by Len Levinson
FIVE . . .
It was night in the POW compound and the men of the recon platoon slept fitfully. The sky had cleared and a half-moon shone in the sky over the tops of the trees. A bird screeched nearby and Bannon opened his eyes. He ached all over and his ead rang as if bells were pealing inside his skull. He remem-bered being beaten by the Japanese guards and his heart sank when he realized he was not waking up within the safety of the American defense perimeter. He was a POW of the Japa-nese, who had never signed the Geneva Convention accords regarding the treatment of prisoners.
He looked around and saw the guards in their towers, hunched over, their rifles slung over their shoulders, silhouetted against the night sky. His kidneys hurt and he had to take a piss. Pushing himself to his feet, he stumbled across the compound to the latrine. Standing in front of it, he braced his feet and pissed into the hole. Glancing to the side, he saw the guard in the nearest tower facing him, looking at him through binocu-lars. Take a good look, you bastard, Bannon thought.
Blam!
Bannon jumped three inches off the ground. The guard leaned over at a ridiculous angle and fell out of his tower. Suddenly the woods erupted with rifles and machine-gun fire. The GIs in the compound snapped their heads up, thinking they were in the middle of an attack, and they were. Bannon looked and saw figures swarming out of the jungle, running toward the POW compound. Another guard was shot out of his tower, and one of the guards near the front gate collapsed onto the ground.
Bannon stuffed his dick back into his pants and buttoned his fly. Figures charged toward the POW compound, and in the moonlight Bannon could see that they were natives wearing lavalava skirts and Army shirts. Four of them carried wire cutters in their hands, and they snapped through the barbed wire quickly while their comrades filled the night with the thunder of small-arms fire.
“Come on, hurry up!” shouted one of the natives.
The GIs ran with renewed energy toward the openings in the barbed-wire fence. Blum grabbed Frankie La Barbara's arm and dragged him along. Butsko helped Shaw, and Homer Glad-ley carried Hilliard in his arms like a baby. The natives fired rifles and submachine guns from a kneeling position at Japs coming out of their tents to see what was going on. The natives threw hand grenades and fired a bazooka, blowing up the larger tents. One of the rockets landed in front of the tent belonging to Colonel Shibata, knocking it down and covering it with earth. Colonel Shibata fought against the heavy canvas, expecting a dagger to break through at any moment and stab him to death.
Whistles were blown and Japs shouted orders. The GIs hobbled out of the prison compound and the natives grabbed them and helped them along. Some of the GIs in the compound were too sick and weak to move, and they were left behind. There was no time to fuck around.
The GIs and natives ran into the woods, and a thin screen of natives stayed behind at the edge of the clearing to hold off the Japs and let their comrades get away. Somebody thrust a submachine gun into Bannon's hand and he swung around, pulling the trigger and firing at Japs running toward the jungle. Two fell before the stream of bullets pouring out of his gun, and he felt a surge of joy and energy. The pain went away and he felt strong again.
Colonel Shibata finally made it out of his tent. “After them!” he screamed, waving his samurai sword in the air.
One of the natives took aim at him and pulled the trigger of his M 1 rifle. His aim was slightly off, but the bullet hit Colonel Shibata in the arm, spinning him around and throwing him to the ground. Japs ran around in confusion and disorder. They thought they were being attacked by a large American troop unit.
The natives retreated into the jungle. They knew the territory and led the Americans over the narrow paths, moving swiftly. The screen pulled back, turned around, and ran away. The Japs still didn't know what was going on. The entire rescue had taken less than ten minutes to bring off. An aide helped Colonel Shibata to his feet, and he, too, thought a major American attack was under way.
“Hold fast!” he shouted. “There will be no retreat!”
The Japs dropped to their bellies and formed a defense around the camp. They fired into the jungle and soon realized no one was firing back. Colonel Shibata, lying on the ground and holding his bleeding biceps, also became aware that the attack was over.
“Stop firing! Wait till they come back! Set up your machine guns! Where are the mortars?”
Someone came running toward Colonel Shibata, who raised his pistol. “Don't shoot!” yelled Lieutenant Isangi. “It's me!”
Colonel Shibata lowered his pistol and Lieutenant Isangi dropped to the ground. “The prisoners have been released, sir!”
“What!”
“Yes, sir! The barbed wire has been cut!”
Now Colonel Shibata knew what had happened. A raiding party had freed the prisoners. It wasn't a major attack after all.
“Lieutenant Isangi, send Company A after the attackers! They can't be far!”
“Yes, sir!”
Lieutenant Isangi sprang to his feet and ran off to organize Company A. Colonel Shibata stood and clasped his fist over his bleeding bicep. “They've gone! The attack is over!”
His men raised themselves from the ground, dazed by what had happened. All around them lay the dead and wounded bodies of their comrades. Colonel Shibata staggered toward the POW compound and saw the cut wires. Most of the prisoners were gone. He stared furiously at the prisoners who had not been able to run away and wanted to order all of them shot, but Imperial Headquarters claimed there was a need for them. Colonel Shibata couldn't imagine what for.
Sergeant Yuasa approached Colonel Shibata. “You've been wounded, sir! I'll get the medical corporal!”
Sergeant Yuasa turned and ran off. Colonel Shibata looked at the jungle and cursed. He'd been on Guadalcanal less than twenty-four hours and already he'd been humiliated by the Americans. He saw Company A run across the clearing and enter the jungle.
Company A got lost after twenty yards’ penetration. They couldn't pick up the trail of the attackers in the darkness, and the jungle was a solid wall of vines and branches. The attackers hadn't used any of the main trails. The search was abandoned after an hour.
The long column moved silently over the narrow, twisting trails, and the natives helped carry the seriously wounded. Bannon walked without help, limping badly but feeling good. He didn't think he could last another day with the Japs, but now he was free. He felt elated and loved the natives in their lavalava skirts and Army shirts. They wore bandoliers of American ammunition crossed over their backs and chests and ap-peared to be a cheerful bunch.
They stopped for a break, and the natives gave the GI cigarettes to smoke. They offered water but had no food with them because they were traveling light. Finally they moved out again, and the moon shone brightly in the sky.
Near dawn they approached a cluster of huts in one of the thickest parts of the jungle. Weird statues towered twenty feet into the air, and men and women came out of the huts. One of the women looked familiar, and as Bannon drew closer, he recognized the native girl named Mary that they'd rescued at the mansion. She was standing next to a bearded old man supporting himself with the aid of a cane.
“Welcome to my village,” said the old man.
Butsko, battered and weary, staggered toward the old man. “Are you in charge here?”
“My name's Butsko. Thank you for saving us.”
The old man looked at the girl. “Thank my daughter. She's the one who told us you'd been taken prisoner.”
Butsko looked at her. “Thank you.”:
“You saved me from the Japanese. I only did what was right.”
Bannon moved next to Jimmy O'Rourke and gave him an elbow in the ribs. “And you wanted to shoot her,” Bannon whispered.
“How was I supposed to know?” O'Rourke asked.
Butsko looked at the old man. “How did you find us?”
“My men followed your trail back to the Japanese camp. It was not difficult.”
“Thank you again.”
“You must be hungry. We have food. Come.”
The old man led them to a clearing among the huts. Women brought crates of C rations, and the cans were passed around. The natives opened the cans and the GIs ate hungrily. Cups of coconut milk were given to the GIs, who drank the cool, sweet liquid down.
“Do you have a radio here?” Butsko asked the old man.
“It is broken.”
“I'd like to get word to our army about the Japanese camp.”
“We will send a messenger after you have eaten.”
Butsko grunted and ate his can of franks and beans. He drank coconut milk and looked at the girl, who was sitting silently beside her father, casting shy glances at Bannon. What's going on here? Butsko thought.
The old man explained in halting, strangely accented En-glish that he was chief of the little tribe and they hated the Japanese, because the Japanese were cruel to them, beating up the men, raping the women, stealing everything in sight. “When they first came we were glad to see them, because we thought they would grant us our independence, but then we found out that they were worse than anything we had known before. Their propaganda officers told us we would be their brothers in the Southeast Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere, but their soldiers treated us like slaves, so we have rebelled against them. The Australians and your army have helped us with arms and supplies, and we in turn have helped you. We hope you will give us our independence after the Japanese are driven away.”
“I don't know anything about that,” Butsko said. “I am only a sergeant and I take orders like everybody else.”
After the meal the soldiers went down to a nearby stream and took baths. The men who were severely wounded were washed by native women, and their dirty uniforms were exchanged for lavalava skirts. Private Blum dressed their wounds with medical supplies the natives had obtained from the US Army. Butsko went to the chief s ‘s hut to write out his message for Colonel Stockton.
The GIs trudged back to the camp, where huts had been prepared for them, straw mats on the ground. The men lay down and soon fell into deep slumber.
SIX . . .
Bannon was awakened by the laughter of children. He opened his eyes and saw sunlight streaming through openings in the straw walls of the hut he was in, making a golden glow inside the hut. At first he didn't know where he was, but then it all came back: the fight at the big white house, their capture by the Japanese, and the rescue.
Frankie La Barbara rolled over and groaned, his face band-aged. “Somebody shut them fucking kids up,” he snarled.
Bannon patted him on the shoulder. ‘Take it easy, buddy. They're our hosts.”
“I'll kick their little fucking asses!”
Butsko opened his eyes. “What's going on in here!”
Shaw rolled over. “Shaddup, Frankie, willya? You always got your big yap open.”
“I'll shut up when those kids shut up.”
They heard more laughter and giggling outside the tent, and then all at once they realized the voices weren't just children's. There were women out there! Frankie crawled over the other GIs to the door, which was covered by a hanging rectangle of bamboo and straw. He pushed it out of the way and saw a gaggle of children and young girls playing behind piles of freshly laundered uniforms and socks.
“Cunt!” said Frankie.
“Where?” asked Corporal Gomez, diving toward the door.
Gomez was followed by Homer Gladley, Morris Shilansky,
Tommy Shaw, and Jimmy O'Rourke. Butsko reached for the pack of cigarettes the chief had given him the night before. He put one in his mouth, lit it up, and threw the pack to Bannon.
“Wow, looka that one!” Frankie said, pointing to a native girl.
“I wonder if it's okay to fuck them,” said Shilansky.
Butsko turned to them, spitting tobacco crumbs out of his mouth. “Keep your hands off them, you bunch of scumbags!”
“How come, Sarge?” asked Frankie La Barbara.
“Because they just saved our asses and I don't want no trouble!”
“But, Sarge, they're so friendly.”
“I just gave you an order! You'll treat them girls like your kid sisters—or else!”
“Aw, Sarge.”
The men frowned and grumbled as they gawked at the beautiful young native girls. The girls wore sarongs and had flowers in their long black hair. They clapped their hands and played with the children. Some held up GI uniforms, indicating that they were clean and dry.
“Can we go out to get our uniforms, Sarge?” Homer Gladley asked.
“Yeah, but keep your hands off the broads.”
The GIs crawled out of the tent, stood, and approached the piles of uniforms while leering at the girls. They searched through the piles for their clothes while the girls giggled and the children gazed at them with awe.
In the tent Butsko and Bannon were smoking cigarettes and taking it easy. They'd go out and get their own uniforms after the others were finished. It was peaceful and comfortable in the tent, and the sound of voices outside was charming. The Japs had taken their watches; Butsko estimated from the angle of the sun that it was the middle of the afternoon.
“I been thinking,” Butsko said. “I like the way you handled yourself yesterday, and I'm gonna give you the First Squad back. You're a buck sergeant again.”
Bannon nodded. “Good enough.”
“I figure we'll stay here for a couple of days, because some of the men aren't well enough to move yet. Then we'll head back to our lines. We'll be okay here, provided the animals keep their hands off the girls.”
“That's gonna be a problem, Sarge. Some of those girls look awfully willing.”
“I will cut off the dick of any man who screws one of those girls.”
“You tell the men that and I'm sure it'll stop them.”
The men came back into the tent with their uniforms.
“They did a great job,” said Morris Shilansky. “I ain't had a pair of clean socks since I can't remember when.”
Gomez held up his underwear. “Gee, clean shorts. I don't think 1 can handle it.”
The men took off their lavalavas and put on their uniforms.
“Listen to me, you guys,” Butsko said, “and listen close. I told you that I don't want you messing with those girls, and I meant it. If any of you screws any of them poor little innocent girls, I will personally cut your fucking dick off!”
Frankie La Barbara made a face and rolled up his eyes.
“Cut my fucking dick off?”
“You heard me!”
“I ain't never heard anything like that in my life!”
“You heard it now. And there's one more thing. Private Bannon is now Sergeant Bannon again, and he's the squad leader of the First Squad like before.”
Everybody looked at Bannon. He winked at them. “Hiya, guys. Remember me?”
“Jesus Christ,” Frankie said, “what next?”
Bannon puffed his cigarette. “I think I'm gonna get my uniform. Out of my way, shitheads.”
Bannon pushed them aside and crawled to the door of the hut. He pushed it out of the way and stood up in the shade, wearing only his lavalava. A bunch of kids and girls were goofing around a few feet away. Mary, the one they'd rescued from the Japanese, was kneeling before a pile of clothes.
“These yours,” she said.
“Oh,” he replied, bending down to pick up the clothes.
She pulled them away suddenly and smiled coyly. “I wash them myself.”
“Thank you very much. That was very nice of you.”
You welcome.”
She smiled dazzlingly. Her skin was smooth and coffee-colored, and the fragrance surrounding her was like tropical flowers. She's flirting with me, Bannon thought. She doesn't know it, but she's playing with fire.
He reached for his clothes again, and she snatched them away before his fingers could reach them, clasping them to her bosom. The children and other women laughed at Bannon and clap
ped their hands gleefully.
“Why won't you give me my clothes?” he asked her.
“If you want, come and get.”
She stood and took three steps backward, pinching her legs together like a mischievous little child. He rose and reached for the clothes again. She jumped back like a little rabbit. He advanced and reached out his hand. She shook her head and retreated.
“What do I have to do to get my clothes?” he asked.
“Come take them.”
She was playing a game with him, he saw that now. Okay, I'll play games if that's what she wants. He turned to walk back to the hut, then lunged at his clothes. She screeched and hopped back, then smiled nervously, because she knew he would try to outsmart her. He rushed her and she screamed again, running away.
Bannon chased her, limping on his left leg, and she dashed through the village, dodging around huts, waiting for him to get close and then running away again, laughing like a child. The little children followed, giggling and having a wonderful time. Adult men and women looked up from what they were doing and smiled indulgently. Bannon pursued the girl around the village twice; then she cut out into the woods.
Bannon saw her long black hair flowing behind her and the white soles of her feet as she kicked up her heels. She ducked behind a bush and he went after her, but she wasn't there when he reached the spot. He heard a whistle and looked up. She was leaning beside a tree, waving his clothes from side to side.
He charged toward her and she turned and dashed off, duck-ing underneath the branches of a tree, laughing gaily, leaping over a boulder, her sarong riding up her long, slim legs. Bannon pursued her but knew he could never catch her. The jungle was her home, and she knew this particular part of it well. She could hide six feet away and he'd never know she was there. So he'd have to get tricky himself. He spotted a bush and dived underneath it, then crouched and made himself still.
She flitted about nearby in the jungle, laughing merrily. Then, a few minutes later, she stopped. She was aware that he wasn't following her anymore. He could imagine the be-wildered expression her face.
