by Len Levinson
“As you were.”
Lieutenant Jameson turned around and walked away, followed by his men. Frankie saw his rifle lying on the ground. He moved swiftly toward it, picked it up, and aimed it at the back of Lieutenant Jameson. Bannon ran toward Frankie, tackled him, and brought him down.
“Are you crazy!” Bannon said.
“I was just gonna shoot the son of a bitch,” Frankie explained. “We could say a sniper got him. Who’d know?”
“You stupid son of a bitch!”
“Aw shit,” Frankie said, watching Lieutenant Jameson disappear into the jungle. “He’s gone now.”
Bannon looked up to make sure Lieutenant Jameson was out of sight, and he was. He let Frankie go and stood up.
“Okay you guys!” Bannon said. “Dig in right here!”
“When do we eat?” asked McGurk, spattered with dried blood from head to toe.
“After you dig in,” Bannon replied.
Frankie stood and aimed his rifle at Bannon. “What’re we haveta dig in for?”
“Because Lieutenant Jameson said so.”
“I oughta pull this fucking trigger.”
“Go ahead.”
Frankie smiled and tightened his finger around the trigger. Bannon got tense. Frankie smiled and lowered the barrel of his rifle.
“Don’t worry,” Frankie said, “I won’t shoot you. I only shoot officers.”
“You made a lot of trouble for me today, Frankie.”
“Fuck you. Who cares?”
“I oughta kick your fucking ass again.”
“Go ahead.”
“Drop that rifle.”
Frankie let it fall to the ground. “C’mon.”
Bannon looked at Frankie, and hatred welled up in his heart. “I hate your fucking guts,” he said.
“Your mother’s pussy.”
Bannon took a deep breath and stepped toward Frankie. Then he stopped and sighed. His shoulders sagged. “I’m getting tired of kicking your ass,” he said.
“I always said you never had no guts.”
Bannon looked around at the others. “I thought I told you guys to dig in!”
Sullenly they took out their entrenching tools and looked around for places to dig holes. Bannon turned to Frankie again.
“I don’t give a fuck what you do,” he said. “You can dig in, or you can take a walk. It don’t matter to me either way.”
Frankie laughed. “Fuck you,” he said.
FIVE . . .
“You can put on your clothes now,” said Dr. Epstein. “Have a seat and I’ll be right back.”
Dr. Epstein flashed a quick professional smile and walked out of that section of the tent. Colonel Hutchins sat on the examining table and looked around Captain Epstein’s office. He saw a desk, a few chairs, and cabinets full of bottles and medical equipment. Draped across one of the chairs was fresh clothing from the Quartermaster, because Colonel Hutchins’s clothes had been torn to shreds during the battle.
Colonel Hutchins’s personal belongings had been placed on the surface of one of the cabinets. The first thing he did was push himself off the examining table, walk to the cabinet, take out a Lucky Strike, and light it with his trusty old Zippo. He took a deep drag and felt better. Shaking his aluminum hip flask, he frowned as he realized it was empty. Either he’d drunk it all or somebody else had. Son of a bitch.
Colonel Hutchins puffed his cigarette as he put on the new green uniform. His body was covered with small bandages that protected the numerous cuts and scrapes he’d acquired in the morning attack. He pinned his insignia to the collars of the shirt and stuffed his arms through the sleeves. Sitting on one of the chairs in front of the desk, he laced on his good old combat boots, covered with muck and blood.
Captain Epstein returned as Colonel Hutchins was lacing the boots. Captain Epstein had kinky black hair and wore thick horn-rimmed glasses. He carried Colonel Hutchins’s medical folder and sat behind his desk.
“What’s the bad news?” Colonel Hutchins asked, the cigarette dangling out of his mouth as he tied the final knot on his left combat boot.
Captain Epstein had a solemn expression on his face as he perused the documents in Colonel Hutchins’s medical folder.
“It’s that bad?” Colonel Hutchins asked.
Captain Epstein looked up at Colonel Hutchins. “It certainly isn’t good.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
“Just about everything. You’re in bad shape from your neck to your knees. Other than that you’re fine.”
“There ain’t much left, Doc.”
“You lead a hard life, Colonel. You’ve got heart trouble, lung trouble, and liver trouble. You smoke and drink too much and your general physical condition is run down. I’m going to give it to you straight. I don’t think you’re physically fit for frontline command anymore.”
Colonel Hutchins went pale. “You’re not gonna write that down anywheres, are you?”
“I sure am.”
“But they’ll relieve me of command.”
“That’s exactly what they ought to do.”
“But I’m not that bad off.”
“Oh yes you are, and on top of everything else you’re an alcoholic. You’ve certainly got the liver of an alcoholic. I’m the one who poured the booze out of your canteen, by the way. If you don’t cut down on your drinking, you’re going to die.”
“Who gives a shit?” Colonel Hutchins said. “Everybody dies.”
“Some die later and some die sooner. You’re going to die sooner unless you start taking care of yourself.”
“Okay, I’ll start taking care of myself. Just don’t tell anybody that I’m not fit for frontline command.”
“I’m afraid that would be dereliction of duty. I have to tell the truth. You’re not suggesting that I lie, are you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting!”
Captain Epstein shook his head. “I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can. Who’ll know one way or the other?”
“I will, and that’s all that matters to me. Frontline commanders have to be in good physical condition, and you’re not. An entire regiment is depending on you, and you might collapse at a crucial moment when they need you the most. In point of fact, you collapsed this morning. It’s my responsibility to see that no one is affected by your bad health.”
“My health ain’t bad. I stood toe to toe with men younger than me this morning, and kicked their fucking asses.”
“And then you collapsed, isn’t that so?”
“It was loss of blood.”
“Coupled with poor health,” Captain Epstein added.
Colonel Hutchins leaned forward and made his face mean. “You lily-livered son of a bitch—I ought to shoot you.”
“Go ahead,” Captain Epstein said. “See if I care.”
Colonel Hutchins looked around. “Where’s my fucking gun!”
“Over there next to the door.”
Colonel Hutchins craned his head around and saw his Thompson submachine gun leaning against the door. He got up from his chair, walked toward it, picked it up, and aimed the barrel at Captain Epstein.
“You’re gonna change your recommendation,” Colonel Hutchins said.
“No go,” replied Captain Epstein.
“Then I’m gonna blow your fucking head off.”
“Be my guest,” said Captain Epstein, “but do you think they’ll let you return to your command afterwards? You know damn well they won’t. They’ll probably put you in jail, which I suspect is where you belong.”
“You son of a bitch!” Colonel Hutchins said.
“Go ahead and shoot,” Captain Epstein replied.
Colonel Hutchins saw that elementary intimidation wasn’t going to work with Captain Epstein. He lowered his submachine gun and returned to the chair, sitting down and laying the submachine gun on his lap.
“It wasn’t loaded anyway,” Colonel Hutchins said.
“I know, because I’m the one who unloaded it,�
�� Captain Epstein replied.
“You’re a real wiseguy,” Colonel Hutchins said.
“I didn’t get to be a surgeon by being dumb.”
Colonel Hutchins leaned forward. “Let’s make a deal.”
“No deals.”
“Hear me out.”
“You’ve got five minutes.”
“What if I promise to quit drinking?” Colonel Hutchins asked.
“Don’t make me laugh,” Captain Epstein said.
“You don’t think I can do it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not so easy.”
“I didn’t get through this war because it’s easy. I didn’t kill twenty Japs this morning because it was easy. I can do anything I want.”
“You’d have to stop smoking too.”
“I’ll do it.”
“And exercise regularly.”
“No problem.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re an alcoholic, and alcoholics can’t be trusted.”
“You son of a bitch,” Colonel Hutchins said.
“Everybody knows you’re a drunk. It’s not exactly a secret.”
“They do?”
“You can’t drink as much as you do and not smell like a brewery all the time.”
Colonel Hutchins leaned back in his chair. He had no idea that everybody knew. Like most alcoholics, he thought he was fooling people. Like most alcoholics, the only person he was fooling was himself.
“You make me sound pretty bad, Doc,” he said.
“You are pretty bad. You’ve got one foot in the grave and the other one on a banana peel.”
“You’re not gonna retract that recommendation?”
“Absolutely not.”
“But I’m a soldier,” Colonel Hutchins protested. “This is the only profession I know.”
“You can work behind a desk someplace. You can still be of use to the Army that way.”
“I’m not a fucking clerk!”
“You’re not fit for frontline duty anymore. I’m sorry.”
“You’re not sorry. You don’t give a fuck either way.”
Captain Epstein shrugged. “As a matter of fact I don’t. I’ve got four tents full of wounded men out there, and all of them are in worse shape than you. They were cut down by the Japs, but you’re cutting yourself down. I’ve got no sympathy for you.” Captain Epstein scrawled something on a piece of paper in front of him. “I have nothing more to say to you. You may leave.”
“Just like that.”
“Just like that.”
“You’re a son of a bitch,” Colonel Hutchins said.
“And you’re a drunk,” Captain Epstein replied. “Your men depend on you to tell them what to do, and you’re walking around smashed all the time.”
“I’ve never let my men down,” Colonel Hutchins declared.
“The hell you haven’t. You should be with them right now but instead you’re here, because you’re an alcoholic.”
“Fuck you,” Colonel Hutchins said.
“Fuck you too,” Captain Epstein replied. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got wounded men to look after.”
“Prick,” said Colonel Hutchins.
Captain Epstein ignored him. He picked some papers up off his desk, tucked them under his arm, and walked out of the office. Colonel Hutchins found himself sitting alone with his submachine gun in an atmosphere that smelled like medicine and disinfectant. What am I gonna do? he thought. What if they relieve me of command?
Colonel Hutchins became demoralized. He felt sick and ill, and he needed a drink. He thought of lighting another cigarette, but something stopped him. I’ve got to cut all that stuff out, he thought. I’ve got to get myself back in shape.
He wondered what his next step should be. Captain Epstein would write a report saying he was unfit for frontline command. The report would be delivered to General Hawkins. Could the report be intercepted and destroyed? Yes, but it’d be replaced by another report. Once a copy of the document was put in his records, and another copy forwarded to the Pentagon, that was it.
Except for one possibility. Perhaps he could go to General Hawkins and ask for another chance. He’d promise to stop drinking and smoking, and to exercise regularly. He and General Hawkins had been getting along okay lately. Perhaps it would work.
I’d better get started on that right now, Colonel Hutchins thought. I should talk to the general before the report reaches his desk. That way I can do some damage control, maybe.
Colonel Hutchins stood and slung his submachine gun barrel down over his shoulder. He walked out of the office, pushed an orderly out of his way, and headed toward the parking area, where Pfc. Nick Bombasino was waiting with his jeep.
“Take me to General Hawkins’s headquarters,” Colonel Hutchins said to Pfc. Bombasino, “and make it fast.”
It was twelve o’clock noon. Major Tomohiro Sakakibara slept soundly in a cave made of four gigantic boulders tumbled together in the foothills of the Torricelli Mountains. His uniform was filthy, bloody, and torn to shreds, but most of the blood belonged to American soldiers whom he’d slashed with his samurai sword during the dawn attack. American blood still was caked to his samurai sword too. He hadn’t shaved for five days, and he smelled as if he’d shit his pants. It was dank and cool inside the cave, and the ground underneath him was tiny rocks. Major Sakakibara was so tired he didn’t care.
He’d been asleep for an hour. He’d ordered his battalion to stop and rest in the area, but not much of his battalion was left. Normally a Japanese battalion consisted of four companies, but all he had left was slightly less than the equivalent of one full-strength company stretched out over four companies.
The men slept all around him in hollows in the ground, beneath trees, and under bushes. Many were wounded and wore bloody bandages. A fairly substantial number probably wouldn’t live another twenty-four hours. Some were still in fighting condition, though. They were his toughest shock troops, and they’d survived because they knew what to do when the shit hit the fan.
A young Japanese lieutenant accompanied by a sergeant and three ordinary soldiers came upon the battalion area. They were challenged by sentries struggling to stay awake, and the young lieutenant, whose name was Arazaki, said that he carried a message for Major Sakakibara from General Adachi himself.
The sentries waved Lieutenant Arazaki and his party through. Lieutenant Arazaki marched into the area, noticing the men sleeping everywhere. The men were bony arid ragged, similar to corpses as they lay still and slept with their mouths open. Some snored.
Lieutenant Arazaki didn’t relish the task he was assigned to perform. He didn’t want to have anything to do with Major Sakakibara, because he knew of the major’s dreadful reputation. Major Sakakibara kicked the shit out of his own men and tortured prisoners. He was said to be ruthless, insubordinate, and an ignorant son of a bitch. Lieutenant Arazaki hoped he didn’t have any trouble with him.
Lieutenant Arazaki arrived at the front of the cave, stuck his head inside, and was nearly overwhelmed by the stench. In the darkness he could perceive the sleeping figure of Major Sakakibara.
“Sir?” said Lieutenant Arazaki.
The figure didn’t stir.
“Sir!” Lieutenant Arazaki said louder.
Again the figure didn’t move.
The only thing to do was go into the cave and shake him. Lieutenant Arazaki didn’t want to do it because of the smell, but orders were orders. He had to do it. Covering his mouth with his handkerchief, he crawled into the cave. Suddenly Major Sakakibara spun around and pointed a Nambu pistol at Lieutenant Arazaki’s head. Major Sakakibara’s finger tightened around the trigger, and then he recognized the uniform of an officer in the Imperial Japanese Army. The officer wore the insignia of a lieutenant on his collar, so Major Sakakibara relaxed. He clicked the safety off his Nambu pistol.
“What do you want!” he
demanded.
“Sir,” said Lieutenant Arazaki, nearly gagging from the stench, “I bring you a message from General Adachi. He wants—”
Major Sakakibara interrupted him. “A message from General Adachi?” he asked, wrinkling his forehead, his tongue protruding a quarter of an inch from the side of his mouth. “For me?”
“Yes sir.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes sir. You’re Major Sakakibara, the commanding officer of the Three hundred and thirty-fourth Battalion.”
“What is the message?” Major Sakakibara asked.
“General Adachi would like to speak with you in person immediately.”
“Me?”
“Yes sir.”
“Why me?”
“I don’t know sir. ”
Major Sakakibara leaned closer, and Lieutenant Arazaki nearly fainted from the smell. “You must have some idea of what the old bastard wants,” Major Sakakibara said.
“I’m afraid I don’t sir.”
“I wonder what I did wrong this time?” Major Sakakibara mused.
“Are you coming, sir?”
“What’s the big hurry?”
“The general would like to speak with yon as soon as possible. You are to accompany us.”
Major Sakakibara let his tongue protrude out of the left corner of his mouth again and he narrowed his left eye as he tried to figure out what was going on. He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong lately, and he was only a major, which wasn’t a very high rank relative to the types of officers General Adachi usually dealt with. What does he want me for? Major Sakakibara wondered, licking his upper lip with his tongue.
“Are you coming, sir?”
“You can go back now. I’ll be along shortly.”
“But the general wants you to return with me.”
“There are things I have to do. Tell him I’m busy fighting a war out here, but I’ll be at his headquarters in approximately two hours.”
Lieutenant Arazaki thought he’d throw up at any moment. “I think you’d better come back with me now, sir.”
“I’m not interested in what you think.” Major Sakakibara leaned toward Lieutenant Arazaki. “I can’t report to General Adachi the way I am now. I stink, don’t I? Look at you, you can barely keep yourself from puking. You’re getting green around the gills. Get out of here and go tell the great almighty general what I just told you to tell him.”
