by Len Levinson
He knew deep in his heart that he and they had been swept into oblivion by the cruel tides of war.
Butsko opened his eyes and saw the cathedrallike top of a big walled tent. He rolled his head to the side, and there was a Colonel Hutchins, seated behind his desk, fanning himself. “What's going on?” Butsko asked.
Colonel Hutchins turned to Butsko. “You're awake!”
“What day is it?”
“The twenty-eighth of March, 1944. Wanna drink?”
“Don't mind if I do,” Butsko said, glancing around. “What am I doing here? Last thing I remember was that I was on the hospital ship and they were gonna cut off my leg. Oh my God He raised his head and looked down at his leg. “I still got it! They didn't cut it off!”
Colonel Hutchins stood behind his desk, picked up his canteen, and carried it to Butsko, who was now sitting on the edge of the bed. Colonel Hutchins wore baggy green skivvies, combat boots, and his steel helmet. He handed the canteen to Butsko. “Here.”
Butsko took the canteen and swallowed some of the fiery liquid. “Ah,” he said, smacking his lips. “How do you feel?”
“A little fucked up. What's been going on?” “A lot, but you were out cold while it happened. First of all, they tried to cut off your leg, but a nurse out there named Morrison tried to stop them, and when she couldn't she called me. I went out there with a few of the boys and brought you back, along with Frankie La Barbara, because they were gonna court-martial him. He attacked a surgeon with the knife in an effort to stop the operation.”
“Frankie La Barbara?” Butsko asked. “Are you sure?” “I saw him holding the knife to the surgeon's throat.” “Frankie La Barbara?” Butsko couldn't believe it. He'd thought Frankie wanted to kill him, and wondered why Frankie had tried to save his leg. “You just can't tell about some people.”
“Who're you talking about?”
“Frankie La Barbara. He hates my guts, yet he attacked the surgeon with a knife. I can't figure it out.”
“Well,” Colonel Hutchins said, “everything gets turned upside down in a war, and you know, we've been at the front for a long time. Our nerves are all pretty well shot, and sometimes we get a little kill crazy, I suppose. The scuttlebutt is that they're gonna pull us off the line and send us back someplace for R&R. We might even go to Hawaii.”
“No shit?” Butsko said.
“No shit. Want another drink?”
“I never turned down a drink in my life.”
Colonel Hutchins handed Butsko the canteen and Butsko took another swig, rinsing his teeth with the white lightning, then swallowing it down. “Goddamn, this is good stuff.”
“Sure is.”
The white lightning loosened up Butsko's mind, and he recalled the big fight in the jungle. He hadn't given it much thought on the hospital ship, because he'd had more serious things to worry about, like his leg; and on top of that, he'd been doped up all the time.
“Hey, Colonel,” he said, “whatever happened to the other guys who were with me on that patrol?”
Colonel Hutchins was silent for a few moments, because he didn't want to be the bearer of bad news, but somebody had to tell Butsko, and Colonel Hutchins realized it had to be him. “Homer Gladley and Nutsy Gafooley were killed in action,” he said. “All the rest were wounded, but I'm told that none of them was hurt that bad.”
Butsko closed his eyes and blew air out the corner of his mouth. He'd figured something bad had happened to the others, because he'd been the last one on his feet, fighting the Japs. It wasn't difficult for him to accept the fact that Nutsy and Homer were dead, because Butsko had seen many men die. Butsko wasn't as thickskinned as he made himself appear, and he hurt inside now. He remembered all the times he'd punched Nutsy Gafooley, and all the times he'd called Homer Gladley a moron. He wished he'd been nicer to them, but as Colonel Hutchins said, the war turned everything upside down.
The phone on Colonel Hutchins's desk rang, and he walked to his chair, sat down and lifted the telephone to his ear. “Yeah?”
Butsko took another drink of white lightning and screwed the cap back on as Colonel Hutchins spoke on the telephone. Butsko thought he should always treat everybody as if they were going to die tomorrow, because if they did die tomorrow, he'd have nothing to regret. He wished he could change his ways, but deep in his heart he knew he couldn't. He was a rotten bastard to the core, and there didn't seem to be anything he could do about it.
Colonel Hutchins hung up the phone. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“The Japs are pulling back all across the line. Evidently they're throwing in the towel, the little fucking bastards. Lemme have that canteen, will you?”
Butsko swung back his arm and tossed the canteen to Colonel Hutchins, who caught it at chest level, like a football player. He unscrewed the top and drank down some white lightning.
“Where do you think they'll send us next, Colonel?”
“You mean after the R&R7?”
“Yeah.”
“I don't know, but if I had to guess, I'd say the Philippines. General Mac Arthur said he was gonna return there, and I think he's about ready to do it.”
Butsko groaned. “Jesus, that's gonna be a big one.”
“The biggest yet,” Colonel Hutchins agreed. “It's gonna make Bougainville, New Georgia, Guadalcanal, and all these other little islands look like pinochle games.”
“Maybe we'll get lucky and go someplace else.”
“Maybe we will, but there ain't no lucky places for a line infantry regiment in this part of the world.” Colonel Hutchins leaned toward Butsko. “Listen to me,” he said. “We might get sent someplace else for a while, but sooner or later this war is gonna boil down to a fight for the Philippine islands, because that's the way MacArthur wants it, and old Dugout Doug always gets what he wants. You can bet your sweet ass that Dugout Doug'11 have his whole Army there for the big showdown, and we'll be there, too, if we're still alive by then.” Colonel Hutchins raised his forefinger and wagged it in the air. “Mark my words, Butsko,” he said. “We're all gonna wind up in the Philippines.”
Table of Contents
Also by Len Levinson
Title
Copyright
Contents
One . . .
Two . . .
Three . . .
Four . . .
Five . . .
Six . . .
Seven . . .
Eight . . .
Nine . . .
Ten . . .
Eleven . . .
Twelve . . .
Thirteen . . .
Fourteen . . .
Fifteen . . .
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Seventeen . . .
Eighteen . . .
