Panama saluted and the major smiled, proud of a member of his command who had executed such a splendid act of bravery.
“That was mighty fine work, Williams, in getting him out of that ship. It took brains and courage to work that fast. I’ll remember this incident in my reports to the Department.”
Panama smiled gratefully as the major acknowledged his salute and returned to the waiting automobile.
One of the Marines, who had been an interested onlooker, walked over to Panama with wide, excited eyes.
“Didja hear what the Old Man said?” the Marine asked, all enthused. “He said he’d remember you in his reports. Maybe you’ll get a medal.”
Panama looked down at the man with a disgusted look of indifference.
“Yeah! Well, I’ll trade anybody that medal and a dozen like it right now for a chew of tobacco!”
That evening, two flying Marines, temporarily inactive, sat in wheel chairs in the cool and quiet ward of the base hospital that stood as a silent warning just south of the flying field.
“I feel sorry for that guy, but I can’t help but laugh,” one of them said, looking in the direction of the bed in which Lefty was sleeping. “He didn’t even take the ship off the ground.”
The other incapacitated Marine nodded good-naturedly. “I’m not so good but I did better than that. I got my plane off the ground but I couldn’t get it down!”
His companion signaled him to be quiet as Lefty showed signs of coming out of his long sleep.
As he slowly opened his eyes, Elinor and Panama entered the ward and walked directly to his bed, standing beside him.
“How do you feel?” Elinor asked as Lefty showed signs of recognition, and her hand gently stroked his bandaged head.
A look of abject pain crossed the weary boy’s face. “I did it again! I failed you both just as I failed Yale. Oh, I wish I’d been killed!”
“It’s all right; you mustn’t worry,” she consoled him. “You’ll come through with flying colors the next time.”
Panama tried to laugh and, forgetting Lefty’s condition, slapped him a resounding blow on the shoulder.
“Wait’ll you see that concrete wall—you certainly knocked hell out of it! I never saw anyone equal your speed!”
A month following Lefty’s accident during his first solo flight, the Major General in command of the United States Marine forces, called a hurried meeting of his staff late one evening.
The Chief of Staff, a pompous brigadier general, who possessed an exceptional knowledge of tropical countries due to long years of service spent below the equator, and the Chief of Aviation, a methodical, middle-aged Lieutenant Colonel, responded to the Major General’s summons as did a representative from the Navy Department.
These four men, gathered together behind closed doors in typical Washington fashion, met to discuss an urgent problem that was inciting the wrath of American citizens throughout the country, already placing both the Department of State and the Secretary of the Navy in a self-conscious embarrassing position.
Far away in the little Republic of Nicaragua, a young and dangerous rebel had become displeased over the results of a recent election.
This man, in the guise of a patriot and self-appointed deliverer, traveled among the ignorant peasantry, calling men to revolt against a mythical hand that was supposed to be oppressing these people.
In time, he had gathered a fairly good-sized army which, mysteriously enough, soon became clothed and armed, declaring open war upon the recognized republic and its administrative heads.
For a time, the soldiers of the republic waged a losing battle against the rebel horde, whose forces were continually supplied from some mysterious source with funds, food supplies and weapons of war.
It soon became apparent that the men fighting under the leadership of the usurper, Sandino, were far more interested in confiscating American property and threatening the lives of the Northern Republic’s citizens with interests in Nicaragua, than they were in lifting the supposed iron hand of an unseen tyrant.
The helpless president of the little republic, divided in two through a vicious civil war, appealed to the State Department in Washington for aid, reminding us of a document known as the Monroe Doctrine, contending that the rebel forces were being financed by some foreign power. It also became apparent that Sandino was not a deliverer of his people, but a paid dupe of some great commercial and industrial group who had promised him a free ruling hand and financial aid in return for the delivery of the little nation.
Both the President and the Secretary of State informed the minister at Nicaragua to attempt to end the civil war and secure a guarantee of protection for American lives and property through diplomatic intercourse, but these arrangements soon proved futile. Sandino no longer attempted to hide the fact that his purpose was directed solely at American commercial intervention and the concessions granted to citizens of the United States by the Republic of Nicaragua.
After great deliberation and undue suffering by American citizens through Sandino’s practice of vicious banditry, the President ordered the Marines to Nicaragua merely to repel the constant pilfering of American property and to guard the safety of our citizens.
No sooner had the Marines landed at Managua, the capital of the little nation, merely in the roles of governmental police, than Sandino officially declared war upon them, killing three of their number in a surprise attack.
Back in the States, as word reached the public of the brutal murdering of American Marines, both the press and the people demanded that Washington either recall her sea soldiers or declare open war upon Sandino and his rebels, sending reenforcements immediately.
With the official report of more casualties in the Marine ranks and the further threatening attacks upon Americans that imperiled our industrial possessions, reenforcements were sent south and open warfare was declared upon the Sandino bandits.
When the Chief of Staff, the representative from the Navy Department and the Chief of Marine Aviation gathered in the office of the Major General, the Commander of the Marines explained the object of the meeting.
“Colonel, I have here a memorandum from the Secretary of the Navy,” he said, handing the Chief of Aviation a communication typed on official stationery. “The Secretary states that the President of Nicaragua has made an urgent request for a squadron of airplanes.”
The Lieutenant Colonel gazed down upon the official communication handed to him by the Major General as a sober shadow cast itself over his face.
“What is the opinion of the Marine Commander?” the Chief of Aviation asked. “Is he in accord with the President’s request?”
“The President’s appeal meets with the approval of the Commanding Officer of the Second Brigade, now stationed in that country, who further advises that a squadron of planes would be a decisive help in combating the outlaws.”
The representative from the Navy Department turned and faced the Lieutenant Colonel, interrupting with the explanation: “It is almost impossible to suppress Sandino and his bandits with land forces due to the nature of the country.”
“So I have been informed,” the Chief of Aviation replied. “It is a hilly and dangerous country, certain death to any invader unfamiliar with the lay of the land.”
The Major General rested back in his chair. A tired, care-worn look plainly overshadowed his face. Due to the trying events of the past few weeks, he had aged considerably. In his heart, he wished the whole unpleasant mess would suddenly come to an end.
“Have you a squadron prepared to depart immediately?” he asked the Lieutenant Colonel.
“Yes, sir. Observation Squadron Ten is available at once.”
The Major General smiled complacently as his mind recollected some of the past glorious deeds of the pride of the Marine air forces, Observation Squadron Ten. He raised himself in his chair, once more alive with active interest.
“The Flying Devils—that outfit can go anywhere! What will be their route, Colonel?”
The Air Chief rose, crossed the room to a case and returned with a large map, spreading it out upon the table so that all might view the course of his finger.
The men, attentive to detail, moved forward in their chairs as the Lieutenant Colonel pointed to a spot on the map.
“They will fly from Quantico to Pensacola and refuel there,” he explained as his finger followed the proposed route across the map. “A member of the Squadron, Sergeant Williams, is temporarily assigned to that base as a flying instructor. He will rejoin his regular unit and their next hop will be to Havana, then to Honduras and from there it will be only one short jump to Managua.”
When the Lieutenant Colonel finished, he looked to the Major General for a sign of approval. The Commander responded merely with a nod of his head as the Air Chief rolled up the map and returned it to its case.
“Any suggestions, gentlemen?” the general asked of his aides, waiting a moment for their response.
“I believe the Lieutenant Colonel’s flight plan answers the Secretary’s request, guaranteeing the arrival of our air forces in the shortest possible time,” the Chief of Staff announced. “I have no further comments.”
As the others rose to leave after announcing their satisfaction with the proposed plans, the Major General turned to his Air Chief and explained, “You will notify the commander of the Tenth Squadron and also this sergeant at Pensacola to join his unit for active duty upon their arrival at his base.”
The Lieutenant Colonel saluted and left with the others to prepare plans for the attack upon the Nicaragua bandits from the air.
The following morning, miles away at the Marine instruction base at Pensacola, Panama Williams was summoned to the quarters of the Post Commandant and given the official orders received by telegraph that morning from Washington.
His entire being thrilled with the prospect of real action after so long a period of peace-time inactivity.
His imagination became alive, visualizing all sorts of adventures he would encounter, striking a responsive chord in his stout heart.
Sure-footed, with sparkling eyes and cheeks flushed from excitement, he made his way hurriedly across the field to the base hospital, where, he tried to make himself believe, he wanted to have the final bandage removed from his burned hand, but in truth, hoped to have a few minutes alone with Elinor at that early hour.
Upon his arrival at the dispensary, his secret hopes became justified for there was Elinor, alone in the large room, rolling bandages in preparation for a long day of activity just ahead.
“Morning!” Panama shouted jubilantly, “It’s a great day, Elinor!”
The little nurse turned, put down the bandage she had been rolling and with a welcome smile, crossed to greet the sergeant.
“Hello, Panama,” she said warmly. “What brings you here so early?”
Her words completely took him off guard for a moment and he struggled to regain his bearings, thinking fast for a probable excuse.
“Why—er—well—er—that is, I wanted you to—er—remove my—my bandage!” he stuttered.
“But the dispensary doesn’t open until nine o’clock,” she said indifferently, though secretly amused by the man’s lame excuse. “What’s your hurry?”
A look of pain crossed the man’s face as he struggled for words that would convince the girl.
“Why—er—I got a busy day ahead of me,” he lied gracefully. “And unless you remove the bandage, I can’t use my hand so I——”
“Never mind explaining the rest,” Elinor interrupted. “I guess I understand.”
She led the way to a small white table near the window as Panama trailed after her.
Following her lead, he sat down at the opposite side of the table, never for a moment taking his anxious eyes away from her loveliness that so enthralled him.
As she bent forward to undo the wrapping, he was tempted to kiss her beautiful hair but his better judgment prevailed in time just as she looked up into his eyes, speaking in a mockingly accusing manner: “Lefty Phelps has been out of the hospital for three days and you are still coming here for treatment! Your hand has been well for over a week.”
Panama grinned in a guilty fashion and dropped his eyes. Then, in an effort to vindicate himself, he pointed to a small, red spot between his thumb and index finger, still slightly bruised.
“There’s a little place here,” he explained as a matter of defense. “It still hurts!” Elinor smiled, and without making comment, reached for a small piece of absorbent cotton, dipped it with ointment and proceeded to place it on the sore spot.
“I suppose they’ll be transferring Lefty out of the flying corps,” she said, managing to keep her eyes upon her work so that Panama would not detect any personal gleam of anxiety which might betray her secret interest in the former football player, an interest that had grown to be something more than just casual.
The sergeant’s other hand mechanically reached for his blouse pocket and rested there. “Oh, I don’t know about that?” he replied, endeavoring to assume a careless attitude, though his answer didn’t fool the girl in the least. She looked up at him quickly, her woman’s intuition alive to the fact that he was holding something back from her.
“Why, what do you mean?” she asked.
“Nothin’!”
She tried to smile her prettiest and, with an alluring air of coquetry, hoped to learn the secret Panama was keeping from her.
“You do mean something,” she persisted. “Panama, you’re keeping something from me—you know you are!”
“I’m not!” he fabricated, secretly amused. “What would I be keeping from you?”
“You said that they might not transfer Lefty out of the service!”
Panama was enjoying, for the first time, the thrill of having this girl, whom he idolized, begging him to unfold to her a secret which he was keeping all to himself.
“Well, mebbe I did, but what does that mean? I ain’t the Chief of Staff to be saying what will or won’t happen to some dub that can’t move a plane from the ground!”
Elinor dropped Panama’s hand and struggled with herself to hold back the tears that she already felt moistening her eyes.
“I think you’re just perfectly mean,” she scolded; “talking that way about Lefty!”
“Yeah?” he questioned, sensing that Elinor’s interest was becoming more than just an impersonal one. “What’s it to you what I think or say about that guy?”
The little nurse checked herself in time, and, forcing a smile, looked up at the hard-boiled sergeant in an assumed attitude of indifference.
“Why—it’s nothing, Panama, nothing,” she hastily explained. “Only—well, I do feel kind of sorry for the poor kid. He’s been given a few bad deals and——”
“I guess you’re right, Elinor,” Williams interrupted as his eyes softened, changing his entire demeanor to one of sympathy and understanding. “He deserves a decent break and I’m going to help him get it!”
Her eyes brightened and her cheeks flushed slightly. She felt her heart beating a trifle faster at the sound of the sergeant’s welcome words of understanding. “What do you mean?”
He smiled and pointed to the pocket of his regulation blouse from which protruded the white corner of the order from Washington, handed to him by the Post Commandant only a half hour previous.
Not quite fully cognizant of Panama’s meaning, Elinor, with a questioning look, lifted her hand and with hesitance, touched the sergeant’s blouse pocket, extracting the paper. Nervously she unfolded the white sheet as her eyes eagerly devoured the contents.
“In compliance with the above reference,” she read hurriedly, passing over the formal introduction at the top of the page, “upon the arrival of Observation Squadron Ten, en route to Managua, Nicaragua, you are hereby ordered to join the Squadron, prepared for active service.
“Three of the new Naval aviation pilots will be selected to accompany this flight as observers. Your flight orders are continued in force for this duty. You will select a suitable mechanic to accompany you.
“The travel herein enjoined is necessary in the public service. John Hibbard, Chief of Staff, U.S.M.C.”
Elinor dropped the paper and with excited and grateful eyes, reached for Panama’s hands and pressed them to her fondly.
“You will select a suitable mechanic,” she repeated, quoting from the communication. “Then that means——”
Panama smiled broadly, too thrilled for words over the manner in which Elinor held his hands in hers. “We’re shoving off to-morrow at daybreak for that two-by-four comic opera republic.”
“And you’re going to take Lefty with you as your mechanic?” she questioned, as her eyes danced for joy and her heart beat furiously with pride and gratitude.
Panama loosened one of his hands from Elinor’s and reached for a plug of tobacco in his blouse pocket. “Yeah. He don’t know it, but I am.”
“I think that’s immense of you,” she said, with a ring of sincerity in her voice.
The sergeant indifferently bit off a large chew of tobacco and placed the remainder of the plug back in his pocket. “Aw, that’s nothin’. He’s a good kid! You know somethin’, Elinor? He’s got blue blood in his veins—an’ he’s been to college too! You should hear that guy talk! Baby, what an awful lot of language he has parked under his bean. When we get back, I want you to know him better, ’cause I think you’d like each other!”
At that moment, one of the medical officers looked in and beckoned to Elinor.
“Miss Martin!”
She turned and, seeing the M.O., rose, replying, “I’ll be right in, Doctor!”
Panama watched her every movement as she crossed the room to her desk and picked up some report cards. He did not know how long it would be before they met again—if ever, and he wanted these last few seconds to be his to remember always.
She went to the door and, placing her hand on the knob, about to enter the Medical Officer’s room, then remembered that this was a parting with a good friend. She turned and came back to the little table which the sergeant was resting against.
She held out her hand which he took and clasped warmly. “You’re going, Panama,” she said tenderly, “I almost forgot. Good-by—and—and lots of luck!”
Williams held her hand, trying for all the world to say something but as usual, he became inarticulate and unable to find the proper words.
Sensing his embarrassment, Elinor tried to relieve the situation by fussing with his tie and warning him to take good care of himself, during which time, the unnerved Panama struggled to bring forth orally the thoughts that continually were on his mind and kept his heart alive. Just as he believed he had found his speech, the door opened again and the Medical Officer reappeared.
“I am waiting, Miss Martin,” he announced curtly, and then slammed the door, disappearing back into his office.
With a hurried and warm smile, Elinor clasped Panama’s hand again and ran to the door, opening it and entering, leaving the sergeant to stand motionless, gazing after her.
When the door had closed again, he picked up his campaign hat and crossed the room, intending to leave. As he passed Elinor’s desk, his eyes fell upon the large green blotter where several snapshots of the nurse smiled up at him.
He turned and looked back to make certain that no one was watching, then stealthily, he reached over the desk and picked up the pictures, folding them hurriedly in between the official dispatch, carefully placing them away in his blouse pocket.
Once more he looked toward the door through which Elinor had passed only a moment before. His hands touched his lips and he blew her a kiss.
Smiling sheepishly and his cheeks flushed crimson from the embarrassment of his own actions, he tiptoed out of the room, his hands pressed against the pocket that held the muchly-prized photographs of the woman with whom he had left his heart.
A battalion of Marines, attired in the colorful dress uniforms of the service, were participating in a short drill on the field just as Panama left the hospital.
As the men finished up in line, with the great band playing and the colors flying, an adjutant stepped forward, holding a typewritten list in his gloved hand.
One by one, he crisply called out the names of each student, waiting in line, with each proud man coming front and center, halting before the adjutant and saluting his snappiest.
Panama rested against the stone pillar of the hospital, watching this familiar procedure, mildly interested until his eyes rested upon Lefty, lounging on the opposite side of the field and wearing a hang-dog look.
The hard-boiled sergeant shook his head and smiled sympathetically. At the moment, his heart went right out to the unfortunate boy who just couldn’t seem to stop from running backward. “Poor kid,” he thought. “Gee, this must be tough on him!”
As the first man answered to his name, breaking line and coming before the adjutant, a pompous, heavy-set flying major stepped forward, proudly dressed in the smart uniform of his rank, conscious of the row of medals and citations that crossed the left side of his chest.
He mechanically returned the student’s salute, then turned and accepted a new, shiny silver wing from a kindly, old white-haired man, whose gold braided epaulets identified him as an admiral in the service of the United States Navy.
The ostentatious Marine major, with a rehearsed air of distinguished solemnity plainly visible upon his puffed face, proceeded to pin the silver wing upon the breast of the student, whose flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes easily betrayed the boy’s pride.
The student grasped the major’s and the admiral’s extended hands, came to attention, saluted them both, then executing a snappy about face, returned to the ranks of anxious, waiting Marines.
After this mechanical performance had been repeated several times, Panama yawned in a bored fashion, bit off a large chew of tobacco and wandered down the white steps to the field, crossing to the opposite side where Lefty, attired in a greasy dungaree khaki jumper, unable to bring himself to watch the ceremony any longer, was keeping busy by inflating air into the tire of an airplane landing gear wheel.
A few steps away from where Lefty was bending over a hand pump, Panama stopped and watched the boy for a moment. His years in the service had taught him that the worse thing anyone can do for a man who has failed is to sympathize with him, so assuming a careless, hard-boiled attitude, the sergeant lifted his foot and let the surprised boy have it.
Lefty regained his bearings and swung around, waiting to confront this new kind of antagonist only to gaze up into Panama’s laughing and mischievous eyes.
“Come on, soldier,” Williams chided, “snap out of it! What’s eatin’ you, anyway?”
The boy turned away, picking up his pump and returning to his task without venturing to reply.
“This won’t do at all,” Panama thought to himself; then speaking aloud, “What’s the matter, sorehead, peeved because your buddies got their wings?”
If any other man in the entire United States Marine Corps, with the Navy combined, had dared to make such a suggestion to Lefty at that particular moment, he would have been put to sleep in a swift and skillful fashion, but Panama, that was something else again. Lefty knew the sergeant well enough by this time to be aware of the fact that anything Williams might say should not be taken seriously. Besides, circumstances had proven that this self-styled, hard-boiled Marine was the only friend in the entire world that the boy could depend upon.
“No, I’m not peeved because they got their wings and I’m not a sorehead either,” Lefty announced, curtly. “I wish them all the luck in the world, only I’d like to be out there standing in line with them.”
“Yeah?” Panama drawled, finding it difficult to continue to suppress the news any longer from Lefty, “Maybe you will be—soldier—maybe you will be—some day.”
Lefty looked up at his friend and smiled sickeningly, then allowed his eyes to wander back to the center of the field just as the pompous major was pinning the wings upon the breast of Steve Graham.
“Maybe I will—I guess not! I suppose they’ll be sending me back to some ship any day now.”
Panama bit off another chew of tobacco, still assuming his indifferent attitude, though he found the part he was playing a difficult one in the face of the boy’s downheartedness.
“So you think you’ll be shovin’ off to a ship soon?”
Lefty dropped the pump and sighed despairingly; “Shoving off? I’ll be rushed off!”
“Well, that ain’t so tough,” Panama added. “If you fall off a ship, it ain’t as far as toppling out of an airplane!”
The boy smiled at his friend’s poor humor, knowing full well that if he allowed Panama to think for one moment that his chiding was irritating, there would be no letting up at all.
“That’s true too,” Lefty replied. “But if I fall off a ship, I’ll be all wet!”
“You’re all wet now, anyway!”
The two men smiled, each possessing a profound respect and admiration for the other.
“All kidding aside,” Panama continued, now in a supposed serious frame of mind, “going back to a ship ain’t so bad. I wish I was that lucky.”
Lefty studied the sergeant earnestly to make certain if this latest announcement was to end in another pun at his expense, but after a moment, he reached the conclusion that Panama was serious.
“Why, what’s up, skipper?”
“Nothin’, only I’ve been ordered to Nicaragua to-morrow morning. Goin’ down there in that hot box ain’t bad enough, so they had to wish the worst mechanic at this station on me besides!”
“Who’s the man?” Lefty bit, not the least conscious of the fact that Panama was referring to him.
“Who?” Panama repeated, assuming an impatient and disappointed air. “Why, of all the frozen-skulled, lame-brained choice assortment of prize boobs, they had to wish you on me!”
Lefty looked at Williams with questioning eyes, then seeing that the other man was in earnest, struggled for words as he ran to grasp the sergeant’s hands, wringing them furiously and fairly shouting his gratitude.
“You mean, I’m going to Nicaragua with you? Oh, Gee, Panama—you don’t know what that means to me! Honest—say, I’m so tickled I just——”
“Aw, apple sauce!” Panama interrupted, “I said you’re going. Ain’t that enough? What do you want to do—sing a mammy song about it?”
“But I want to thank you for what you’ve done for me!” the boy persisted.
“Don’t thank me. I ain’t had nothin’ to do with it. If I had my way, you’d have gone back to a ship!”
A smile of understanding crept across Lefty’s happy face. He knew well enough that Panama didn’t mean a word of what he had just said.
“Well, why don’t you tell them you don’t want me with you?”
“It’s too late now. I can’t get another man ready in time,” Panama lied beautifully. “Now stop askin’ silly questions and get that plane ready. We got to leave in the mornin’!”
“Are we going by plane?” Lefty asked enthusiastically. “You mean, we’re going to fly all the way?”
Panama shook his head in a hopeless manner, and with an expression of disgust, muttered, “In the Aviation Corps and fly? Don’t be silly. We’ll bobsled it all the way!”
Lefty laughed at his friend’s tolerant dry humor and reached down for the hand pump, turning back to his work on the tire in a happy, anticipating frame of mind, while the sergeant leaned against the fuselage of the plane, his mind wandering away to the hospital across the field and the little nurse inside.
His hand mechanically reached to the breast pocket of his blouse wherein were hidden the snapshots of Elinor he had just taken from her desk. He smiled confidently, reached into his pocket, removed the photographs and gazing down upon the laughing eyes of the lovely girl, his entire manner softened under the spell cast over him by her likeness.
For the want of someone to confide in, he turned to Lefty and asked, “Hey, bozo, have you got a girl?”
Phelps dropped his pump and raised himself, casting a hurried glance in the direction of the hospital and smiling confidently. “Yes—that is, I think so.”
Panama showed signs of interest and understanding in the romance of his fellow man. “Is she good-looking?”
“Great!”
Williams had his doubts concerning this. “No woman in the world could possibly be as pretty as Elinor,” he assured himself, though tactfully refraining from saying so aloud, adding instead, “Well, if you got a girl and she knows it, you’d better say good-by to her ’cause I just said good-by to mine!”
“You don’t mean to tell me you’ve got a sweetheart?” Lefty asked, tickled silly over this opportunity of gaining a chance to chide Panama. “Is it possible?”
“Well, I should hope to cough in your mess kit, I have,” Williams announced with no attempt to shield his indignation. “What do I look like—somethin’ that would scare away the women and babies?”
“To be honest with you,” Lefty replied, struggling to keep a straight face, “I should say, yes—also the old folks as well as the women and babies!”
“I’d like to punch you in the nose,” Panama roared, then holding up the snapshots, changed his mind and said, “Come here, useless, and lamp these! Ain’t she a peach!”
Lefty came closer and took the photos in his hands, examining them closely as he felt his heart heating away furiously. He looked up at Panama with uncertainty, struggling to hide his apparent concern. “Is this your girl?”
Panama grinned broadly, throwing out his chest and looking down at Lefty with self-confidence, believing that he had succeeded in redeeming his self-respect insofar as being an attraction for the opposite sex was concerned.
“You see, I ain’t so hard to look at,” he added, boastfully. “There are some people who say we’ll be gettin’ married some day, if I ever get the nerve to ask her.”
Lefty forced himself to smile generously as he slapped his friend on the back in a good-natured fashion.
“Why don’t you ask her—are you afraid!”
“Not exactly, only—well—I don’t know how to put the right kind of words together. Gee—if I only had your lingo—we’d of probably been married long ago! You know, somethin’! I didn’t even have the crust to ask her for these pictures! Yes, sir, I had to wait until she was gone and swipe ’em!”
From the moment that Lefty grasped the fact that Panama was in love with the same girl whom he idolized, the boy’s heart sunk within him.
He realized that all was fair in love and war—but not in this case when the other man was his best friend. Besides, he tried to tell himself, he had no right to even think of Elinor so long as Panama wanted her. He knew her first, and then again, maybe she really loved the sergeant and—no, that couldn’t be so, but the one thing vividly certain was the fact that Panama had befriended him when the rest of the world had turned their backs. Surely he owed this man something for that alone.
He stood by, silently, fumbling the snapshot carelessly as he allowed the entire matter to turn over in his mind, reflecting upon what course to pursue. Panama noticed the way Lefty was handling the snapshot and pulled it away from him, saying, “Be careful of that—you act as if it was yours!”
“I’m sorry,” the boy apologized, as Panama carefully put the photograph away again in his breast pocket.
“That’s Okay. Now get busy on the plane. I gotta pack. See you later!”
Panama walked away toward the barracks, leaving the boy alone, looking after him just as an orderly approached, bearing a communication from the Post Commandant.
Lefty tore open the envelope and his eyes fell upon a sheet of official paper upon which was typed flying orders for the Tenth Squadron. Hurriedly he read through the difficult routine wording until he reached the last paragraph where he rested his eyes, reading over the closing lines again and again.
“You are assigned to Sergeant Williams,” it explained, “as his mechanic as per his request.”
As he carefully folded up the paper and placed it in his pocket, his eyes became moist and he felt a lump rising in his throat.
He looked off to his right and saw Panama crossing the field in the direction of the barracks. A broad smile of grateful appreciation lighted Lefty’s troubled face, realizing now what Panama had done for him.
Suddenly he became aware of the terrible breach that might arise between him and this man because of a woman whom they both loved. He remembered Panama’s explanation about the snapshots and how he had to take them when Elinor wasn’t there.
“She must mean everything to him,” he thought. “She’s all he’s got while I—” Then he suddenly thought of something else as his hand mechanically reached for his leather wallet. Opening it, he brought out a snapshot of a girl, a lovely girl with a profusion of dark hair and beautiful wide eyes that laughed up into his.
The picture was Elinor’s and an exact duplicate of the one Panama had shown him only a few moments before.
He studied the picture and the face of the girl upon it, reading over several times the inscription across the bottom written in her own handwriting: “To Lefty, the Best Patient I Ever Had, Elinor.”
He gazed upon these words that had given him so much to hope for when he first read them only an hour previous, then he looked pensively upon the features of the writer, considering the happiness of all concerned.
He lifted his head and looked after Panama, his eyes clear now with determination as he slowly tore the picture into small bits, letting the pieces fall from his hand, one by one.
As the grim shadows of night disappeared to make way for a cold, gray dawn, the silhouettes of nine pursuit planes and the silent figures of many ground men working busily about the ships could be seen on the field at Pensacola.
Save for the whirr of airplane motors, some going while others were just being started, a grim, foreboding silence prevailed as the mechanics and ground men worked swiftly to service the ships about to start on a long journey within the next half hour.
Officers and men, attired in regulation flying togs, stood together in small groups, some smoking, others chewing gum, all of them silently waiting for the moment to enter their cockpits and take off, perhaps on the last air voyage any of them would ever make.
Orderlies moved about with grim, determined faces, heavily laden with the luggage of their superiors, deaf to the usual heckling of the enlisted men, who never pass up an opportunity to yell, “dog robber,” when seeing an orderly perform some menial task.
Some of the officers and men who had friends and relatives in Pensacola, were making the rounds, shaking hands and patiently listening to fond farewells, don’t-forget-to-write warnings and the usual bon-voyage ceremonies that are such an important part of all types of leave-takings.
As the base buglers sounded the preliminary calls at a quarter to six, the pilots and observers hurried to their planes, and with the assistance of mechanics and ground men, put on their parachutes and adjusted their Gasborne helmets, at the same time, supervising the last-minute loading of personal baggage.
A sharp note was sounded by a bugler and someone crisply yelled, “Attention.” All the men on the field turned their eyes center, lifting their bodies and heads and throwing back their shoulders as the senior Marine officer and the flight commander came upon the scene of activity, accompanied by their respective aides.
An adjutant called, “As you were” after the two officers had returned the salutes of the pilots and observers, and the buzz of activity, laughter and flip talking was again resumed with greater zest.
“The Aerological Officer reports that you will have a good ceiling to Havana,” the senior Marine officer announced, as he accompanied the flight commander to his plane, the first one in line, bearing the red replica of Satan, the insignia of the Tenth Air Squadron, “though you may run into rain over Yucatan.”
The flight commander smiled as he hurriedly cast his clear, narrow blue eyes over the line of pilots and observers standing by their planes, waiting for the word to go.
“It will take more than rain to stop these anxious playmates of Satan!”
Both men joined in hearty laughter over this prophecy, each knowing full well the courage of Marine flyers, especially members of the Tenth Squadron, who lived up to every tradition of the service and the flattering legends spread throughout the land concerning their especial deeds of glory and bravery.
Panama and Lefty paid little attention to the noisy activity now going on about them. They had been too occupied since Reveille to even speak to each other, and now they were frantically working away to load the last bit of equipment into their plane.
Large beads of perspiration trickled down their faces and their breathing was deep and quick as they bent over to throw the final piece of baggage into the ship.
“Well, that’s that!” Panama announced as he straightened himself and rubbed his back to ease a sharp pain just above the base of his spine, “another fifteen minutes and we’ll be in the air.”
Lefty smiled broadly with anticipation as he unwrapped a slice of chewing gum and looked about to see who was among those preparing to leave.
As he turned to his right, his eyes met those of Steve Graham’s.
The ostentatious Graham, decidedly pleased with himself, purposely polished off his silver wings with the palm of his hand for no other reason than to make Lefty conscious once more of his failure to pass the solo test.
“Wish you had a pair?” he yelled over to Phelps, mockingly. “Though if you got them, you’d probably put them on backward!”
Lefty made a quick move in the direction toward Steve, determined to close this obnoxious pilot’s mouth for once and for all, but Panama intervened by stepping in front of him.
“Keep your shirt on! Do you want to be sent to the brig?” he whispered, then looking over his shoulder, called aloud to the annoying Marine: “Better not polish them wings too often, Graham. You’re liable to wear off the design!”
This final retort was precisely the thing necessary to end the oral barrage of hostilities. Steve’s face flushed and he scowled menacingly, attempting to think of something mean to say, but as a clever answer failed him, he turned his back to the two men, consoling himself in the philosophy that arguing with a flight sergeant might prove a foolish thing to attempt under present circumstances.
Lefty made no attempt to refrain from laughing boisterously. He cast a grateful glance in Panama’s direction, and then busied himself about the plane, making certain that everything was in tiptop shape, ready for the long hop without a flaw.
Near the great hangar, just to the rear of where the waiting planes were lined, the wind was playing havoc with the thick, dark hair of a hatless girl and the blue regulation nurse’s cape she wore, showing a spick-and-span white uniform beneath every time a gust of wind lifted the blue serge.
Elinor’s eyes were searching the field for a glimpse of two familiar figures as she ran in and out in a zigzag fashion, between men and planes until she spied Lefty and Panama far down in the line, near the ship of the flight commander.
She hurried down the field, struggling to brush back her hair and keep her cape closed with one hand, while in the other, she held two packages neatly wrapped in white paper.
Reaching the fuselage of a plane a little away from where Panama and Lefty were standing, she stopped and attempted to catch the boy’s eyes without Panama becoming cognizant of her presence. Her efforts were without avail, for just as she waved her hand, Williams turned about and caught sight of her instantly.
Seeing the girl at that early hour thrilled the sergeant to the tips of his toes and his face lighted up with a look of joy and surprise over this unexpected pleasure.
He waved back to her, believing that her salutation was meant for him, and then turning, slapped Lefty upon the back and yelled, “Look! There’s Elinor! Jumpin’ cats, she got up in the middle of the night to say good-by to me!”
Lefty pretended not to hear as he toyed with the hub of one of the landing gear wheels, though he felt his heart beating faster at even the very mention of the girl’s name.
Panama gazed at him in bewilderment, not quite comprehending the boy’s indifference, and then repeated his original announcement of Elinor’s arrival.
Phelps responded by rising, and without even glancing in the direction Elinor was approaching, walked around the side of the plane and climbed up into the rear cockpit to examine the machine gun. A sickening feeling came over him as cold beads of perspiration moistened his forehead.
He felt a dull, terrible thud in his heart over the prospect of having to again face Elinor after what Panama had confided to him only the afternoon previous.
When she gave him her photograph the morning before, he had promised to see her that night and go into town to a movie, but after what Williams had told him, it was too great a temptation to even as much as trust himself now in her company. He loved her as he had never loved any woman. From the very first moment he had set eyes upon her back in San Diego the day he passed his medical test, his head had been filled with dreams of a pleasant future spent with this girl as his life’s partner. Now that Panama admitted harboring the same hopes, Lefty firmly believed that it was his duty to step aside and concede his place to the man who had not alone befriended him, but saved his life at the risk of his own.
As for Elinor, she was unable to understand Lefty’s sudden reversal of mind and heart, and a pained expression of keen disappointment overshadowed her lovely countenance as she noted the boy’s puzzling, indifferent attitude of plainly ignoring her.
Panama rushed forward to greet the girl with a broad smile of welcome, forgetting himself for the moment and clasping her in his arms, then blushing furiously as he realized the forward step he had made.
Elinor helped to relieve his embarrassment by ignoring his bold action and greeting him with a warm, “Hello,” while Lefty, still seated in the cockpit, experienced a mingled feeling of nervousness and slight jealousy, as he struggled to pretend that he was still unaware of her arrival.
“Gosh, Elinor!” Panama bellowed with jubilant enthusiasm, “it was mighty nice of you to get up so early just to say good-by to me!”
The pretty nurse’s lips parted in a warm and generous smile, at the same time, casting a hurried and nervous glance in Lefty’s direction, whose back was still turned toward her.
“I couldn’t see either of you boys go away without saying good-by,” she replied in a tone unmistakably loud enough so that Lefty could not help but hear. Then she glanced down and held out one of the neatly wrapped packages she had been carrying. “Here’s a little something for you so that you won’t forget me!”
Panama looked with longing and surprised eyes at the package and then at Elinor. He stumbled from one foot to the other, tried to speak but somehow couldn’t find the words, and then, with hesitance, lifted his hand and accepted the box.
“Gee, this is swell! Oh, boy—I didn’t think you’d remember me like this!” He turned about, grinning from ear to ear, and looked up at Lefty, shouting, “Hey, kid! Look what Santa Claus just brought me!”
Still making a sincere attempt to avoid any direct meeting with Elinor, the boy merely looked over his shoulder with his eyes trained just above the nurse’s head and smiled at Panama, quickly resuming his work again on the machine gun.
This latest action of Lefty’s left no doubt in Elinor’s mind that he was intentionally avoiding her, and the consciousness of his inexplainable attitude hurt her terribly. Her mind became a befuddled center of unanswerable and annoying questions that she struggled to fathom out, though finally giving up the task with regret just as Panama, in an embarrassed fashion, began to stutter incoherently, “I—well—er—ahem—er—if I could manage to write a couple of letters, will you—er—do you think you’ll find time to read ’em?”
Elinor was deeply touched by the man’s sincerity. Her heart went out to him with understanding; for the moment allowing her to forget Lefty and his puzzling attitude.
“You know I’ll read every word you write,” she replied, encouragingly, “and I’ll answer your letters too, you big silly!”
With such encouragement, Panama might have asked Elinor then and there to marry him. At least, for one brief moment, he found courage enough to pop the question, but as the words came to his lips, he heard a familiar voice from behind him call his name. Turning, he recognized the flight commander, and without further hesitance, came to attention, saluted and joined his superior officer, walking off with him and leaving Elinor standing alone.
Once more alone, the puzzled nurse again turned her attention to Lefty, seated in the plane, adamant as ever in his determination to ignore her.
She hesitated for a moment and then walked over to the side of the plane, gazing up at him with a bewitching smile that completely took the boy off his guard.
As he looked down at this girl, a sweet and appealing figure whose hair, skirt and cape fluttered in the wash of the plane’s propeller, a feeling of uneasiness gripped him, impressing indelibly upon his mind and heart that he loved her—more than all the world.
She lifted her hand that still held the other package, mutely signifying to the boy to accept the gift. The result was perfect. Conscious of her thoughtfulness, the barrier he had raised so high between them, instantly melted away as he reached over the side of the fuselage and took the box, his hand touching hers for one brief moment, electrifying the hearts of both.
“My, but you’re a busy person,” she said, assuming an air of self-injury.
Lefty’s face shaded with a frown, then mimicking the girl’s injured tone, looked off in the direction of where Panama and the flight commander stood talking, replying curtly, “Well, I notice that you’ve been kind of busy yourself!”
At loss to understand the boy’s sudden change of attitude again, Elinor held out her hand in a manner of farewell and said, “Well, I hope you have a safe voyage and—good-by!”
He gazed down at her for a moment and then took her slim hand in his, pressing it gently and making no attempt to hide the thrill even this slight contact gave him.
She responded with an inviting and tender look that made him forget every promise he had made to himself. For one brief moment, he and this girl were the only two people in the entire world and it was inevitable that the first thought that came to his mind was to hop out of the plane, hold her tightly in his arms and shower her lovely, tempting lips with kisses.
All at once, he boldly awoke with the annoying realization that he was selfishly enacting a love scene with his dearest friend’s girl, and Panama only a stone’s throw away from them. Much to Elinor’s bewilderment, Lefty quickly assumed a belligerent attitude, saying, “Why did you have to come down here this morning?”
For the moment, his thoughtless words cut straight through to her heart, bringing a faint sign of tears to her eyes; then all at once, something within her instinctively lifted the shroud of mystery that enveloped Lefty and she saw right through him, completely understanding his purpose of assumed indifference.
As they both stood silently gazing at each other, Elinor was turning over the problem in her mind whether or not it might be best to inform Lefty exactly how she felt toward Panama, when the sergeant came bursting in upon them in a mad hurry to get away.
Without even glancing up at the boy again, Elinor shook hands with Panama, called out a cheery farewell and ran off to join a group of nurses who stood near by, watching the spectacular take-off.
The large siren atop of the central hangar blew shrilly and with it came the mingled shouts of men and a renewed bustling activity through the line of planes, the motors of which were all purring with a deafening roar now.
Panama climbed up into the cockpit, smiling triumphantly and waving with enthusiasm to Elinor. He turned and slapped Lefty on the back in a jubilant mood, pointing to where the girl was standing. “See that, boy,” he announced boastfully. “Don’t you wish you had a girl like her?”
Lefty threw off Panama’s hand disgustedly without making comment and dropped down in his seat, strapping on his helmet and pulling the large Visionaire goggles over his eyes just as the sound of the bugle to take off came to the ears of all.
A wild shout arose from the men seated in the line of planes as each pilot exultantly gave his ship “the gun,” taxiing down the great field into formation, waiting a moment for the final sign from the commander.
The flight commander, in the first plane, rose and looked down the line of ships, making certain that formation had been made and all were accounted for.
He lifted his arm, which was a signal for every other pilot to do the same. Making certain that the way was clear, he dropped his hand, giving his plane the gun, and the great, crusading air fleet began to taxi down the field with a deafening roar of the motors and swiftly moving propellers.
As the planes gained altitude, Panama, still wearing a jubilant expression of victory, looked out over the fuselage and waved down to Elinor who was still standing, with upturned head, watching the progress of the ships.
The sergeant turned and motioned to Lefty to look down but the boy, understanding his object in requesting him to do so, merely scowled sullenly and kept his eyes straight ahead.
Flying south, the planes fell into battle formation, creating a beautiful spectacle to view from the earth far below just as the sun rose, spreading its majestic glory and warmth over a bright and gorgeous Florida morning.
After reaching his flying altitude, Panama held the stick with his knees as he nervously unwrapped the package Elinor had given to him before he left, his eyes eagerly resting upon some candy, a few packages of cigarettes and a large plug of chewing tobacco on top of which he found a note that read, “Good luck—Elinor.”
In the rear cockpit, Lefty followed suit by opening his package and discovering a small sewing kit with some buttons and a copy of Lindbergh’s book, “We.”
A small white card protruded from the corner of the book and with some hesitance, Lefty pulled it out and read the words that completely upset his emotions, causing him to wish that he had left Elinor in a different frame of mind, and yet, troubling him over the fact that this romance, if it didn’t end for once and for all, might break Panama’s heart.
The sergeant looked back at Lefty, still wearing a broad, happy grin as he held up Elinor’s gift, he allowed the boy to read the note.
Phelps nodded his head, attempting to smile unbegrudgingly. Panama then placed the box out of sight, folding the note and carefully putting it away in the pocket of his windjammer.
The boy shook his head despairingly, sighed deeply and once more unfolded the small piece of white paper upon which the girl had scribbled: “I’ll miss you—Elinor.”
Once again he read those few lines and the world of happiness they promised if he only dared so much as say the word.
He watched Panama, now skillfully manipulating the plane. A sudden feeling of security and warmth came upon him and he gazed at the man before him with honest gratitude and an undying vow of devotion and friendship upon his lips.
Slowly he folded Elinor’s note and tore it in two, dropping the pieces overboard to be separated and lost forever.
The blazing, tropical sun beat down unmercifully upon the heads of a squad of Marines, under the command of a top sergeant, as they made their way slowly and with uncertainty over an impassable mountain path to the flat, barren valley below.
Dusty, dog-tired and filthy with grime, the worn-out soldiers of the sea struggled along over roughshod ground, dragging two stubborn pack mules behind them. The men were unhappy victims of a powerful sun, casting its dangerous heat waves over their unprotected persons, and a miserable, dirty, unfamiliar country of treacherous, dark-skinned men and cruel mountain passages.
As the squad and their silent, stout and puffing sergeant reached the base of the mountain, one of the men let himself fall against the trunk of a huge palm tree with large, welcome leaves that completely shaded the ground beneath. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small package of tobacco and some cigarette papers, proceeding to roll himself a smoke as the other men sat down beneath the tree, following suit.
“What d’ya guys wanna bet there ain’t no such guy as Sandino?” the Marine leaning against the tree announced. “We’ve been walkin’ all over this gosh-forsaken country for the past three weeks and we ain’t seen nothin’ but bugs, filthy natives and fat, ugly, barefooted women carrying squalling brownskin brats!”
A mean scowl overshadowed the face of the short-winded and wide-of-girth sergeant. “Listen here, shackle-brain, do you think them guys up in Washington would send us all the way down here if there was no lunk like Sandino goin’ around and shootin’ up things?”
“Yeah! Ain’t you read about the leathernecks what was shot by this here greaser?” a little, sandy-haired, freckled-faced Marine, sprawled out on the ground, added: “An’ how all them Americans what is in business down here had their dumps blown up?”
“Aw—that a lot of boloney!” insisted the skeptic against the tree.
“What’s a lot of boloney?” another Marine asked.
“A string of sausages,” replied the sergeant, and the entire squad roared with laughter.
“You guys kin think what youse please but for me, I still say there ain’t no Sandino!” the first Marine reiterated, “an’ there ain’t no other bloke around this country what wants to fight us!”
A tall, lanky leatherneck, who had been watering the pack mules, shuffled over to the others. “Say, what do you think the Secretary of the Navy sent you down here for if there ain’t no Sandino?”
“Sure, what are we here for?” another interrupted, “to escape the snow up north this winter?”
“I don’t know!” the first Marine admitted as he allowed himself to slide to the ground, gazing longingly at his large, hobnailed shoes, “but, oh, boy, how my dogs are barkin’!”
“Mine too,” the sergeant announced with a look of pain upon his face, “they keep talkin’ to me all the time!”
Just then, a large, ugly, tropical ant crawled from the bark of the shady tree to the shoulder of the first Marine. One of the men sitting near by saw the man-sized insect and leaned over, slapping it off his buddy’s neck before any damage could be done.
“I’d rather have a million mosquitoes eat off of me than be bitten by one of them there man-eating ants!”
The others, now grouped about in a circle, nodded their heads in accord as their eyes wandered over the tree trunk in search of more pests.
“Oh, gee, I wish I wuz in Coney Island,” the sandy-haired Marine announced with a sigh, suddenly becoming the target for a lot of small stones aimed at him by his buddies.
“One more crack like that,” warned the sergeant, “and I’ll punch you in the nose!”
An uncomfortable silence fell upon the little band as each man gazed at the other with a bored look of disgust. Three weeks in a broiling desert sun, three weeks together, searching for a promise of activity that didn’t materialize; three weeks of walking, scratching, eating canned food and drinking bad-tasting water; sleeping in the open, preys to hordes of insects of all descriptions had made these men literally hate each other. At the slightest provocation, they would fly into a rage, calling every vile and profane name in the vocabulary of a trooper, sometimes actually mixing in nasty brawls that would leave marks upon their faces and bodies; added hurts to their already over-abused persons.
Being men of small vision and slight education, their most difficult tasks were to find interesting things to talk about. In the beginning, it had been yarns of past deeds and great battles in which they had played parts. This soon became monotonous, also creating much envy and ill feeling.
After the first week had passed, one of the leathernecks produced a picture of his girl back in Brooklyn. This inaugurated a series of tales concerning various love conquests in every part of the globe, but alas, every man finally told and retold his personal escapades as Don Juan so there was nothing left to talk about except their present, trying conditions and the individual complaints of all.
Misery may love company but not for any great length of time. Soon, each man was hating the other because he was certain that his hurts were the worst and the other fellow’s complaint, only the whining of a “yellow egg.”
At the time these nine, weary soldiers arrived at the base of Los Agualo Mountain, matters were in a pretty dangerous state of affairs. It was another two days’ walk back to Managua, and if something didn’t arise to relieve the present state of monotony, it was not unlikely that they would end up by slaughtering one another.
A familiar noise was heard coming from the sky as each man sat up instantly with ears trained, looking to each other to see if the purr from above was real or just the machinations of a mind going loco from exposure to the sun.
They shaded their eyes from the blinding glare of the sun with their hands and gazed heavenward, searching the clear blue sky for huge, dark objects flying toward the south and Managua.
At that moment, two thousand feet above, the planes of the Tenth Marine Aero Squadron appeared over the ridge of Los Agualo, flying in the direction of the capital in battle formation.
“It’s the Marines—our planes!” shouted the sergeant, jumping to his feet and waving his hands frantically above his head as the others rose and followed suit.
“Them’s the planes what dey told us wuz coming,” the tall, lanky leatherneck yelled enthusiastically.
“Do you think they see us down here?” the little, sandy-haired Marine asked the big fellow who was standing alongside of him.
“Sure they do! Don’t we see them?”
“Well,” the undersized leatherneck answered doubtfully, “why don’t they do something?”
“Whatinell do you want ’em to do—step out on the wings and throw kisses at you?”
Two thousand feet above ground, in the plane piloted by Panama, the sergeant and his mechanic, with faces grimed from oil and smoke, peered over the side of the ship, resting their eyes for the first time upon the hilly country below.
Panama held the joy stick between his knees as he took out a small white pad from the pocket of his windjammer and scribbling a note upon it, passed the message back to Lefty.
“So this is Nicaragua?” Lefty read. “Don’t look so tough to me.”
Panama looked back for a reply as Lefty wrote below the sergeant’s message, “I’m afraid this war is a joke!”
The two men exchanged knowing smiles as Panama bit off a large chew of tobacco and Lefty continued to observe the ground far below. As they passed over the mountains, he spied the figures of the tired Marine squad and their two pack mules. Unable to distinguish who they were, he reached for the pad and wrote, “Who do you think those men are below?”
Panama turned his head, read the message and gazed down from over the side of the ship, straining his eyes in an attempt to distinguish the men. He lifted his head in a moment, glanced back at Lefty and pantomimed to the boy to loan him the pad and pencil, upon which he scribbled, “Looks like a squad of loafing Marines. I’d like to fly low and give their lazy brains something to think about.”
Lefty nodded his head in approval, laughing at the same time as he lounged down in the cockpit, closing his eyes in an attempt to grab a half hour’s sleep before they landed at the Managua airport.
Below, the Marines turned to each other, rubbing their necks to relieve the strain of gazing so long with their heads upward bent.
“Mamma!” exclaimed the sergeant. “Wait till them flyin’ devils open high and wide upon this guy Sandino!”
“You said it!” agreed another. “There ain’t goin’ to be much of a war left for us when those guys get started!”
The skeptic gazed at the two prophesiers with a lingering look of disdain. “There ain’t no war and there ain’t goin’ to be no war!”
“You’re crazy!” someone shouted. “What are them there planes doin’ here if there ain’t no war?”
The doubting Thomas scratched his head and looked off in the direction of the disappearing ships absently.
“I’ll bet any mother’s son here and now that there ain’t no war and there ain’t goin’ to be no war and furthermore, there ain’t no Sandino!”
“How much’ll you bet there ain’t?” the tall, lanky fellow responded.
“Six bits!”
“Have you got six bits?” one of the other men asked, a trifle eagerly.
“I’ll have it pay day!”
Someone made a peculiar sound with his mouth that in no way added to the prestige of the Marine who wanted to wager three-quarters of a dollar out of a pay envelope that, considering the circumstances, might not be due for the next six months or a year.
“I’d like to take a good poke at you!” the corporal of the squad ventured to say, eyeing the stubborn Marine from head to foot.
“You and how many others?”
“Me alone, buddy. When it comes to fightin’ a guy like you, well—it’s in the bag, brother, right in the bag!”
“Oh, yeah?” questioned the unpopular leatherneck. “So sez you!”
“Yeah, so sez me!”
“Then you think yer big enough, huh?”
“Listen, soldier,” the noncom added as a final gesture, “there ain’t nothin’ in no drug store what will kill you any quicker than me!”
“I suppose you think yer poison, huh?”
“Naw—T.N.T., that’s all!”
The devil dogs gathered their belongings and started south, toward Managua and the Marine operating base, arguing and threatening as they went on their way, though secretly each man was thrilled beyond words over something new to discuss that had so many different angles, certain to last the two days until they reached the capital without becoming stale or rehashed.