“Amelican, you die!” yelled the Jap in the jungle.
Bannon and Longtree crouched in a foxhole, peering over the edge. The night was pitch-black; clouds blocked the light of the moon. Insects buzzed around them and lizards crawled over the ground.
“Amelican, I kill you!” said the Jap.
Bannon thought of Frankie La Barbara. Frankie liked to shout back at the Japs at night, calling them cocksuckers and motherfuckers. Bannon wondered how Frankie was. I’m gonna die tomorrow, Bannon said to himself. The Japs are gonna get me.
“Amelican, you die.”
“I wish the son of the bitch would shut up,” Bannon said.
“We can shut him up,” Longtree replied. “He’s right over there.” He pointed.
“Yeah?” Bannon asked.
“Yeah. Not more than twenty thirty yards.”
“We shouldn’t leave our post,” Bannon said.
Butsko’s growling voice came to them out of the bush. “You’re goddamn right you’d better not leave your post.”
Butsko’s head appeared out of the bush, followed by his big, burly body. He dropped into the foxhole with the both of them; he had his souvenir samurai sword strapped to his waist.
“If I ever catch anybody away from his post without permission, I’ll fucking kill him,” Butsko said.
Bannon and Longtree didn’t reply. They knew he meant it.
“You really think you know where he is, Chief?” Butsko asked.
Longtree pointed with his chin. “Right over there.”
“Let’s go get him. Bannon, you stay here.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah, or should I call the chaplain for you.”
“Fuck you,” Bannon muttered.
“What was that?”
“I said I’ll stay here alone.”
“Good for you. Let’s go Longtree. Show me where the cocksucker is.”
Longtree crawled out of the foxhole, and Butsko drew the samurai sword out of its sheath. Holding it in his right fist, he followed Longtree into the thick jungle. Bannon watched the night swallow them up and held his rifle tightly. He didn’t like to be alone in the jungle, because two guns are always better than one. He’d just have to be alert, that was all. Hear them before they got too close.
“Amelican, I fuck you mother!” the Jap shrieked, and then laughed maniacally. Bannon felt the gall rise in his throat. He hated the Japs because they’d ruined his life. They tortured prisoners and mistreated the natives. He hoped Butsko and Longtree would get that noisy Jap out there.
Longtree and Butsko crawled slowly and silently over the ground as the jungle around them buzzed and chattered with the sound of bugs. The bugs landed on their shirts and sucked their blood. Both had crotch itch from not bathing, and both had mild cases of trench foot. Pain was constant to them, including the pain of fatigue, but they carried on anyway, now as at any other time, because pain had become their constant companion and they were used to it.
Longtree stopped and touched his finger to his mouth. Butsko crawled beside him and stopped too, raising his face to indicate Why?
“He’s moving,” Longtree whispered. He moved his finger to indicate the path the Japanese soldier was taking, then motioned for Butsko to follow.
They moved out again, Butsko watching Longtree’s legs and ass in front of him. Longtree traveled over the ground like a snake, every movement flowing into the next one, making no sound at all, whereas Butsko was tense and straining to keep himself under control, and he knew he made little sounds once in a while, sounds that an Indian like Longtree could hear, but he hoped the Japs weren’t that sharp. They hadn’t been yet.
“Amelican, you die!” yelled the Jap from his new position.
He sounded close by, not more than ten yards away. Longtree and Butsko could rush him, but the Jap might shoot one of them. They had to get closer.
They’d done this many times on Guadalcanal.
Longtree slowed down, and so did Butsko. This permitted them to be extra careful, and even Butsko was silent now. Raise the hand and place it down very gently. Raise the leg, move it forward, and lower it as if it were a feather falling to earth.
“Amelican, I kill you!”
Longtree stopped and pointed. Butsko looked and made out a big bush. No Jap was in front of it, so evidently he was right behind it. There was no way to get under the bush, because it was too thick. It seemed to be very wide. All Butsko could do was charge through the bush or jump over it. Butsko pointed his thumb at his chest, and Longtree nodded. Slowly drawing himself into a crouch, Butsko gripped the samurai sword tightly.
“Amelican, fuck you!”
Butsko leaped like a lion, tore through the bush, and swung the samurai sword. The Jap was kneeling on the ground, his hands cupped around his mouth. The Jap turned to Butsko, rising a few inches, his face just beginning to show horror.
Butsko swung the samurai sword, and its razor edge caught the Jap on the throat. The blade passed through the Jap’s neck with an ugly thunk sound, and the Jap’s head went flying into the air like a grapefruit hit by a baseball bat. It didn’t travel far, and Butsko saw approximately where it landed. He looked down at the decapitated Jap lying at his feet, arms and legs splayed out.
“Gotcha,” Butsko said with a grin.
Everyone in the recon platoon heard the jeep coming through the jungle, but they gave it no special attention because military vehicles were always traveling around behind the lines. They heard the jeep engine grow louder, and after a while they realized it was coming their way.
Lieutenant Breckenridge was in his foxhole, sleeping soundly, when the jeep’s rumble woke him up. It was close, and he figured it probably carried an officer, because the troops usually traveled around on foot. “Uh-oh,” he muttered. “I hope it’s not coming here.”
“I think it is,” replied Craig Delane.
Lieutenant Breckenridge listened with sinking heart as the jeep was driven unmistakably toward the recon platoon. Its driver shifted gears, gunned the engine, let up on the gas.
“I bet it’s the colonel,” Craig Delane said.
Lieutenant Breckenridge took a swig of water from his canteen, then rubbed some over his face, hoping it would wake him up. He felt the stubble on his chin; he hadn’t shaved for three days. Taking off his helmet, he ran his fingers through his hair, being careful not to touch the cut on his scalp. He lit a cigarette as the jeep stopped close by.
“Look sharp,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said to Craig Delane, “just in case.”
“Yo.”
Lieutenant Breckenridge heard voices and thought one of them belonged to a woman. No, it couldn’t be. There weren’t any women out there. Footsteps headed toward him, and Lieutenant Harper, Colonel Stockton’s aide, emerged from the jungle, accompanied by two figures, one of medium height and one short. The short one looked awfully frail. No, it’s impossible, Lieutenant Breckenridge thought.
Lieutenant Harper approached, looking neat and clean as always. Lieutenant Breckenridge believed Harper had never fired a shot in anger in his life; Harper was a decent guy, a graduate of the University of Michigan, and he’d wanted to become a lawyer before the draft got him. The two others were a few paces behind him, and Lieutenant Breckenridge examined the frail one. It can’t be.
But as they drew closer, Lieutenant Breckenridge realized with mounting anxiety that it was indeed a woman, not bad-looking but no spring chicken, either.
“Hello, Dale,” Lieutenant Harper said.
“‘Lo, Bob.”
“I’d like to introduce Lydia Kent-Taylor and Leo Stern of the Universal News Syndicate.”
Lieutenant Breckenridge shook hands with both of them; he’d heard of Lydia before. “A pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” he said in his southern accent.
“Nice meeting you, Lieutenant,” she replied.
“They’re going to be spending some time with you,” Lieutenant Harper said.
“They are?”
“Yes. Colonel Stockton’s orders.”
“Here?”
Lydia took the letter from General Griswold out of her haversack. “I have full authorization.” She handed over the letter.
Lieutenant Breckenridge held the letter up but couldn’t read it clearly in the darkness.
“It’s authentic,” Lieutenant Harper said. “Colonel Stockton wants you to cooperate to the extent that you can.”
“Gee, I don’t know,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said. “I’m not set up for this kind of thing.”
“Don’t worry about it, Lieutenant,” she replied. “We have our own transportation, tents, and supplies.”
“But, ma’am,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said, “there are Japs around here. Anything can happen in a place like this.”
“That’s why I’m here,” she replied. She turned to Lieutenant Harper. “Thank you very much for bringing us here. We’ll be all right now.”
Lieutenant Harper walked off, leaving Lieutenant Breckenridge with Lydia and Leo Stern. Craig Delane crawled out-of the foxhole and stared at Lydia as if she were a geek.
“I suppose,” Lieutenant Harper said unhappily, “that you should pitch your tent somewhere near my hole here.”
“Don’t you have a tent, Lieutenant?” she asked.
“We don’t have time for tents. We’ve got to be ready to move out at a moment’s notice.”
Leo Stern wrote that down. Lydia turned and saw a lone soldier approaching.
“Hey, Lieutenant!” shouted Butsko. “Catch!”
Lieutenant Breckenridge turned around and raised his hands, catching the head of the Japanese soldier Butsko had ambushed in the jungle.
“Good grief!” said Lieutenant Breckenridge, gazing down at the closed eyes and open mouth of the Jap.
“I caught the cocksucker back there,” Butsko said, pointing behind him with his thumb.
Lydia Kent-Taylor stared at the object in Lieutenant Breckenridge’s hands. “I do believe that’s a human head!”
“It is,” Lieutenant Breckenridge replied, tossing it back to Butsko.
Butsko realized he’d just heard a woman’s voice. Squinting his eyes, he approached her, carrying the head under his arm like a basketball.
“Miss Kent-Taylor, may I present my platoon sergeant, Master Sergeant John Butsko.”
“Is that a woman?” Butsko asked incredulously.
“Yes, she’s a photographer. And that’s Leo Stern, a war correspondent.”
Butsko stared at Lydia Kent-Taylor. “Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch.”
She wrinkled her nose in disgust as she looked at the head under his arm. “Where did you get that?”
Butsko held it in the air. “This? I got it off the Jap who owned it.” Snorting viciously, he lobbed it toward Lydia Kent-Taylor.
She screamed and hopped out of the way. The head landed in the muck, and she stared at it.
Lieutenant Breckenridge was getting angry at Butsko, but he didn’t want the two civilians to see him chew Butsko out. “Sergeant, Miss Kent-Taylor and Mr. Stern will be in our area for a few days.”
Butsko blinked. “What for?”
‘To take pictures and write stuff.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes, and Colonel Stockton wants us to be as helpful as we can.”
“Oh, shit!”
Lieutenant Breckenridge tried to grin, as if it all were a big joke, but it wasn’t.
“Why here?” Butsko asked. “What did we do to deserve this?”
Lydia Kent-Taylor cleared her throat. “You have an objection to us being here, Sergeant Butsko?”
He looked her in the eye. “Yeah.”
“What’s the nature of your objection?”
“You’ll probably get somebody around here killed.”
“And how will I do that?”
“By getting in the fucking way.”
“I won’t get in anybody’s way.”
“You already are.”
Lieutenant Breckenridge looked sternly at Butsko. “Don’t you have something to do, Sergeant?”
“I always got something to do.” He took one step backward, saluted, and walked away.
“He forgot his head,” Lydia Kent-Taylor said dryly.
“Delane!” Lieutenant Breckenridge said. “Bury that head right now.”
“Maybe Butsko wants it for something.”
“I said bury that head!”
“Yes, sir.”
Delane scooped up the head and carried it off into the night. Lieutenant Breckenridge smiled.
“Well,” he said, “I guess the front isn’t a tea party, and some of the men get a little rough. I apologize for the behavior of Sergeant Butsko, but he’s been in the war since the very beginning. He was on the Bataan Death March, you see. Escaped from a Jap POW camp on Luzon. He’s not exactly what you would call a boy scout.”
“Neither am I,” Lydia Kent-Taylor said. “We’ll pitch our tents right here, and if we need you for anything, we’ll ask. By the way, there’s only one item I’ll require: I’d like to have one of your men dig me my own latrine.”
“I’ll have Private Delane take care of it as soon as he comes back.”
“Very good, Lieutenant. I look forward to seeing you in the morning.”
“We get up pretty early around here.”
“So do I.”
“Do you have a weapon?” Lieutenant Breckenridge asked.
“What kind of weapon?”
“A knife or a gun.”
“What would I need that for?”
“Jap infiltrators.”
“Here?”
“Sometimes in the morning we find men whose throats have been slit by the Japs during the night.”
“My goodness!”
“I take it you don’t have a gun.”
“Well, no.”
“I’ll post a guard at your tent, ma’am.”
She remembered what Butsko had said about her being in the way. “That won’t be necessary, Lieutenant. I’m sure we’ll be all right.”
“I’m not so sure, and I’m the one in command here. I’ll post a guard.” He raised his rigid right hand to his temple and saluted her. “Good night, ma’am.”
Butsko dropped into the foxhole with Longtree and Bannon. “You’ll never believe what just happened.”
“What was it?” Bannon asked.
“There’s a cunt in the platoon area.”
Longtree’s ears perked up. “A cunt?”
“Yeah, a lady photographer, a real la-di-da bitch.”
“What’s she doing here?” Bannon asked.
“I guess she’s gonna take pictures of us.”
“She pretty?”
“She’s not bad for an old broad.”
“Nice ass?” asked Longtree, who was an ass-and-legs man.
“I couldn’t see.”
“Any tits?” asked Bannon, who was a tit man.
“I just told you I couldn’t see.”
“Where’s the head?” asked Longtree.
“Oh, fuck, I got so pissed off at that broad, I forgot it.”
“Somebody’s coming,” Bannon said.
Lieutenant Breckenridge emerged from the jungle and knelt at the edge of the foxhole, looking directly into Butsko’s eyes.
“You son of a bitch!”
“What I do?” Butsko asked.
Lieutenant Breckenridge pointed at Butsko’s nose. “From now on you’re going to be nice to that lady.”
“She ain’t no lady—she’s a war correspondent.”
“I don’t care what she is—you’re going to be nice to her!”
“Aw, come on, Lieutenant.”
“If she complains about us to General Griswold, all our asses will be in a sling.”
Butsko snorted. “What’s he gonna do to us, put us all before a firing squad? Fuck him too.”
“There are a lot of things he can do to us, and you know it. So be nice to her. Maybe she’ll take a few pictures tomorrow and leave.”
“Let’s hope so. We don’t need any broads wandering around here. We’re having enough problems as it is. Hey, by the way, where’s my fucking head?”
“It’s still on your shoulders, from what I can see.”
“I mean the Jap head.”
“I told Delane to bury it.”
“What you tell him that for?”
“What did you expect me to do with it?”
“I wanted to put it on a pole out there in the jungle to scare the fucking Japs.”
“See Delane about it.” He pointed at Butsko again. “You’re going to be nice to Miss Kent-Taylor, aren’t you?”
Bannon widened his eyes. “Lydia Kent-Taylor, the famous photographer?”
“That’s her.”
Butsko frowned. “I’ll be nice to her, sir. If I get close to her, I’ll stick my finger up her ass. If she behaves herself, maybe I’ll let her take a picture of my cock.”
Lieutenant Breckenridge looked at his watch. “I think it’s time I hit the hay. You-all might as well turn in too. I don’t know what we’re gonna do tomorrow, but I think we’ll start shelling the Japs pretty early. Just remember Butsko, if you mess with that woman, she’ll make you regret it. She’s got friends in high places. She even knows General Mac Arthur, according to something I read a few months back.”
“Fuck him too,” Butsko snarled.
“Jesus Christ,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said, standing. Shaking his head in despair, he walked away.