by Len Levinson
“Because I was AWOL.”
Colonel Hutchins raised his eyebrows. “You were AWOL?”
“Yes sir.”
“Why were you AWOL?”
“Because I couldn’t stand the bullshit in my platoon anymore.”
“What kind of bullshit was that?”
“The men talk back to me all the time.”
“Punch ‘em in their fucking mouths!”
“I do, but they still talk back to me. I’m tired of punching them in their mouths. I have at least five fights a day with the sons of bitches, and I’m tired of it.”
“I heard about that,” Colonel Hutchins said. “Lieutenant Jameson wants to court-martial you for fighting with your men, you know.”
“I know,” Bannon replied.
“You’ve put me on the spot. I don’t know what the hell to do about that court-martial.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“You should’ve talked to somebody about this problem a long time ago.”
“I guess I shoulda but something snapped in my mind, I guess. I just walked into the jungle.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Then what happened?”
“I kept walking until I got tired, and then I sacked out. Sometime later I heard troops headed my way. I climbed a tree to see who they were, and it was four columns of Japs, each about fifty men strong.”
“Which way were they headed?”
“Southwest.”
“Let’s take a look at the map.”
Colonel Hutchins stood and walked falteringly toward his map table.
“Are you all right sir?” asked Bannon.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t look all right.”
“Neither do you.”
Colonel Hutchins bent over the map table and looked down at grid eighty-nine. If the Japs were traveling in a southwesterly direction, that meant they were headed to the south of Afua. Evidently they were going to attack the southern flank of the American line again, where the Twenty-third Regiment was located. They were moving through the thick of the jungle so they couldn’t be observed on the trails.
“Them sneaky sons of bitches,” Colonel Hutchins said.
“Looks like they’re up to something, sir.”
“I’d better put the regiment on alert as of right now.”
Colonel Hutchins hobbled back to his desk and collapsed on the chair. He picked up the receiver of his telephone and hit the button. The voice of the officer of the day came through.
“Yes sir?” he said.
“Notify all commands to go on alert as of right now! Tell them that a Japanese attack is imminent.”
“Yes sir!”
Colonel Hutchins hung up the telephone. “That’s taken care of. Have a seat, Bannon.”
“Yes sir. Mind if I smoke?”
“You’re goddamn right I mind. Keep your cigarettes where they are. I don’t even wanna see them.”
“You’re trying to stop smoking, sir?”
“I’m trying to stop smoking and drinking at the same time.”
“Maybe you should just taper off, sir. Stopping all at once might be more than your system can handle.”
“Are you a doctor, Bannon?”
“No sir.”
“Then keep your fucking medical opinions to yourself.”
“Yes sir.”
Bannon was uneasy in the colonel’s office. He wished he could get the hell out of there, but he couldn’t leave until the colonel dismissed him. Meanwhile, Colonel Hutchins gazed at Bannon and recalled when he was a young soldier too, in the battle for Mont Blanc Ridge. Once he’d been vigorous and healthy, with a flat stomach and a sparkle in his eyes even when they were at half-mast, like Bannon’s. Now he was an old physical wreck. Time had taken its toll.
“Have you been reported AWOL?” Colonel Hutchins asked.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“I’ll have to find out about that and get it changed around, because you were on a special patrol last night, weren’t you?”
“I was?”
“Yes you were. It was so special and secret that only I knew about it. That’s why you were reported AWOL, right?”
“If you say so, sir.”
“I say so. Now tell me about the problems you’re having running the recon platoon.”
“Well sir,” Bannon said, leaning back in the chair, “I guess it all boils down to the fact that I’m not Lieutenant Breckenridge or Sergeant Butsko. The men respected them, but they don’t respect me even if I kick their asses five times a day.”
“Maybe you’ll have to kick their asses ten times a day.”
“I don’t think I got the energy.”
“What’s your alternative?”
Bannon thought for a few moments. “Maybe you can transfer me to another company.”
“Forget about it.”
“How come?”
“Because I need you where you are. You’re the only one who can lead that platoon.”
“I can’t lead them at all. They never do anything I say.”
“At least you know them inside and out. You’ll have to get tougher with them.”
“I’m tired of getting tough with them.”
“You got no choice. You’re in the Army and there’s a war on. You’ve got to keep trying just the way I keep trying and everybody else keeps trying. What do you think Butsko would say if he knew you were shirking your responsibilities?”
“He’d kick my ass, sir.”
“He’d probably shoot you and then spit on your dead body. If he ever returns to this war zone you’d better run when you see him coming.”
Bannon gulped. He’d never considered that Butsko might return someday and find out he deserted the recon platoon. Butsko really would fuck him up if that ever happened. Bannon was terrified of Butsko, and so was everybody else except Colonel Hutchins.
“I’ll go back,” Bannon said.
“Now you’re talking,” Colonel Hutchins replied.
“I’ll kick the shit out of those bastards all day long if that’s what I’ve got to do.”
“Just don’t get caught.”
“Yes sir . . . I mean no sir, I won’t get caught.”
“I’m promoting you to staff sergeant as of right now,” Colonel Hutchins said.
Bannon’s eyes goggled. “Huh?”
“You heard me. You now got a rocker underneath your stripes. Go back to that recon platoon and start kicking ass. That’s an order. But if you ever get caught again, I don’t know a fucking thing about it.”
Bannon jutted out his lower jaw. “Yes sir!” He stood, saluted, performed a snappy about-face, and marched out of the office. Colonel Hutchins picked up his telephone.
“Put me through to Captain Mason.”
“Yes sir,” said the officer of the day.
Colonel Hutchins thought about cigarettes and whisky for a few moments, and then he heard the voice he wanted.
“Captain Mason speaking sir.”
“This is Colonel Hutchins. Are you carrying Sergeant Bannon as an AWOL?”
There was silence on the other end for a few moments. “Well no sir, I’m not,” Captain Mason said.
“Why the hell not?”
“I wanted to give him a chance to come back.”
“That’s good, because he just came back, and I just promoted him to staff sergeant. Make sure you include that on your morning report. Got it?”
“Yes sir.”
“Sergeant Bannon was out last night on a special personal reconnaisance for me,” Colonel Hutchins continued, “and he found out that Japs are moving through the jungle on new trails they’re cutting, and they’re heading toward the area south of us. That’s why I promoted him. Get the picture?”
“What should I do about Lieutenant Sears?”
“What’s the story with him?”
“I assigned him to the recon platoon.”
“Unassign him.
He’s in over his head down there. Bannon’s going to handle the recon platoon.”
“Think he can do it?”
“He’d fucking better.”
“We’ll be approaching Los Angeles Airport in approximately forty-five minutes,” said the voice of the pilot over the loudspeaker system.
Butsko turned to Lieutenant Norton. “We’re almost there,” he said, becoming a shade paler.
“You’d better behave yourself—that’s all I’ve got to say.”
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Butsko said, a quaver in his voice.
Butsko had attacked enemy tanks barehanded, but he was afraid of what would happen when the transport plane landed in Los Angeles. A big Army public relations event had been planned, with photographers and reporters and movie stars, and Butsko would be one of the centers of attention. He felt nervous, because he was sure he’d make a fool of himself in front of all those cameras. He might laugh at the wrong moment, or forget where he was and scratch his balls. A million things could go wrong, and he was sure they all would at the same time.
The plane roared across the blue skies near the California coast. Butsko looked around at the other soldiers sitting on benches that lined the fuselage. Several of them were scheduled to receive medals also, and they too were accompanied by officers assigned to look after them, the way Lieutenant Norton was assigned to look after him.
Butsko looked at the other men who’d receive medals. They were soldiers, marines, and sailors, and he could see that some didn’t need escorts because they appeared to be ordinary nice guys who did what they were told, and somehow had performed heroic feats when the shit hit the fan. A few of the others were similar to Butsko. They were ugly, mean sons of bitches who didn’t like to take orders or knuckle under to authority, and they too had performed heroically when the shit hit the fan, more out of being ornery than any great altruistic impulses. They definitely needed escorts, as Butsko did.
The interior of the fuselage buzzed and the windows were small. Butsko craned his head and looked outside. He couldn’t see anything except the beautiful blue water of the Pacific Ocean merging with the paler blue of the sky. Land wasn’t in sight yet, but soon it should appear on the horizon.
Butsko wanted to smoke a cigarette. He also needed a drink. Somehow he didn’t feel worthy of the honors he soon would receive. AH he’d done was what he’d always done: kill Japs and fight like a motherfucker. He wished he could be back with his good old recon platoon, and wondered how they were doing without him. He assumed they’d get along okay as long as Lieutenant Breckenridge was there to command them, but if anything happened to Lieutenant Breckenridge the platoon probably would fall apart. Butsko didn’t think anybody except Lieutenant Breckenridge or he could handle the good old recon platoon.
His thoughts turned to Dolly, who was supposed to be living straight ahead in Santa Monica. What the hell was she doing? Who was she living with? Butsko was certain she was shacked up with somebody. He knew Dolly had hot pants and wouldn’t stay alone for long. She needed regular fucking, otherwise she tended to get nuttier than she was ordinarily.
“How’re you feeling?” Lieutenant Norton asked.
“Scared shitless.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Maybe not for you.”
“All you have to do is behave yourself, and you’ll be all right. Keep your hands off the women.”
“I’m all fucked out. I don’t give a shit about women right now.”
Lieutenant Norton grinned. “That was some night we had, huh?”
“I toldja you’d like the place. I also toldja I wouldn’t get in any trouble, and I didn’t.”
“Now I trust you a little more than I did.”
“Big fucking deal.”
The plane hit a gust of wind and was swept upwards suddenly. Butsko felt his stomach ride up into his throat. The voice of the pilot came over the loudspeaker system.
“We’re going down,” he said.
Butsko looked out the window. He saw the beaches and forests of California. It was the first time he’d seen the good old U.S. of A. since the summer of 1942. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“You said they’d be movie stars down there?” Butsko asked.
“That’s right, and keep your hands off them.”
“Who are they?”
“I don’t know yet. We’ll find out when we land.”
“I hope Lana Turner’s there. Boy, would I love to stick my dick into her.”
“You behave yourself around those movie stars, Butsko. The whole country’s gonna be watching you, and you don’t want people to think America’s heroes are a bunch of sex maniacs, do you?”
“I don’t give a fuck what they think.”
Lieutenant Norton was aghast. “You don’t care what the people on the home front think?”
Butsko thought that over. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
“If you start any shit, you’ll give the whole Army a bad name.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Butsko said, “but if Lana Turner brings her little ass within reach, I’m gonna grab it.”
“You’d better not.”
Butsko laughed. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll behave myself.”
“You’d better.”
“Whataya mean, I’d better?”
“Because I’ll kick your ass, Butsko, and don’t think I can’t do it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well I’m gonna behave myself,” Butsko said, “but not because I’m afraid of you. I’m gonna behave myself because I don’t wanna hurt the feelings of all the nice folks on the home front, and also because I’m afraid of the fucking stockade. I been in enough stockades, and they’re almost as bad as Jap POW camps.”
“I’m glad you realize that. If you’re smart, you’ll always keep that in your so-called mind once we land.”
“Fuck you,” Butsko said.
“Fuck you too,” Lieutenant Norton replied.
The voice of the pilot came over the loudspeaker system. “We’re going down,” he said.
The nose of the plane tilted toward the earth, and the plane lost altitude. Butsko looked out the window and saw the great state of California coming closer.
This is it, he thought. California here I come.
“Have a seat, Bob,” said General Hawkins.
Colonel Hutchins dropped to a chair in front of General Hawkins’s desk. Colonel Hutchins had a stomach ache and a headache, but he’d managed to move his bowels after drinking all that coffee, so now his constipation was gone. He felt nervous and twitchy due to all the caffeine.
“How’re you feeling?” Colonel Hutchins asked.
“Better.”
“Still off the bottle?”
“Yes sir.”
“No smoking?”
“That’s right.”
“Good for you, Bob. I’m glad to hear it.”
“I think the worst is over,” Colonel Hutchins said. “They say the first few days are the hardest.”
“Do you think you’re fit to command your regiment?” General Hawkins asked. “Tell me the truth, Bob. It’s important that I have a good clear head in command of the Twenty-third, because trouble’s ahead.”
“I’m as good as ever,” Colonel Hutchins said, and then he coughed. “Well, maybe not as good as ever, but almost as good as ever. What’s the trouble that’s ahead?”
“Japs are moving into the area south of your regiment as you know,” General Hawkins replied, “and they’re not there for a Boy Scout jamboree. They’re going to attack, and it’ll probably be an all-out suicide charge, so you’d better be ready and you’d better stop them. I don’t want the Japs to have any breakthroughs.”
“They won’t get through the Twenty-third unless it’s over my dead body,” Colonel Hutchins said.
“I can rely on you, Bob?”
“Yes you can, sir.”
“Even now, when you’re
having certain . . . ah . . . physical problems.”
“Now more than ever, sir, because what you call my physical problems are making me mad.”
“Okay Bob,” General Hawkins said. “I’m going to hold you to your word. And by the way, if the Japs do get through the Twenty-third, General Hall will probably say you’re not fit for command. He’ll make me relieve you.”
“If the Japs get through the Twenty-third,” Colonel Hutchins replied, “nobody'll have to relieve me because I just told you I’ll be dead before that happens, and I mean it.”
One wheel of the transport plane touched down on the runway, and then another wheel. The plane rocked from side to side as it hunkered down and sped over the tarmac. Butsko looked out the window and saw trees and buildings whizzing by. He was on American soil at last. The war seemed far away, almost like a nightmare from which he’d awakened. A week ago he was on the front lines, and now he was in Los Angeles.
The plane slowed down. Butsko turned around. The other soldiers grinned nervously, their faces flushed with color. They wiggled around in their seats and didn’t know what to do with their hands.
“We’re here,” Lieutenant Norton said, a note of relief in his voice.
Butsko looked out the window again. The plane turned around and he saw the airport’s main terminal. A huge crowd of people stood in front of the terminal, and sunlight glinted off the tubas and trombones of the band. A big lump formed in Butsko’s throat.
“Jesus,” he said.
“Whatsa matter?”
“Lookit all them fucking people.”
“Don’t worry about it. They won’t bite you.”
The plane came to a stop, and Butsko saw the people move in a giant disorderly wave toward the plane. He turned around and saw the soldiers, sailors, and marines fidgeting in their seats, removing their safety belts. He loosened his safety belt and ran his fingers through his thick black hair. He knew his face was lumpy and scarred, and hoped he wouldn’t scare any civilians when he got off the plane.
A stairway on wheels was pushed to the door of the fuselage, and the door was opened. The bright California sunshine glowed like gold. The soldiers lined up in front of the door. A captain stood in front of the door. His name was Lynden Farr and he was in charge of the PR operation.
