“Less than a day’s worth, sir.”
Gabriel Lakai had returned with Ginny’s last supply run. He offered an idea: “I know where there is water very close by, Lieutenant Lee.”
Grossman shook his head. “You’re not talking about the river, are you, Gabriel? I told you, I don’t want to send a detail all the way down the mountain unless I absolutely have to.”
It was Gabriel’s turn to shake his head. “No, no, Lieutenant Lee… I mean the stream at Uptanoon.”
Ginny Beech asked, “Are you sure, Gabriel? I thought that stream was almost dry.”
“No, Miss Ginny. I know a place. We can fill many canteens.”
Grossman checked his map. “That looks to be about three miles…and not too far down the backslope, right?”
“Spot on,” Ginny replied.
Patchett asked, “And it ain’t downstream from where it gets used for a latrine?”
Gabriel seemed horrified by the suggestion. “No, of course not, First Sergeant,” he replied.
Patchett shrugged and said, “I’ll get a detail put together, sir. Maybe you can take them there, Gabriel?”
“Yes, First Sergeant.”
The medic was repacking his kit after treating the wounded corporal. Patchett pulled him aside and said, “I need me a tube of Tetracaine, Doc.”
“Why, Top? Something in your eye?” He started to examine the first sergeant’s eyes, but Patchett swatted his hands away.
“Just mind your business and hand over the damn tube, son.”
The five-man water detail was on its third trip back from the stream at Uptanoon. Each time they’d taken a slightly different route, seeking one with the easiest uphill climb. One more run and they’d have every canteen in the company replenished. The afternoon had grown beastly hot, and the men needed a break.
“Take five, ladies,” Sergeant Hadley said, his voice just above a whisper. The detail flopped to the ground, vanishing among the scrub. “But if anybody falls asleep, I’ll have their ass,” Hadley added. “This is still Indian country. Stay alert.”
One of the privates asked, “How come you let that kid go back to his village, Sarge? He could’ve been humping some of these frigging canteens.”
“Gabriel did his job,” Hadley replied. “Now shut the hell up, Wozniak, and worry about doing yours.”
PFC Wozniak kept up his whining. “But what about the darkies, Sarge? Ain’t they supposed to be doing the toting around here?”
“Better they tote our food and ammo ten miles up this damned mountain. Would you rather do that instead, Wozniak?”
They heard footsteps approaching…and softly laughing voices talking in English. One of those voices was a woman’s, decidedly Australian.
“Holy shit,” Hadley said as Melvin Patchett and Ginny Beech popped into view among the trees. “I figured something was going on with those two.”
His eyes wide with lascivious delight, Wozniak whispered, “Look at them touching each other like that…He’s gonna screw her, ain’t he, Sarge?”
“How the hell should I know? Everybody be quiet and give them some privacy. Don’t move or those canteens will rattle and give us away.”
Wozniak scoffed at Hadley’s words. “Why, Sarge? He’s always fucking with us. Let’s fuck with him a little. Why should he be getting any? We ain’t.”
Hadley shot the private a look that would cut steel. “If Top’s lucky enough to be getting some, then good for him. And we’ve got no call to be embarrassing Missus Beech, either, all she’s done for us. You’ll be mighty sorry if you do, I guarantee it.”
“Why? What’s Top gonna do? Kill me?”
“No, you idiot…but he’ll make you wish he had.”
Top and Ginny found a place to lie down not far from Hadley and his men. Propping their weapons against a tree, the couple vanished in the undergrowth.
“Shit! I can’t see nothing,” Wozniak mumbled. “Oh, wait…look! What the hell’s going on?”
Ginny sat up and Patchett rose to his knees before her. He pulled a small tube—something medicinal, it seemed—from his pocket. She took it and began to minister to his invisible lower region.
Wozniak was getting swept up in the moment. “She’s rubbing something on his pecker!” he said, his voice full of uncertain wonder, like a boy seeing pornography for the first time.
Ginny lay back down, pulling Patchett with her. All but her hands—wrapped tightly around Patchett’s neck—vanished from the detail’s sight. They could see clearly in profile the plane of their first sergeant’s back, from his naked buttocks to the top of his head.
“Oh my God,” Wozniak said, “he’s giving it to her like a jackhammer! He’s driving her to fucking China!”
The other three soldiers watched in stunned silence, until the bookish PFC McCleary chimed in: “That idiom only works if you’re in the States, Woz. In this part of the world, he’d be—”
“Okay, okay,” Wozniak replied, “he’s driving her to China-town, then.”
Even Tom Hadley was becoming impressed. “Geez…I’ve never heard a woman make sounds like that before. She’s humming like a Packard V-12 after it’s all tuned up.”
The humming didn’t last long. It became a rhythmic, high-pitched shriek—a bleat like a claxon horn. Her hands—the only parts of her they could see—were fiercely busy stroking Patchett’s head, pulling his ears, clawing his back.
Hadley and his men watched and listened in mutual amazement as the lovers’ reverie went on and on. Wozniak checked his watch. With a mix of disbelief and reverence, he said, “I can’t fucking believe this. He’s been doing her for almost fifteen minutes now. He’s Superman, I tell you.”
Superman or not, Melvin Patchett showed no signs of stopping. Five more minutes went by before his steady, machine-like rhythm accelerated to a frantic gallop…and Melvin Patchett groaned like the sound of an old door slowly creaking open.
Their motion stopped. The forest was still and quiet once more.
Hardly a minute passed before Patchett and Ginny popped up, buttoned up, grabbed their weapons, and headed off for the 10-minute walk back to the camp.
“We’re taking a detour,” Hadley announced, leading his men down the slope. “I don’t want to give them a reason to think we were anywhere near them. And none of you assholes better go blabbing about what you saw, either.”
Every few minutes, Wozniak would repeat a little chant to a marching beat: “Superman, Superman, Top, Top is Superman.”
Private McCleary had heard enough. “Shut up, Woz,” he said. “I think it was kind of disturbing, actually…like watching your parents doing it. Some things are better left unseen. What do you think, Sergeant Hadley?”
“Actually, Mac, I’m with Wozniak on this one. Top must be…Oh, shit!” Hadley froze in his tracks. “Hold up and cover the compass, guys.”
His four men dropped to the ground, forming a miniature perimeter with each man facing a different quadrant. Hadley walked over to a strange object lying on the ground. It looked like a short, thick pipe with a T-shaped handle sticking from one end. He poked carefully around it with his bayonet.
Wozniak asked, “What the hell are you doing, Sarge?”
“Checking that it’s not booby-trapped.”
That got Wozniak’s full attention. “Booby-trapped? What the hell is that thing?”
“That, men, is a Japanese knee mortar. And it’s only a few hundred yards from our company’s position.” Hadley picked up the mortar and examined it.
“How do you know that’s what it is?” McCleary asked.
“I’ve seen pictures.”
McCleary seemed doubtful. “Why would they leave it there?” he asked.
Peering into the barrel, Hadley said, “Look’s like the firing pin’s broken off.”
“That could have been there a long time, Sarge,” Wozniak said.
“I don’t think so. It’s awful clean…it hasn’t been on the ground very long.”
Le
e Grossman and Melvin Patchett were unsure what to make of the knee mortar. “It could’ve been there from last night’s fight at The Notch,” Grossman said.
“It couldn’t have reached us at The Notch from where Hadley found it, sir,” Patchett said. “And any Japs running from that fight would’ve never gone that far east…not in the dark, anyway. They’d be high-tailing it straight down the slope, back toward The Notch.”
Patchett gave the mortar a long, hard look. “They were damn close, real recent-like. We were just lucky,” he said. “But we’d better put out some listening posts, sir. I suppose we can’t see down this backslope as good as we thought.”
“We’d better hurry, then,” Grossman said. “It’ll be dark before you know it.”
As Patchett left the command post, Tom Hadley saw him hand the small tube to the medic. Waiting until the first sergeant was well out of earshot, Hadley approached the medic and asked, “Hey, Doc, what’s the stuff Top just gave you?”
“This?” Doc held the tube out for Hadley to read the label. “It’s Tetracaine.”
“What does it do, Doc?”
“It’s brand new…a mild anesthetic, mostly for treating eye injuries.”
Hadley gave him a suspicious look. “Mostly? Does it do anything else?”
Doc looked around to make sure no one could hear. “You promise not to tell? If this gets out, Tom, guys will be stealing this stuff and selling it.”
“I promise, Doc. I can keep a secret.”
A look came over Doc’s face like he’d just seen heaven. “Tetracaine,” he said, “is the greatest sexual enhancement known to man. Rub a little on your pecker after you get hard and you can go all night. It’ll make a Hong Kong whore call you mister.” He pulled Hadley close and whispered, “I suspect that’s what Top wanted it for…you know, him and Miss Ginny…”
Hadley forced a stern look onto his face. “I wouldn’t go spreading rumors if I were you, Doc.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, Sergeant.”
After supper, Jock and Jillian sipped cognac on the Mission House’s veranda. Jock held up his glass, swirled the rich amber liquid, and said, “Where the hell did you get this stuff, Jill?”
“From your Army, silly boy. Your brass hats don’t travel without their spirits.”
They were startled when MacArthur emerged and sat with them.
“Cognac, General?” Jillian asked, already pouring.
“No, Miss Forbes, none for me. The wine at dinner was my limit.”
After some small talk, Jillian asked, “Why don’t you move your headquarters here, General, to Weipa. Brisbane is so far away from everything now.”
“As lovely as that sounds, my dear, I’ll be moving my headquarters to Port Moresby very soon.” MacArthur tapped his West Point class ring against the chair and said, “I see you wear the ring, too, Miles.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, son, your tenacity has done the Academy proud. Will you be flying back in the morning?”
“Yes, sir, I will.”
The supreme commander rose from his seat. Jock began to do the same but MacArthur stopped him. “No, no, Major. At ease. I’ll leave you two to enjoy this beautiful night.”
As MacArthur vanished back into the Mission House, Jock leaned close to Jillian and said, “That’s exactly what I had in mind.”
She kissed him on the mouth and said, “You’d better, you bloody wanker. I’ll be expecting a demonstration of your tenacity very shortly.”
When the lovemaking was finished, Jock looked deep into Jillian’s eyes and said, “I haven’t said anything about this, Jill, but I’m scared shitless about your plans to be sailing a ship into a combat zone.”
“Why? It’s a lot safer than what you’ll be doing.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
She climbed on top and pinned him to the bed. “Did the cognac affect your memory, laddie?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did it make you forget everything we’ve been through? I seem to remember killing a Jap to save you. Have you forgotten that?”
“No, of course not. How could I?”
“Then what on earth makes you think I’m not capable of captaining my ship?”
“But you’ll be in hostile territory, Jill.”
“Jock…sweetheart…I’m from Weipa. I’ve lived in hostile territory my whole life. You, of all people, should know I’m not afraid.”
“Jill, only crazy people aren’t afraid of combat.”
“Then call me crazy, Major Miles.” She rolled off and pulled him to her. “Now, will you bloody shut up and fuck me, please?”
Chapter Thirty-One
Day 12
Colonel Murdock’s absence—and presumed death—necessitated an immediate command shuffle at 81st Regiment. Lieutenant Colonel Glen Hailey stepped up from the executive officer’s position to take over as commander. The S3 would step into Hailey’s old shoes as XO. Jock Miles, just back from Weipa, barely had time to lay his baggage down before he was summoned by Colonel Hailey.
“Major Miles,” Hailey began, “as you can see, there’s been some shuffling of jobs around here. I have a new one for you, too. You are now regimental S3 as well as S2, at least until a replacement lieutenant colonel can be found. Think you can handle all that?”
Jock knew full well there would be no replacement lieutenant colonel for the foreseeable future. He hoped Hailey realized that, too.
“It would be an honor, sir,” Jock replied.
“Good,” Hailey replied. “I take it General Hartman has filled you in on the division’s revised mission?”
“I was in the meetings with General MacArthur, sir. I got it all first hand.”
“Well, good for you,” Hailey replied. His tone conveyed the implied sarcasm: Ain’t you the hot little shit. “Have an ops order on my desk by eighteen hundred hours, Miles.”
That should be pretty easy to whip up in five hours, Jock thought. All I’ve got to do is tell the regiment to stay put and keep the Japs fixed in place for three more nights, until the Aussies land. Shouldn’t be a problem for them…they’ve been real good at “staying put” so far. It’s “advancing” that’s not working out too well.
“One more thing, Major,” Hailey said, “those boys of yours up on Astrolabe…we’re the only regiment I know that’s got a whole company for an I and R unit. Authorized strength calls for just a platoon. Short as this regiment is on manpower, I need most of those men off that mountain and fighting down here with the rest of us.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir,” Jock replied. “They’ve been doing plenty of fighting right where they are. They’re all that’s keeping this division from getting flanked. It was only three nights ago they held off that night attack by at least a battalion—”
Hailey cut him off. “Bullshit, Major. The artillery stopped that attack. All I need on that mountain is an FO team, not a whole damned company playing grab-ass. Get them down here and put them to work.”
“Very well, sir. I suggest, though, we bring the company off the mountain intact once we can get a fresh FO team up there and briefed by my people. After the company is off the mountain, then we can reorganize it. It’ll be much less confusing for everyone that way.”
Colonel Hailey wasn’t interested in the details. “Just make it happen, Major,” he replied.
Good. Put it in my hands. That’ll let me stall off his stupid idea for a little while.
Jock took a moment to consider Charlie Company’s situation. Half the men had been in action for 12 straight days, the other half for 7. They’d been sleeping outdoors in muddy holes in the ground all that time, each man with only a ground sheet for shelter, eating nothing but K rations, suffering torrential rains, broiling sun, and Japanese attacks. Four of them were already dead. The rest were filthy, exhausted, and miserable. Half of them would probably have malaria or bush typhus before year’s end. Or maybe both.
But we still need them the
re, at least until the Aussies are safely on shore. Can’t be changing horses now.
As soon as Hailey left the tent, Jock told the radio operator, “Get Blind Eye Six up on the command net.” He wrote a simple message for the operator to code and send: Can you continue your mission another seven days?
It only took a few minutes for the answer to come back. It flustered the HQ radio operator, because Blind Eye Six hadn’t bothered to code the reply. Jock smiled as he heard Patchett’s voice spill from the speaker: “If it’s you doing the asking, sir, that’s a big affirmative, over.”
“They shouldn’t be transmitting in the clear, sir,” the operator said. “That’s a serious breach of commo security.”
“Don’t worry, Corporal,” Jock replied. “They didn’t give anything away to the Japs.”
Jock wrote the operations order in less than 30 minutes. Turning it over to the operations sergeant for distribution, he headed outside to his jeep. “Spill,” he told his driver, “let’s take a ride to Twenty Mile Airfield.”
Travis Spill asked, “Y’all going for another sight-seeing tour, sir?”
“I plan to.”
The L4 had just touched down when Jock arrived at the airfield. Before the little plane’s propeller had even stopped spinning, a lieutenant colonel Jock recognized from Division staff tumbled out of her, landed on all fours, and promptly surrendered to airsickness. The pilot, John Worth, climbed out and gave his plane a quick walk-around inspection.
The inspection done, Worth helped the ailing colonel to his feet and said, “Thanks so much for not puking on board, sir. It’s really hard to get rid of that smell.”
Despite the flecks of vomit splattered across his fatigues, the colonel tried to summon his dignity. In his best command voice, he asked, “Is your ship okay, Lieutenant?”
“Yes sir,” Worth replied, “Not a mark on her. She’s been through much worse, believe me.”
Operation Long Jump (Jock Miles WW2 Adventure Series Book 2) Page 18
