The Naked and the Dead (90 page)

            He came out into an open stretch of pass again, moved up it for a few hundred yards, and then skirted a few small groves. He had lost the concentration he needed to scout properly and he blundered along, the fine surface of his observation gone. The floor of the pass was still ascending at a lower, less precipitous parallel to the slope of the mountain. It seemed never to end, and although he knew he had traveled only a few miles, it seemed much more.

            He reached another clearing with a wood along the left side of it, and he knelt in the shadow once more and looked at it dully. Suddenly, he shivered. He had realized the error he had made in killing the guard. The man who was supposed to go next on guard might sleep through the night, but there was an even better chance he would awaken; Martinez could never sleep soundly until his turn of guard was over for the night. Once they discovered the man he had killed, they would all be awake for the rest of the night. He could never get out.

            Martinez felt like weeping. The longer he remained here the more dangerous it would become. And besides, if he had made a mistake like that, how many others were there he might have made? He was close to hysteria again. He had to go back and yet. . . He was sergeant, United States sergeant.

            Without this sense of loyalty he would have broken up months before. Martinez wiped his face and started forward. The weird idea of continuing until he had traversed the pass and the Japanese rear, scouted the defenses of Botoi Bay, came to him. For a moment his mind held a montage of glory; Martinez being decorated, Martinez standing before the General, Martinez's picture in the Mexican newspaper in San Antonio, but it slipped away, was rejected before the obvious impossibilities of it. He had no rations, no water, not even a knife any longer.

            At that moment in the grove to his left he saw a long bar of moonlight behind a bush which projected from the grove. He dropped to one knee, examined it, and then heard the delicate sound of a man flooping some spittle to the ground. There was another Japanese bivouac.

            He could get by it. The shadow along the cliff wall was very deep here, and if he was cautious they would never spy him. But this time his legs were too weak, his will too flaccid. He couldn't endure another few minutes like the ones next to the machine gunner.

            But he should go on. Martinez rubbed his nose like a child before insuperable difficulties. All the fatigue of the past two days, the nervous strain of this night, were bothering him now. Goddam, how far he want me go? he thought resentfully. He turned around, edged back into the grove from which he had come, and began to descend the pass. He was conscious now of the time that had elapsed since he had stabbed the sentry, and it made him increasingly anxious. There was a chance, if the guard was discovered, that they would send patrols out, but it was not likely at night, and besides he was lost if the guard had been discovered. He made virtually no attempt at concealment in the stretches of the pass where he had found no Japanese before. The only important thing was to get back soon.

            He came to the rear of the grove with the T trail, and paused outside it, listening. He could hear nothing for a few seconds, and, impatient, he entered and crept up along the stem. The dead man was lying undisturbed by the machine gun. Martinez looked past him, started to tiptoe around him, and noticed a wrist watch on his arm. He paused, stared at it for two full seconds while he debated whether to remove it. He turned to go and then moved back again and knelt beside him. The hand was still warm. He fumbled with the catch, and dropped the hand in a sudden discharge of disgust and terror. No. He couldn't bear the thought of remaining in the grove any longer.

            Instead of turning left at the trail and following it out of the grove into the shadow, he stepped past the machine gun into the clearing, and crept from rock to rock until he reached the protection of the cliff. He stared back a last time at the grove and then continued on down the pass.

            As he moved along he was bothered by a double sense of disappointment and frustration. He had turned back before he had to, and this bothered him. Instinctively, he was wondering how to change the story so that he would satisfy Croft. But more directly, more painfully, he was thinking with regret how easy it would have been to have taken the wrist watch. Now that he was out of the grove, he was disgusted with himself for having been afraid to linger. He thought of the things he could have done. Besides the watch he could have retrieved the knife (he had forgotten about it when he looked at the soldier) or he could have jammed the machine gun by putting a handful of dirt in the bolt. He thought with amusement of how their faces would have looked, and realized with a shock how terrified they would be when they discovered the dead man.

            He smiled. Goddam, good ol' Martinez, hoping that Croft would say the same thing.

            In less than an hour he reached the platoon again, and gave his account to Croft. The only change he made was to say that there was no way to slip by the second bivouac.

            Croft nodded. "You had to kill that Jap, huh?"

            "Yes."

            Croft shook his head. "Wish you hadn't. That'll stir 'em up from here to Jap headquarters." He thought for a moment, and said pensively, "I don't know, you never can say what's gonna come out."

            Martinez sighed. "Goddam, no think of that." He was too tired now to feel any deep regret, but as he lay down on his bedding he wondered how many more mistakes he would discover in the next few days. "Goddam, tired," he said to rouse Croft's sympathy.

            "Yeah, I guess you had a rough go." Croft laid his hand on Martinez's shoulder, gripped it fiercely. "Don't say a damn word to the Lootenant. You went clear through the pass without seeing a damn thing, y' understand?"

            Martinez was puzzled. "Okay, you say so."

            "That's it, you're a good boy, Japbait."

            Martinez smiled lazily. In three minutes he was asleep.

8

            Hearn woke up feeling quite rested the next morning. He twisted around in his blankets and watched the sun rising over the eastern hills, which were becoming distinct now, seeming to rise like rocks from water. Everywhere the dawn mists were settling in the hollows and valleys, and he felt as if he could see a great distance, almost to the eastern end of the island a hundred miles away.

            About him the others also were awakening; Croft and Goldstein were rolling their blankets, and one or two of them were returning from the weeds. Hearn sat up, stretched his toes inside his shoes, and debated idly for a minute or two whether to change his socks. He had taken another pair, which now also were soiled, and he shrugged and then decided it was not worth the trouble. Instead, he began putting on his leggings.

            Red was muttering near him. "When is the goddam Army gonna learn another way to make leggings?" He was struggling with a lace which had shrunk during the night.

            "I've heard they've got a high shoe coming in soon like a paratrooper's boot. It'll do away with leggings."

            Red rubbed his chin. He had not shaved since the patrol had begun and his beard was blond and rather splotchy. "We'll never see any of them," Red told him, "the fuggin quartermaster'll keep 'em all."

            "Well. . ." Hearn grinned. The crabapple. Of all the men in the platoon, Red was the one worth buddying with, the wise one. Only you couldn't approach him.

            On an impulse, Hearn said, "Listen, Valsen. . ."

            "Yeah?"

            "We're short a corporal; two, now that Stanley's with Wilson. You want to be acting jack for the rest of the patrol? And we can make it permanent when we get back." It was a good choice. Red was popular with the men, could certainly handle the thing.

            But he felt slightly embarrassed by the expressionless cast Red's face assumed. "Are you ordering me, Lootenant?" Red's voice was flat, a little harsh.

            Now, what had set him off? "No, of course not."

            Red scratched his arm slowly. He felt suddenly and disproportionately enraged, even noticed it himself by the indirect worry it caused him for an instant.

            "I don't want no favors," he muttered.

            "I'm not offering you any."

            He hated this lieutenant, this big guy with the phony grin who was always trying to buddy. Why didn't he leave him alone?

            For an instant he was tempted, knew he was tempted, by the outrageous pang in his chest. If he took something like that, the whole thing fell apart. They got you in the trap and then you worried about doing the job right and started fighting with the men and sucking the officers. Working with Croft.

            "You better pick another sucker, Lootenant."

            Hearn was furious for an instant. "All right, forget it," he muttered. They hated him, they had to hate him, and it was the thing he had to accept until the patrol was over. He stared back at Red, his anger ebbing as he took in all of Red's gaunt body, his emaciated tired face with the battered red skin.

            Croft passed by and called out to the men, "Don't forget to fill up your canteens, troopers, before we take off." A few of them headed toward a little brook on the other side of the knoll.

            Hearn looked around, saw Martinez stirring in his blankets. He had forgotten all about him, didn't even know the information he had brought back. "Croft!" he shouted.

            "Yes, Lootenant?" Croft was opening a breakfast ration, and now he threw away the cardboard wrapper he had been holding in his hand, and strode over toward him.

            "Why didn't you wake me up when Martinez came back last night?"

            "Couldn't do anythin' about it till the morning," Croft drawled.

            "Yeah, well, in the future you can let me decide that." He returned Croft's stare, looked into his impenetrable blue eyes. "What did Martinez see?"

            Croft slit the top off the inner waxed carton of the ration and spilled out the contents. His back tingled with a nervous flush as he spoke. "The pass is empty as far as he went. He thinks those Japs hit us yesterday were the only ones in the pass, and they just left it open now." He had wanted to postpone telling Hearn this as long as possible, had even hoped irrationally that it would not be necessary. The nervous needles pricked his flesh again. Carefully suspended from his thoughts was the idea behind this. He looked at the ground as he talked. When he finished, he turned to look at the guard on the hill crest above them. "Keep your eyes open, Wyman," he called softly. "Goddammit, man, you oughta had enough sleep."

            There was something fishy about this. "It sounds weird that they'd leave the pass empty," Hearn murmured.

            "Yeah." Croft had finished opening the small tin of ham and eggs, and was dishing it neatly into his mouth with his spoon. "Might be." He stared at his feet again. "Maybe we ought to try the mountain, Lootenant."

            Hearn stared up at Mount Anaka. This morning, yes, it wasn't without its attraction. They could do that. But he shook his head firmly. "It's impossible." It would be crazy to lead the men up it, not even knowing if they could descend the other side.

            Croft stared at him impassively. Since the patrol had begun, Croft's gaunt face had become even leaner, the lines in his square small chin more accentuated. He looked tired. He had brought a razor with him, but he had not shaved yet this morning, and it made his face seem smaller. "It ain't impossible, Lootenant. I've been looking at that mountain since yesterday morning and they's a break in the cliffs about five miles to the east of the pass. We start out now and we can climb that damn thing in a day."

            There had been that look on Croft's face when they stared at it through the field glasses. Hearn shook his head again. "We'll try it through the pass." Undoubtedly they were the only two men who would want to try the mountain.

            Croft felt a curious mixture of satisfaction and fear. The thing was committed. "All right," he said, his lips numb against his teeth. He stood up and motioned the men to gather around him. "We're gonna go through the pass," he told them.

            There was a sullen murmur from the platoon.

            "All right, you men, you can jus' cut it out. We're goin' that way, and maybe today you'll keep your eyes open." Martinez stared at him and Croft shrugged meaninglessly.

            "What the fug good does it do if we got to fight our way through the goddam Japs?" Gallagher asked.

            "You can quit your bitching, Gallagher." Croft surveyed them all. "We're gonna get moving in five minutes so you all better get your ass in gear."

            Hearn held up his hand. "Hold on, men, there's something I want to tell you. We sent Martinez out last night, and he reconnoitered the pass, and it was empty. The chances are it's still empty." Their eyes disbelieved him. "I'll give you my word for one thing. If we run into anything, any ambushes, any Japs in the pass, we're turning right around and going back to the beach. Is that fair enough?"

            "Yeah," a few of them said.

            "Okay, then let's get ready."

            In a few minutes they started out. Hearn buckled his pack and hefted it to his shoulders. It was seven rations lighter now than it had been when they started, and it felt almost comfortable. The sun was beginning to give some warmth, which made him cheerful. As they moved along out of the hollow he felt good; it was a new morning and it was impossible not to feel hopeful. The dejection, the decisions of the previous night seemed unimportant. He was enjoying this, but if he was, so much the better.

            Quite naturally he assumed the point and led the platoon toward the pass.