes and trees, stopping frequently to look and listen for Americans.

  He knew the ocean was close: He could hear its waves rush against the shore. He didn't know exactly how he'd do it, but he couldn't wait to catch a fish and eat it raw. Maybe he could find clams and mussels too. Perhaps there'd even be coconuts and he could have a feast.

  If he found some food quickly, he could survive. He needed strength to carry him deep into the jungle and away from the Americans. But he had little strength left after his grueling day and night. His hands trembled and his eyes played tricks on him. His knees wobbled and sometimes he thought he'd faint.

  He had survived in the back alleys of Tokyo since he was six years old, against all the odds, and had a strong will. Resolutely he pushed his legs forward, gulping air, grinding his teeth together, pressing on. Somehow I'll make it, he thought. I know I can do it.

  He entered a small clearing and couldn't believe what was in front of him. It looked like a man and woman, Americans, lying on the ground, embracing each other, fast asleep. He thought he might be hallucinating, the scene was so preposterous and sudden. Stepping backward to get away, his foot came down on a dry twig.

  Butsko heard the twig snap and reached for his M 1 rifle. Blinking in the moonlight, he saw a Japanese soldier in front of him, waving his arms and screaming. Butsko, on his knees, rammed a round into the chamber and fired, holding the rifle butt to his waist. He couldn't understand that the Mosquito was saying “I surrender” in Japanese. Butsko thought the Japanese soldier was coming to slit his throat.

  His M 1 fired and he pulled the trigger again. Lydia shrieked in horror, holding her fists to her cheeks, seeing the bullets send the Japanese soldier flying backward into the bushes. Butsko jumped to his feet and charged, naked as a jaybird, firing his M 1 from the waist. He rushed toward the Japanese soldier bleeding on the ground, stopped, aimed down, and blew the Japanese soldier's head apart.

  Butsko crouched and looked around, swinging his M 1 from side to side, expecting more Japs to attack, but no one came and the jungle was quiet.

  “What is it?” Lydia cried.

  “It's all right!” Butsko replied. “C'mere!”

  Lydia put on her shirt, covering scratches, black-and-blue marks, and sucker bites made by Butsko, and tiptoed into the bushes. She saw Butsko standing bareassed in the moonlight over the bleeding body of a Japanese soldier whose head was partially missing.

  “My God,” she said, pressing her fingers to her lips.

  “He was sneaking up on us,” Butsko replied. “Another few seconds and he would've had us. Wanna take his picture?”

  She looked away. “No, I don't think so.”

  “We'd better get out of here. There might be more Japs around.”

  “Really!”

  “You never know.”

  “You brought me here and there are Japs around!”

  “Calm down. Put your clothes on. Jesus Christ, you're a nervous wreck, you know that? You're even worse than some of the guys in my platoon.”

  Lydia returned to the clearing and put on her clothes. Butsko joined her and got dressed too. She sat on the ground and laced her boots. A thought occurred to her.

  “Maybe he was trying to surrender,” she said.

  “Don't be an asshole all your life. Jap's don't surrender. They fight until they're dead. You almost ready?”

  “Just a few more seconds.”

  “Let's get out of here.”

  Butsko held his rifle in both hands, glancing around furtively, his body tensed for action. Lydia tied her bootlaces and stood.

  “I'm ready.”

  “Let's go.”

  They turned and walked swiftly out of the jungle, heading toward the jeep parked near the treeline. In the jungle clearing the Mosquito's lifeless body leaked blood onto the ground. A rat crawled out of a hole nearby and chewed on the Japanese soldier's finger. Blood glistened in the moonlight as the jeep sta
rted up and drove away, heading toward the safety of the Twenty-third Regiment bivouac.