The Long Patrol: World War II Novel (15 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Sergeant Carver woke before light to the sound of yelling. He gripped his Thompson and aimed towards the commotion, but he didn’t see any flashes or signs of combat. The yelling was in Pidgin and it sounded like the head honcho, Ahio. He ignored his stiff muscles and joints and trotted to the yelling coming from a hut. He kept his weapon ready, but didn’t enter. More yelling and someone came running out the door pulling on their shirt while their carbine dangled from their shoulder. Sergeant Carver gritted his teeth and put his shoulder down knocking the running man off his feet with a perfect open field tackle.

He stepped over the figure and leaned down to see who he’d leveled. He recognized Private Dunphy gasping as he struggled to catch his breath. He put his boot on Dunphy’s chest and held him there. Chief Ahio came storming out, pulling behind him his naked daughter. He saw Sgt. Carver holding down his daughter’s lover and started yelling in Pidgin. Carver put his hand up for silence, but the tirade continued. Carver yelled, “Welch, get your ass over here!”

A bleary-eyed Thomas Welch stumbled over, pulling on his shirt. He’d been getting the best sleep he’d had in days and was none too happy about the interruption. He saw the situation and spoke in rapid-fire Pidgin to Ahio, who fired it right back. “Your bloke there,” he squinted in the pre-dawn darkness, “Dunphy, was caught in bed with Ahio’s daughter, Lela. It seems the chief’s upset.”

Carver guffawed, “Yeah, I figured out the upset part on my own.” Dunphy started to struggle against Carver’s boot, but he pushed harder pinning him there. “Stay down there, lover boy. You’re in deep shit and I’m not in the mood.”

“Let me up goddammit, Sarge.” Carver let his Thompson move forward, the barrel swinging back and forth across Dunphy’s chest. He stopped struggling.

Lieutenant Caprielli arrived and Carver filled him in. Dawn was quickly approaching, the sounds changing from night animals and insects to awakening day animals and insects. He looked at the half disrobed Dunphy, the woman standing in the doorway with an Army blanket wrapped around her and the scowling Chief Ahio. He put two and two together. “Let him up, Sergeant.”

Dunphy shot to his feet and stood beside Carver with gritted teeth. Carver looked him in the eye wanting him to strike him, willing it with all his might. He yearned to have an excuse to pummel the cocky rich boy and there was no better reason than self-defense.

Caprielli pushed Dunphy away, “At ease soldier, you’re already in trouble.” He pointed to a stump twenty feet away, “Sit over there while I figure this shit out, Private.” When he didn’t move, he yelled, “Now!”

Dunphy snapped out of it and went to the stump. He put his shirt the rest of the way on and slung his rifle. He sat down heavy and ran his fingers through his hair.

Lieutenant Caprielli told Welch, “Tell the chief we’re sorry for any indiscretion and we’ll punish Dunphy for his actions.”

Welch translated and listened to Ahio’s heated response. “Chief says Dunphy’s going to have to make it right by marrying his daughter.”

Dunphy heard and sprang to his feet, “Marry her? That’s ridiculous…”

Carver strode across the space and pushed him back onto the stump, he hit hard. “Shut the hell up or I’ll shut it for you.”

For once Dunphy listened and didn’t speak. Lieutenant Caprielli said, “Tell the chief there can’t be a wedding. He’s a soldier. He can’t stay here and he can’t take her back to our country. It’s impossible.”

Welch raised his eyebrows, but relayed the argument. The chief eyeballed Dunphy, pointed at him and spoke. Welch translated. “He says Dunphy disgraces his village, his daughter and himself by his actions. He demands marriage or punishment by his means.”

Caprielli squinted, “What kind of punishment we talking? Not burning or head shrinking or anything like that I hope.”

Welch asked and responded, “He says he needs to stay in the village and work as a… well I think he means, slave. He says he must do this or his men will join the Japanese and kill all of us.”

Carver looked around looking for any aggressive moves by the natives. Most were listening to the exchange and their postures changed from peaceful to alert. Carver held his Thompson in both hands, ready.

Caprielli put both hands up, “Whoa there, take it easy. We can figure this out.” The other members of the squad gripped their rifles and looked around at the men they’d feasted with only hours before. Even being outnumbered three to one their carbines would make short work of the lightly armed natives. “Let the chief know I’ll have to think about it. Just give me a minute.”

When that was done he waved Carver and Welch over. He asked Welch, “Is this guy for real?”

Welch nodded, “Undoubtedly, I’ve never known him to bluff. He’s quite a serious fellow, good fighter too. We can’t afford to upset him or we risk losing the natives across the whole island.”

Lieutenant Caprielli shook his head, “I can’t just leave Dunphy here as a slave. He’s a United States soldier. It’s disgraceful and probably illegal.”

Sergeant Carver spoke, “Why not? The shitbird deserves it; probably do him some good. We’ll give him a week. Our mission with Morrisey will take at least that long to accomplish. We’ll pick him up after that. It’s for the good of the mission.”

Caprielli pinched his lower lip and kicked dust with his foot. “There’s no chance we come back next week and find Dunphy’s shrunken head is there?”

Welch smiled, “Unless the young private does something horrific, there’s little chance of that. White men are held in high regard by these people; they consider us their betters. To have one as a slave is a huge coup and will completely compensate them for their bruised pride.”

Caprielli looked over at the sulking Dunphy. After a minute he nodded, “What about the Japs? Will he be safe here?” he realized the stupidity of the question before he finished the sentence. They were all in danger, they were on Guadalcanal surrounded by hostile Japanese soldiers. “Alright, tell Ahio he’s got himself a new slave.”

They shook hands on the deal. Sergeant Carver kneeled down in front of Dunphy and told him the good news. Dunphy turned pale. “What do you mean a slave? You can’t do this; you can’t make me stay.” He looked into Carver’s steaming eyes, “What if I just marry her? I mean it’s not like there’s a preacher here, it won’t be a legal marriage. I’ll just fake it and tell her I’ll be back to get her after the war.”

“Bullshit! She doesn’t deserve that. It’s an order. You’ve jeopardized this entire mission and unless you want to marry the girl for real, you’re gonna do it.” He put his finger to his chest, “If you fuck this up you won’t make it back to division for the LT to court-martial you. I’ll be sure you don’t make it back, understand?”

Dunphy stared into Carver’s hateful eyes. He meant every word and he had no doubt he’d carry out the threat. He pondered his plight. If he refused, the best case scenario was getting court-martialed back at division and spending years in prison. Worst case, Sgt. Carver would drop a grenade beside him while he slept. A week of slavery? Well that was a total unknown, but he’d be done in a week, he’d have a bed every night, probably food too.
What’s the worst that can happen?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The squad left the village an hour later without Private Dunphy. O'Connor turned before entering the jungle and saw Dunphy surrounded by villagers. He was an asshole, but he hoped he’d be okay. He shook his head, the smart S.O.B. was actually getting a week’s vacation away from combat patrolling. His smile disappeared when he thought how much could happen in a weeks time.

They walked in single file following three native men with old bolt action Lee Enfield rifles. Despite the corrosive effects of the jungle environment, the rifles were in surprisingly good condition. The natives thought of them as prized possessions and took care of them accordingly. O'Connor looked at his own weapon,
taking some abuse out here, but basically brand new
. The Marines landed on the canal using similar weapons as the Lee Enfields, bolt action Springfields.
How’d those guys stay alive with those relics?
He silently thanked the Army for sending him into battle with the M1.

They followed a trail that was well used. The guides kept a fast pace supremely confident in their abilities to avoid any Japanese patrols. The way they moved soundlessly grew O'Connor’s respect. These guys had been hunting their entire lives, moving silently was bred into them, they didn’t know any other way.

At one point they slowed and stopped, waving the rest of them down. O'Connor passed the signal and waited. He had no doubt if they stopped there was a real threat out there somewhere. He strained to see and hear anything, but there was nothing, only jungle. After five minutes the guides signaled them up and they continued. O'Connor wondered what they’d seen.
Maybe they’re acting on instinct and sensed something.

They marched unimpeded for three miles. The trail led down to a valley with a raucous creek bouncing through. The guides bent down and drank handfuls of water. The rest of the men filled canteens, dropped Halazone tablets in, waited the ten minutes it took to kill any diarrhea causing bugs and drank their fill. The water tasted cold and sweet, even with the Halazone. O'Connor dipped his hat and poured it over his head. He closed his eyes relishing the coolness as it flowed down his body. He wanted to sit down and soak his aching feet, but the guides waved them forward and they started climbing the other side of the valley.

The trail steepened and soon they were slowing down. Their packs weren’t as heavy as before, but they were still more than they were used to carrying. After a mile the guides stopped and gave whistles that sounded like jungle birds. There was an answering whistle and they stood up and advanced into a clearing. Ancient trees hung over the clearing. The trees’ upper branches formed an almost solid roof above. The village would be invisible from the air.

In comparison to Ahio’s village this village was immense. The same thatch huts were everywhere. They were bigger and looked more maintained. The village seemed rich and thriving, or at least it had been before the Japanese invaded and cut off supplies from the coast.

Chief Ahio’s guides greeted the other villagers in excited Pidgin, no doubt telling the tale of the white slave. It would boost their prestige in the area and they held it over the others in obvious pride. These villagers were similarly armed with old rifles and pistols. The men without guns had long knives with wood handles. There were at least three times more villagers than Ahio’s and they all gathered around the newcomers with interest.

From a central hut, a tall white man wearing wrinkled and torn beige pants and a short sleeve button down shirt emerged. He put his hands on his hips and took the scene in. He strode up to Lieutenant Caprielli, his long legs covering the ground quickly. He stopped in front of him and smiled through a thick dark beard. The man was immediately likable. He extended his hand, but the lieutenant saluted him instead. Morrisey grinned and gave him one back then extended his hand, “Courtney Morrisey at your service. You can call me Court or if you prefer, Captain.”

Caprielli took his hand and smiled, “It’s an honor to meet you, Captain. I’m Lieutenant Caprielli and this is Sergeant Carver. I think you know this man.” He gestured to Welch who was keeping himself well back.

Morrisey locked eyes with him and nodded, “Thomas Welch, I was wondering where you got off to.” He gestured to a group of native men standing behind the group and they stepped forward and took Welch by the arms.

Welch lifted his chin in defiance, “It had to be done. We have to join the war.”

Morrisey said something in quick Pidgin and three natives took Welch into a hut. One man stayed inside with him and the other two stationed themselves on either side of the door as guards. Caprielli watched, wondering what was happening. Welch was under his command; he couldn’t let this man, Captain or not, simply arrest him for no reason he could see. “Excuse me, Captain, but Welch is under my command and he’s been most helpful in guiding us to you. Please explain yourself.”

Morrisey nodded, “I suppose I owe you an explanation,” he gestured back to the hut he’d come from. “Come inside.”

Caprielli nodded to Carver, “Get the men situated and fed, have the gear separated and ready for dispersal.” Carver nodded and Caprielli ducked into the hut. He poked his head back outside, “Have Crandall climb a tree and transmit that we’ve found Captain Morrisey and his village.”

The inside of the hut was filled with furniture that had seen better days. On a table in the corner a huge radio was partially covered by a tattered canvas poncho. Morrisey sat on a padded rocking chair and tilted it back and forth. It creaked and groaned with each slow pass. He picked up a glass from a side table and held it out to him, “Something to drink?”

“Is it alcohol?” he asked hoping.

He shook his head, “Afraid not, we ran out of that some months ago, even before your Marines landed. It’s water.” Caprielli shook his head no. He took off his jungle hat and wiped his brow. “You chaps find it hot here, no doubt?” Caprielli looked at him like he was crazy. “I’ve been here so long it seems normal to me. I can’t remember what a cool breeze off the channel feels like. I suppose I’ve gone native by now.”

Caprielli couldn’t tell if he was remorseful or simply stating a fact. He said, “I suppose you can get used to anything.”