by Len Levinson
The officers continued to praise her as they walked in the paths between tents, and finally they came to her Quonset hut. It normally was used for visiting dignitaries such as General Patton when he happened to be in the area, and tonight it would be hers. The MP standing guard in front of it snapped to attention as she approached with the officers, and he saluted General Donovan.
“At ease,” said Donovan, saluting him back.
The MP moved to parade rest, and General Donovan turned to Laura.
“Well, good night,” he said.
“Good night,” she replied. “By the way, I really don’t need that MP standing here all night, do I?”
“Well, it’s for your own security, Miss Hubbard.”
“I’d feel just as secure without him, and, in fact, I’d feel uncomfortable knowing someone was standing outside my door all night. Can’t you dismiss him?”
“Well, if you’d like me to, Miss Hubbard.”
“I’d like you to very much.”
General Donovan looked at the MP. “Report to the provost marshal and tell him I’ve relieved you of duty for the night.”
The MP drew himself to attention and smiled. “Yes, sir!” He saluted and marched off.
The officers wished Laura a good night and thanked her again for her magnificent performance. Finally, she opened the door to her Quonset hut, and the officers moved away.
She stepped inside the hut, turned on the light switch, and closed the door. She saw her cot, the trunk she traveled with, and a little dressing table that had thoughtfully been set up for her. An enclosed shower room and toilet were at the far end of the hut, and it all looked bleak and grim to her, a far cry from her luxurious home in Beverly Hills.
She took off her field jacket and hung it on the peg near the door. A kerosene stove was in the center of the hut, making it cozy and warm. She walked toward it, holding out her hands to warm them, wondering what to do with herself because she didn’t feel like going to bed yet. She’d brought a book along, Requiem for a Nun by William Faulkner, and she thought she might read part of it. Sam Goldwyn had writers working on the script, and it was rumored that she might get the female lead.
“Don’t get scared,” said a male voice.
She turned around sharply and saw in a shadowy corner a big brawny soldier wearing officers’ insignia on his collar. At first, she became frightened, but he made no menacing moves.
“What are you doing here!” she demanded.
He smiled as he stepped toward her. “I figured you might like to have a little drink after the show.” Reaching into his back pocket, Mahoney took out McGhee’s silver flask. “I got a little cognac here that’s very good. It was liberated from the headquarters of a German general.”
She stared at him and wondered what was going on. “Who are you?” she asked.
“My name’s Mahoney. I’m a platoon sergeant in the Fifteenth Regiment.” He touched the officer’s insignia on his collar. “I wore this just to get in here.”
Laura now wished she hadn’t dismissed that MP. “You must be crazy to break in here like this,” she said, getting frightened.
He noticed her fear. “I’ll leave if you want me to.” He held out the flask. “You can have this as a present. It’s terrific stuff, and it was all I could do to keep from drinking it all up while I was waiting.”
She looked him up and down and thought he resembled John Garfield, whom she knew rather well. But his features were cruder than John’s, and he was much bigger than John, too. She noticed the little scars on his cheek and wondered where he got them. His shirt fit him tightly, and she could perceive his bulging muscles and flat stomach.
She still didn’t know what to do. “You’ve got a lot of guts to break in here like this, soldier.”
“Compared to what?”
She looked again at the scars on his cheek, feeling foolish. He’d probably done much more dangerous things than sneak into a woman’s bedroom. If he was going to rape her, he wouldn’t just be standing there looking ill at ease.
“I don’t know what to do about you,” she said, “I wouldn’t want to call the MPs and get you into trouble.”
He unscrewed the top of the flask. “Why don’t you have a drink with me?”
She looked at him and his flask and admitted to herself that she really didn’t feel very tired. He looked like an interesting guy, and he wasn’t bad-looking at all.
“All right,” she said. “What the hell?”
“That’s the spirit,” he replied. “Do you have any glasses, or should we drink out of the bottle?”
“I don’t know what I’ve got here. I guess we can drink right out of the bottle. Why don’t you bring that chair up, and I’ll sit on the cot.”
Mahoney moved swiftly to the dressing table, picked up the chair in front of it, and placed it beside the cot. Laura sat on the cot and propped the pillow against the wall so she could lean back. She crossed her legs and noticed Mahoney looking at the flesh that the slit in her dress had uncovered.
“You’re not going to do anything crazy, are you?” she asked.
“Like what?” he replied, unscrewing the cap from the flask.
“You know.”
He smiled, and his straight teeth gleamed in the light of the electric lamp. She realized that his nose was slightly out of line; it must have been broken someplace.
“I’m not going to attack you if that’s what you mean,” he said.
“That’s what I mean.”
“Relax and have a drink.”
He held out the flask, and she took it from his big gnarled hand. Raising it to her lips, she took a swig. As it went down, she realized he’d been telling the truth; it was superb cognac. She handed it back, and he had a drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. They passed the flask back and forth a few times, and everything got mellow. Mahoney took out a package of Chesterfields and offered her one. He lit her cigarette, then one for himself. They looked at each other through the smoky haze.
“How was the show?” he asked.
“You weren’t there?”
“I was here.”
She puffed the cigarette. “It was a fabulous show. The men in the division are really something. You’ve all got quite a reputation.”
“What kind of reputation?”
“You’re supposed to be great soldiers.”
Mahoney shrugged. “Who the hell knows?”
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“New York City.”
“What did you do before the war?”
“I was in the army before the war,” Mahoney answered. “I’m a career soldier.” He held up the flask. “Have another drink.”
She took the flask and drank some more. “I haven’t done anything like this since I was a kid.”
Mahoney chortled. “Shit, you’re still a kid.” He lifted the bottle from her fingers.
She became annoyed because she wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to that way. “I’m not a kid,” she said testily.
“Sure you are. You can’t be much more than twenty.” He raised the flask to his lips.
She didn’t want to be drawn into an argument over her age, so she kept her mouth shut and became more annoyed.
“Calm down,” he said.
“I’m calm.”
“No, you’re not. Have another drink.” He held up the flask.
“I don’t want another drink.”
“C’mon, don’t be mad at me,” he said. “I’m just a crazy old soldier boy. Here—have another drink.”
She looked at him and could sense his powerful masculine presence. He was starting to turn her on. She’d always been attracted, in spite of herself, to tough guys. “Well, maybe just one more,” she said.
She took the flask and drank a few sips, gazing at him through heavily lidded eyes. He puffed his cigarette and smiled faintly. The more she drank, the better he looked. And she hadn’t had any nooky for a month.
“You know,”
Mahoney said, ‘“you’re even prettier in real life than you are in the movies.”
“I suppose,” she replied dryly, “that I’m not so bad for a kid.”
“Well,” he said, trying to make amends, “compared to me, you’re a kid, but compared to kids, you’re no kid.”
She took a drag on her cigarette. “I really don’t know what I’m doing here with you.”
“Relax and don’t worry about it.”
“They’ll probably put you before a firing squad if they find you here.”
“Probably.”
“Don’t you care?”
“I’ll probably be killed before long, anyways, so what does it matter?”
She looked at the scars on his face, and the reality of the situation broke through to her. He was a front-line combat soldier in an outfit the Germans called “Roosevelt’s Butchers.” He wasn’t John Wayne pretending to be a soldier in a movie; he was a real soldier, and he might not survive the war.
“You poor bastard,” she said softly.
He was surprised by her sudden change of mood. “What are you talking about?”
“Never mind. Can I have another drink?”
“Sure.”
He passed her the flask, and she drank some more. The cognac was getting to her, and she felt a little weird.
“You know,” she said, “you’re charming in a certain strange way.”
“So are you,” he replied with a grin.
“You’ve got a lot of guts coming here like this.”
“Cut that shit out, will you?”
She laughed. “Did you really think you could seduce me?”
“I don’t know what I thought. I guess I just wanted to give it a try. What the hell?”
She rubbed the mouth of the bottle against her lips, thinking he had a very sexy body. “I’m glad you came here,” she told him.
“I’m glad I did, too,” he replied. “You’re a sight for my tired old eyes, let me tell you.”
“You’re the kind of man that women like, and you know it, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “I suppose I do.”
“You know that if you can get alone with a woman, she probably wouldn’t resist you very much.”
“Some have.”
Her eyes became sultry. “I wouldn’t.”
Mahoney rose from the chair, moved toward her, took her shoulders in his hands, and gently moved her sideways until she was lying on the cot. Then he lay beside her, hugged her to him, and kissed her lips. She opened her mouth, and their tongues entwined. I can’t believe it, Mahoney thought. I’m actually kissing Laura Hubbard.
Her lips tasted like raspberries, and her body was sinuous and quivering. He was afraid she’d come to her senses and stop him, so he pulled her to him more firmly, and probed her mouth with his tongue. Her fingernails scratched the back of his shirt and she made a soft whimpering sound that was her declaration of surrender. Her perfume assailed him like the smoke of opium, and he felt the world spinning around.
He reached to her knee and caressed the smooth skin encased in silk stocking. Running his hand up her thigh, he felt the temperature become warmer. He touched her lace underpants, and made a quick decision not to grab her treasure too soon and scare her, so he placed the palm of his hand against her famous rear end, and pulled her closer to his flaming erection.
She squirmed and moaned. Raising her hands to his cheeks, she pushed him away.
“Look at me,” she said.
“I’m looking at you.”
“I mean eye to eye.”
“Okay.”
Their eyes met, and he thought hers were pools in the moonlight.
“Mahoney,” she said, “you’re not going to kiss and tell are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. You’re not going to tell all your buddies, are you?”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Mahoney said.
“I hope not because that kind of talk would get around, and it wouldn’t be good for me. I’m married, you know.”
“I know.”
“Look me in the eye and promise me you won’t say anything to anybody no matter what.”
Mahoney sighed. “I won’t say anything to anybody no matter what.”
“Cross your heart and hope to die.”
“Come on,” Mahoney said.
“I mean it.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he said, tracing his forefinger over the spot where he thought his heart was.
“Thank you,” she said, kissing his cheek. “And now there’s one more thing I want to ask you. Would you unzip the back of my dress for me, please?”
Chapter Ten
There was no reveille the next morning, and the soldiers were permitted to sleep as late as they wanted. Around eleven o’clock, the men from the first platoon gathered in front of the squad tent where Mahoney was snoring away.
“Did he do it?” Private, First Class Berman asked.
Butsko grimaced and waved his hand in the air. “Don’t be an asshole. Of course he didn’t do it. If he did, he would have come right to my tent and thrown Laura Hubbard’s drawers in my face.”
“Maybe so,” Cranepool said, “but he didn’t get in until 0400 hours this morning.”
“What!” said Butsko.
“That’s right. I sleep in the same squad tent, and I was awake when he came back.”
Butsko grunted. “So he was out late, so what? He was probably jerking off in the woods someplace. He didn’t screw Laura Hubbard. He’s so full of shit it’s starting to come out of his ears.”
Cranepool narrowed his eyes at Butsko. “That ain’t no way to talk about Mahoney.”
Butsko spat into the mud. “Fuck him and fuck you.”
Cranepool made a threatening motion toward Butsko, and Butsko made fists.
“What’s going on here?” asked big fat Sergeant McGhee, strolling up to them. “Did he or didn’t he?”
Butsko laughed sarcastically. “Are you fucking kidding me? Of course he didn’t.”
“You don’t know that,” Cranepool said.
“What a bunch of clowns you guys are,” Butsko said. “You actually believe he could do it.”
McGhee looked toward the squad tent, from which issued the snores of Mahoney. “What has he had to say?”
“He hasn’t said anything,” Cranepool replied. “He got in at 0400 hours and collapsed into bed.”
McGhee smiled. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s wake the fucker up and ask him.”
“But he’s asleep.”
“He’s slept long enough.”
McGhee pushed aside the flap and entered the tent, the whole platoon following him in. Mahoney lay on his belly with his face sideways on the pillow, his mouth open and one hand near his chin. McGhee reached down and grabbed Mahoney’s bicep, shaking him from side to side.
“Wake up and piss,” McGhee said, “the world’s on fire!”
Mahoney lunged up, his teeth bared like an animal and his hands going for McGhee’s throat.
McGhee stepped backward. “Hey, cool your motor, Mahoney.”
Mahoney looked around and saw the platoon. He groaned as he realized what they wanted.
“Well,” McGhee said, “have you got her drawers?”
Mahoney shook his head and looked forlornly into his lap. “No.”
Butsko jumped into the air and cheered. “I told you he couldn’t do it!” He charged toward Mahoney and held the palm of his hand underneath Mahoney’s nose. “Pay up, sarge!”
Mahoney looked at McGhee. “I’ll make it up to you. Don’t worry.”
McGhee was disappointed because he thought Mahoney really could do what he said. The soldiers looked at Mahoney, and some of them felt sad. Mahoney took his pack of cigarettes out of his combat boots and appeared to be completely demoralized. The men had never seen him looking so unhappy. Riggs reached down and lit his cigarette.
“It’
s okay, sarge,” Riggs said. “Don’t worry about it.”
Berman held out his hands and smiled. “Hey, what’s everybody so serious about here? This whole thing’s supposed to be a joke, isn’t it? I mean, you guys really didn’t expect Mahoney to screw that broad, did you? How in the hell could he do that? Are you guys kidding?”
Butsko shook his head. “I wasn’t kidding. I made a bet with him, and I think he should pay up.”
“Come off it, Butsko,” Berman said.
“Yeah,” added Private, First Class Stafford. “Get serious. How could Mahoney screw that broad. She probably was surrounded by a detachment of MPs even when she went to the latrine.”
Butsko shrugged. “That was Mahoney’s problem, not mine.”
“Hey, Butsko,” said Private Trask. “Don’t be such a fucking hump all your life, hump.”
“Hump your mother’s pussy,” Butsko retorted. “I made a bet, and I want my money.”
Mahoney puffed his cigarette. “Everybody’ll get paid,” he said.
Butsko looked at Mahoney. “You really had a lot of these guys fooled, sarge. But you can’t fool old Butsko.”
“Well,” Mahoney said, his eyes downcast, “I guess I had a few beers too many when I made that bet.”
“Aw shit,” said Pulaski, “we all had a few beers too many. I can’t take Mahoney’s money. I mean, how could he fuck Laura Hubbard? Even God couldn’t do that.”
“God could do anything,” Riggs said.
“Shaddup asshole.”
“I don’t give a shit,” Butsko said. “I want my dough.”
McGhee took his roll out of his pocket. “You got it,” he said, peeling off two twenties and a ten.
Butsko took the money and turned around. “What’s the matter with you fucking guys! You made a bet, didn’t you?”
“It wasn’t a real bet,” Trask said.
“Yeah,” added Stafford, “you’re the only one who took it seriously.”
“Sheet,” said Butsko, “if he woulda come back with her drawers, then it woulda been a bet.”
“How could he come back with her drawers?”
Butsko pinched his lips together, getting angry. He was the only one holding Mahoney to the bet, and that made him look bad. Moreover, Mahoney was his platoon sergeant and could make his life miserable, maybe even get him killed.
