Three weeks had passed, three weeks for the constantly active Marine aviators, flying over mountain and jungle, supplying the leathernecks on foot with food and ammunition, guiding them through an impassable country in their futile search for Sandino and his rebel band.
With the dawn, came orders to scout over jungle regions in search of lost parties or else departures on long observation, map-drawing flights.
Returning to the field, with no other desire than to flop upon a cot and sleep, the pilots were informed to refuel and take off again, perhaps to drop medical supplies or food at some temporary base, hundreds of miles away and to return before daybreak.
The long, constant grind, the terrible hours spent in the air and the days that passed without sleep, had worn most of the airmen and their observers down to almost human skeletons. They stumbled around, silent, nerve-wracked, mostly in a dull stupor, haggard looking with large, black circles under their glassy, tired eyes. There was little time to eat, much less to shave, and some of the boys had gone the full three weeks without shaving or washing off the grime and dirt from their hands and faces.
War to them was a business and their purpose as part of the government’s great machine of action was to obey silently until their legs gave way from under them or else their brains snapped under the terrific strain.
No one complained and there was no discord, no more than there has ever been known to be in the long history of the Marine Corps on land, sea or in the air. It was a man’s game they were playing and each man played his hand to the last card without a question, though it seemed as if the deck had been stacked against them.
Personal grievances, hurts or questions of safety never entered the minds of any of those men from the major, commanding the squadron, down to the rawest of the ground men. They were a part of a grand and glorious fighting organization, the oldest in the service of their country and their unit would not be the first to besmirch the colorful traditions of the service through placing personal safety above duty.
Long before dawn, Panama had been sent out alone to search the jungle for a company of men missing for more than a week. Hours had passed and no sign of the absent Marines came to light.
The sergeant, before turning in, made one last attempt. He put the stick forward and the nose of the plane went downward, flying only a few hundred feet from the ground.
Haggard and with a chalk white, grim complexion, he straightened out the ship, intently studying the lay of the land, his eyes eagerly searching every nook and corner beneath for a sign of human life.
As he went a little farther north, flying between two dangerous crags that imperiled the safety of the plane, his eyes became fixed upon something just a little to the west. His taut features softened in an expression that was intermingled with both hope and anxiety.
There, along the shore of a winding river, just at the edge of a jungle, a group of Marines rested, most of them lying exhausted, flat upon the ground. On a panel spread near by, facing upward, was the code signal of the Marines, “V—V,” meaning: “Have Casualties.”
The muscles of Panama’s jaw again grew taut as he searched the ground below for a safe place to land.
What had been a snappy, spick-and-span, clear-eyed company of men a little more than a week previous, leaving the barracks at Managua on a surveying expedition, was now reduced to twelve, ghost-like Marines, bearded, haggard, fever sick and near starvation, their faces, legs and arms bearing huge, red-infected welts from insect bites and their clothing bedraggled and torn to shreds from traveling through the treacherous jungle bushes.
The heat was terrific and the sun beat unmercifully down upon the helpless surviving victims who rested under poorly improvised shelters, long since giving up all hope of being rescued, silently awaiting the grim specter of Death like true Marines, completely resigned to their fate.
One of the men looked up to the sky with wide, glassy eyes that fell upon Panama’s plane. His parched lips parted in a half-hearted smile and his long, thin hand lifted feebly. “It’s—it’s a plane!” he managed to say.
The eyes of the other helpless men followed the direction of the first man’s finger that pointed upward.
“It’s a Marine plane!” another announced. “Look, he’s circling us—he’s going to land!”
A few of the poor unfortunates struggled to rise to their feet, following the progress of the ship with their eyes. Those that were successful crawled along to the water’s edge, stumbling across the stream to a semi-flat piece of ground on the opposite side where they were certain the plane would land.
There they gathered in a small group, with eyes still raised heavenward, silently following the course of the plane and waiting for it to land.
Panama realized that if he was to even attempt to save these men, he would have to take a chance and make a landing on the uncertain ground below, or else leave them to die helpless victims of exposure. He nervily shot the nose of his ship toward the ground, narrowly escaping some rough tree tops that might have crippled his wings.
Once the wheels of his landing gear touched earth, he knew he was safe, and with a feeling of just pride over his accomplishment, he released the stick and taxied along for a few feet, coming to a stop and finding himself surrounded by the small group of eager, grateful men.
He rose and reached into the rear cockpit, bringing forth a large bundle which he clumsily opened, displaying a good quantity of food, cold tea, chocolate bars and cigarettes.
“Here you are, boys!” he shouted gayly. “The Flying Restaurant! Come and get it!”
The men didn’t have to be invited a second time. It had been many days since any of them had tasted food or enjoyed the fragrant aroma of a lighted cigarette.
“Who’s in command?” Panama asked a man standing by the fuselage, munching upon a piece of milk chocolate.
“Lieutenant Baker, but he’s too sick to get up.”
Williams cast a sweeping glance over the group, searching for the really bad cases as he explained that his orders were to return the men to the base, one at a time, and asking them to choose among themselves who would be the first to go.
With the announcement came an insistent chorus of replies, “Take the lieutenant back first!”
A little to the left of the plane, the pitiful, wan shell of a man lifted his head with every bit of effort he possessed, shaking his finger in a manner of objection.
“No—no—not me—I’m all right. Take one of the others!”
“But you’re all in, sir!” one of the boys protested.
“Who says so?” the lieutenant demanded to know, without any attempt to conceal his indignation. “I’m still in command here! Sergeant, take Shorty in first. His foot needs dressing.”
Shorty, a kindly little fellow seated on the ground, unable to walk because of a dangerously infected foot, protested vehemently over the lieutenant’s orders, insisting that he was in better physical condition than any man among the group of survivors.
“Why, you can’t even stand up on your feet!” Baker answered with a tinge of derision in his voice.
“I can stand on one foot!” insisted the plucky little Marine, “and that’s more’n you can do!”
A faint hit of color came to the lieutenant’s pallid cheeks as he struggled to, lift his head again. “How dare you resort to insolence in the presence of your superior?”
“But I don’t want to go!” Shorty bewailed futilely. “Let him take you in first and then he can come back for me.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” Baker called out, angrily. “I’m boss here and you’ll take orders!”
“Well, I think I’m entitled to say when, where and how I’m to be rescued,” speculated the obdurate little fellow, “and I ain’t going back now!”
“When I get you back there, I’ll have you court-martialed on nine different counts!” Baker threatened.
Shorty smiled and winked to Panama, who was standing up in the cockpit, completely obfuscated over the stubbornness of two hungry, sick men, arguing as to who should be saved first.
“You’re going to have me court-martialed? Now I know I ain’t going back!”
The situation was highly amusing to everyone, especially Williams. The bantering back and forth was refreshing after the trying week these men had undergone and the sleepless nights Panama had struggled through. The flying sergeant realized that this argument was sapping the little remaining strength the lieutenant still possessed so he jumped out of the cockpit and without a word, picked Shorty up in his arms and placed the protesting, struggling Marine in the plane, much to the satisfaction of Baker and the others.
“I’ll be back for another one in the morning,” he promised. “You’ll find plenty in this sack to eat, smoke and keep you warm until I return.”
“Hope you like the ride, Shorty,” one of the boys called out. “Don’t stand up on your one good foot or you’ll rock the boat!”
“I’ll punch you in the nose the minute you get back to Managua,” the little Marine threatened, “and you can court-martial me for that and make it ten counts!”
The following afternoon, a large Mack truck loaded to capacity with a variety of heavy baggage, ten nurses and two doctors, recently arrived from the States for duty in Nicaragua, was slowly rumbling along its way to Managua, over a treacherous dirt road.
As they came to the end of the road, the Marine, driving the truck, pulled up at the edge of a river with a jolt.
“What will we have to do, sergeant,” the doctor sitting beside him, asked, “ferry across or swim?”
The Marine yawned indifferently, stood up and allowed his eyes to search the river from north to south, shaking his head dubiously and slouching back in his seat.
“Funny thing, lieutenant,” the Marine announced. “There was a bridge over this stream last night but it ain’t there now.”
“A washout?” questioned the medical man.
“Or else Sandino came down and busted it up for firewood,” the Marine speculated. “But don’t worry, we’ll get it across. The water is pretty shallow up this way. Some of the boys went over on horseback and didn’t even wet their shoe tops.”
“Yes, but a heavy truck—that’s another thing,” one of the nurses added. “If the river bed is all sand, we’re liable to get stuck.”
“You just let me attend to that, sister,” the Marine replied with a broad grin, then stepping on the gas as he shifted his gears, the big car responded with a snort and leaped forward, jolting its occupants.
No sooner had they reached the center of the stream, than the car stopped suddenly, throwing its passengers forward as the rear wheels kept spinning, splashing mud and water but not budging an inch.
Gradually the truck sunk lower and lower in the dirty waters of the river bed as the terrified female occupants clung to each other with fright, crying for help.
“Pipe down,” the sergeant yelled. “You’ll scare the fishes.”
The Medical Corps lieutenant rose and vainly attempted to quiet his charges with an assurance that everything would be all right, then turning to the man at the wheel, inquired as to what would be done.
“There’s a lot of things we can do,” the Marine drawled indifferently. “If you’re in a hurry, you might try walking.”
The lieutenant was an amusing little man, slight of stature, without any sign of hair on his head, though a carefully trained walrus mustachio gave him an appearance of a comic opera villain. He had been in the service but a few months and his first taste of campaign duty was anything but in accord with his gentle senses. He knew that it would be folly to attempt to argue with the hard-boiled Marine at the wheel, though he found sufficient relief in planning what he would have done with this man when they reached Managua and the base of military activities.
Suddenly it dawned upon him that he was a lieutenant being subjected to abuse from a mere Marine noncom.
“I’ll have you understand, sir,” he announced, pointing his finger at the sergeant as his cheeks flushed with rage, “I am a commissioned officer of the United States Navy and entitled to the consideration military regulations allow a man of my position!”
The Marine turned about slowly and eyed the little man so conscious of his own importance. He was unable to suppress any longer a loud, boisterous laugh. “What d’ya want me to do,” he inquired, “sing ‘Sonny Boy’?”
“What do I want you to do?” the medical man shrieked with rage. “I want you to hold your tongue and help me to get out of this terrible mess!”
“Okay, pardner,” the Marine replied, with devilish mischief dancing in his eyes, “I can’t hold my tongue because it’s too slippery but I’ll gladly help you out of this truck!” With that, he rose and picked the unsuspecting doctor up in his arms as the nurses looked on, unmistakably astonished, believing as the lieutenant did, that he was about to be carried across safely to the opposite shore.
The Marine stepped out on the mud guard, still holding his self-inflicted burden.
“Be careful how you do this,” the doctor warned. “Don’t let there be any slip ups!”
“There won’t be,” assured the sergeant with a blank, indifferent expression; then suddenly releasing his hands from under the man, he allowed the obfuscated doctor to fall into the dirty waters below with a resounding splash.
A terrible, deafening ululation arose from the river bed, emitted by the doctor, who scrambled to his feet, blind with rage. Drenched to the skin and covered with grime and mud, he stood shaking his fist up at the Marine with every conceivable kind of dire threat upon his lips.
The nurses, trained in the art of immobility in the face of all circumstances, were now helpless victims of fits of laughter that had literally doubled them in two.
“You’ll pay dearly for this, my good man,” the lieutenant warned menacingly. “I’ll have you court-martialed; I’ll have you put behind bars—I’ll have you shot!”
“In the arm?” the Marine retorted tantalizingly.
“Through the heart!” bellowed the little man who was completely devoid of a sense of humor; “through the heart by a military squad at sunrise!”
“You’ll have to make it later than that, Shorty; I don’t get up so early,” the sergeant shouted as the doctor scrambled through the water to the opposite shore, soon disappearing out of sight.
“You’ve ruffled his dignity disgracefully,” said Elinor, among the nurses who had applied for active duty in Nicaragua and now passengers of the ill-fated truck, stuck in the river bed.
“I guess I ruffled more than that!”
“But can’t he make it unpleasant for you?” she asked. “After all, he is a commissioned officer.”
The Marine yawned in a bored fashion and lighted a cigarette he had just rolled. “I suppose so. He’ll have me court-martialed and I’ll be fined six months’ pay, then slapped into the brig for a spell, but then, anything for a laugh, you know!”
“Won’t you mind?” she asked, astonished over his indifference.
“Well, I won’t be tickled silly over the idea, but that ain’t the worst thing could happen. Besides, I’m about fed up on this racket down here. This hangin’ around, waitin’ for somethin’ to happen is drivin’ us all loco.”
A Marine private jumped off the rear of the truck into the water and waded through to the front wheel mud guard.
“Let’s try and get out of here,” he said to the sergeant. “Give her the gas and I’ll try and push this wheel forward.”
Once more the rear wheels began to spin furiously, throwing up mud and water and drenching the Marine standing by the front mud guard.
He reached under, putting all of his weight forward in an effort to extricate the truck but the front wheels were too securely imbedded to even as much as budge an inch.
The nurses and the one remaining doctor craned their necks over the side of the truck, watching the futile progress of the puffing leatherneck in the water.
“Are we going to make it?” Elinor asked anxiously of the perspiring and mud-soaked devil dog.
“I don’t think so, lady, but that guy the sergeant threw out, he’ll probably send help when he arrives at Managua.”
“How long will it take to get another truck down here,” the other doctor asked.
“That road to the right, on the opposite bank, leads straight in to the capital,” the Marine in the water announced. “If your friend steps on it and doesn’t stop to pick daisies, they should have a truck back here in about five hours.”
The Marine’s prediction was correct, for just as the sun set over the mountain top to the west of the little river where the truck was imbedded, Lefty was but a half a mile away, driving a Ford repair car, loaded with four husky Marines besides himself.
Three weeks in the tropics had completely changed the once uncertain, overanxious boy into a calloused, self-assured man of the world, whose entire demeanor betrayed a devil-may-care attitude of total indifference.
Turning and addressing the men seated in the rear of the truck, he said with the usual anticipation of the inactive fighting man, “I hope there are some chic-looking nurses stranded out there!”
“Me too,” one of the others agreed with enthusiasm. “It’ll be a relief to see a white woman again, homely or otherwise!”
At that moment, the truck passed a couple of native girls who had stopped to look back after the American men in uniform. Lefty gazed over his shoulder and waved to them, smiling invitingly as he slowed down his speed.
The men in the rear jumped to their feet with concern, attempting to prevent the boy from giving the native women a lift.
“Hey, don’t you ever read orders?” one of them shouted. “You know men in the service aren’t allowed to mix with the natives!”
“What do I care about orders?” the boy asked with an air of defiance in his voice, though he reluctantly stepped on the gas, increasing the car’s speed, “I joined the Marines to become a flyer, not a truck driver!”
At that moment, the little car loaded with the squad of rescuers pulled up alongside of the river hank.
“Here they are now!” the driver of the imbedded truck shouted to the nurses who were drowsily napping on one another’s shoulders.
His announcement brought a stir from the passengers, who rose to their feet, waving to the approaching Marines wading out in the water toward them.
Of course, all of the occupants of the motor transport were overjoyed at the sight of the rescuers. For an entire afternoon, they had sat hunched together in an open truck, helpless victims of all sorts of insects and a boiling sun. The arrival of Lefty and the others was gratefully welcomed by everyone though not near as enthusiastically as by Elinor who sighted Phelps the minute he jumped from the driver’s seat.
Lefty was the first to reach the imbedded transport, and as he looked up at the marooned sergeant who sat slouched in his seat with his feet perched up on the driving wheel, puffing away indifferently upon the butt of a cigarette, he asked, “What’s the matter, soldier, are you stuck?”
The sergeant gazed down at his questioner with a cutting look of disgust, then partaking of one last, long puff on his cigarette, shook his head and replied sarcastically, “Naw, stupid, we ain’t stuck! I just drove Emma out here to teach her how to swim!”
“Well, you didn’t seem to teach her much,” Lefty replied, assuming a serious expression.
“Oh, we was gettin’ on dandy,” the sergeant explained ironically, “but you know how these women are! When we came this far, the old gal got an inferiority complex and wouldn’t budge!”
Lefty reached down and splashed some water over the Marine in the driver’s seat who made no attempt to avoid the barrage. The men in the water looked up at the nurses, anxiously waiting on the truck to be carried across to the opposite shore.
They walked around to the rear of the transport, forming a line, with the idea that each man was to take a waiting nurse.
Elinor felt her heart heat faster, and breathlessly she waited for an acknowledgment from Lefty who, up to this time, hadn’t seen her. She saw that he was the third in line so she stepped back, allowing the two girls behind her to come forward, thus assuring herself that no one would carry her across but Lefty.
The first Marine stepped up and with arms extended, called to the waiting nurse who was now first in line: “Allee-oop, baby!”
The woman, a giggling, self-conscious and unusually thin creature was determined to make the most of this opportunity. She stood on the edge of the truck, hesitating and grinning, blinking her eyes blithefully as she held one finger in her mouth. “Oh, I’ve never done a thing like this before in all my life!” she cooed bashfully.
“Well, I’m taking as much of a chance as you, sister,” the waiting Marine interrupted with harsh sarcasm, “so come on!”
As the two men who preceded Lefty on the line started to wade back to shore, carrying their feminine burdens, the boy stepped forward, impatiently waiting for his passenger and holding up his arms without looking up.
He felt someone’s hand touch his and then, before he knew it, there was Elinor in his arms, smiling her prettiest and looking more inviting than ever.
The unexpected appearance of this girl whom he had completely succeeded in shutting out of his life was too much for the boy. He gazed at her with open mouth and surprised, doubting eyes.
“Lefty!” she announced, making no attempt to conceal her eagerness, “I’m very glad to see you!”
An uncomfortable look shadowed the boy’s face and his eyes shifted uneasily as Elinor’s happy smile of welcome faded to an expression of keen disappointment over his indifference.
An uncomfortable look overshadowed the boy’s face at Elinor’s happy smile of welcome.An uncomfortable look overshadowed the boy’s face at Elinor’s happy smile of welcome.
An uncomfortable look overshadowed the boy’s face at Elinor’s happy smile of welcome.
An uncomfortable look overshadowed the boy’s face at Elinor’s happy smile of welcome.
“Aren’t you glad to see me?” she asked hopefully.
“Yeah—sure I am! How have you been?”
Lefty was obviously in exactly the kind of situation that he would have given anything to avoid, and he strove to divert the trend of conversation away from anything personal.
Arriving once more upon solid ground, he released her and turned away to fetch another passenger just as he felt her hand tugging at the sleeve of his blouse.
“You don’t seem a bit glad to see me,” she said, bewildered over his enigmatic reticence.
“Sure I am,” he strove to explain in an unconvincing manner. “You’re just imagining things! Excuse me now because I—er—well, there are some more to unload!”
She stood on the hank watching him wade out into the water toward the helpless motor transport. Her eyes grew moist as she sighed deeply and felt her heart leaden with disappointment.
The little truck Lefty had driven out was standing just a few feet away. The first two nurses were climbing in the back, assisted by their Marine rescuers just as Elinor turned in their direction.
An idea came to her and she once more smiled hopefully as she ran to the car, perching herself in the seat next to the driver’s that she knew would be occupied by Lefty.
When the last nurse and final piece of baggage had been brought to shore, one of the Marines, seeing Elinor, climbed up into the seat beside her.
“Nursie,” he began softly, “you’re the best thing me eyes have lamped since I left old Joisey City!”
He felt a large hand firmly grip him by the collar and drag him from his seat to the ground.
“Just cut out that kind of stuff!” Lefty warned. “Miss Martin happens to be a lady!”
The offending Marine merely muttered something incoherent under his breath and jumped on the rear ledge of the truck as Lefty returned to the driver’s seat to be greeted by the warm, inviting and grateful eyes of Elinor.
One glance in the girl’s direction was sufficient for Lefty. With an air of uneasiness, he trained his eyes on the road straight ahead, giving the car plenty of gas and shifting his gears right into high.
Neither the boy or girl had spoken a word all the way in until they reached the outskirts of Managua with the capital city’s house tops plainly in view. Elinor then broke the long silence by asking about Panama with an assumed air of deep interest.
The very mention of his best friend’s name filled Lefty with renewed enthusiasm. Thankful to Elinor for bringing up a topic that completely placed him at ease, he once more became his own loquacious self.
“Panama? Say—he’s great! Whenever they buck up against a tough proposition around here, they elect him to face it. I overheard the major say that he was the best pilot in the squadron!”
Elinor listened patiently with a gracious smile upon her lips. Her eyes softened as she allowed her hand to touch the boy’s for a brief moment.
“Tell me about yourself, Lefty. Have they given you a chance to fly yet?”
The man who had failed, when his big chance came back in Pensacola, laughed a little ironically, bravely attempting to further lessen his insignificant rating in the service.
“Me? They know better than to trust me at the joy stick. We haven’t many planes down here and they can’t afford to have guys like me smash the few we have got into concrete walls!”
The girl struggled to find something encouraging to say but before she could bring the words beyond her lips, Lefty was once more engaged in drawing a colorful word picture of Panama and his accomplishments.
“You know where Panama is now?”
Elinor shook her head, acknowledging her ignorance as to the whereabouts of the man under discussion.
“He’s risking his life, flying through a treacherous jungle and making landings in a dangerous and hilly country to rescue some stricken Marines who had been lost until he discovered their whereabouts yesterday!”
She lowered her head, not daring to allow her eyes to meet Lefty’s now.
“He’s a very brave man—very brave,” she replied simply.
“You bet he is!” the boy agreed, his eyes sparkling at the mere recollection of the Marine sergeant’s recent deed, “And wait until he finds out you’re here! Oh, boy! Won’t that be great?”
Elinor struggled to choke back a huge lump rising in her throat, and at the same time, brushed away a drop of moisture that had been trickling down her cheek.
“Yes,” she sighed in despair. “It will be great—won’t it, Lefty?”
Within a half hour after “To the Colors” had been sounded and the men and officers at the flying base at Managua had retired to mess, the motor of a plane was heard over the field.
Major Harding, in command of the Tenth Squadron, had left the officers’ mess earlier than was his custom, to stroll alone before retiring. At the sound of the familiar purr of a pursuit plane, he raised his eyes in time to see Sergeant Williams’ plane circle the field and make a three-point landing just as a group of ground men ran forward to meet the ship taxiing toward them.
As the plane came to a stop, two ground men ran to the rear cockpit and carried out Lieutenant Baker, the last of the lost company of Marines that had been rescued, one by one, by Panama.
Tired from his long ordeal, dirty, greasy and covered with grime, Williams crawled out of his cockpit, weary of limb but mentally alive, proud of his daring accomplishment.
He meandered toward the barracks only to be met by the major who smiled generously upon the successful pilot.
After the two men had exchanged formal salutes, Harding placed his hand upon the shoulder of the noncom, in no way attempting to conceal his fondness for the man.
“You’ve earned a good rest, sergeant. I want to thank you for what you have done, but don’t let me keep you from your sleep.”
Panama smiled gratefully and pointed to the two ground men carrying Baker off on a make-shift stretcher in the direction of the field hospital. “That’s the last of them going in now!”
“I don’t think you’re any too sorry, are you, Williams?”
“No, sir!” Panama replied truthfully and then turning, pointed out the bullet holes in the side of the fuselage and the struts that were lashed with sapling. “Do you see what I had to do?”
“That was fine work,” the major announced with pride. “I am going to recommend you for a medal for bringing in those wounded men!”
Panama grinned sheepishly, making a sincere effort to pass off Harding’s promise and compliment lightly. They shook hands and saluted, the major continuing his stroll, leaving the sergeant standing alone.
As he unbuttoned his windjammer and pulled off the Gasborne helmet, Panama’s eyes caught sight of Steve Graham (recently made a corporal), carrying a bucket of water.
“Bring that over here,” he shouted jovially, and the once ostentatious would-be flyer complied without making any comment. He merely stood by and lighted a cigarette as Panama reached for the dipper and drank several refreshing cups full of water, pouring the remainder left in the bucket over his head.
“Any letters for me?” he inquired of Graham as he stood, dripping wet, wiping the water out of his eyes.
Steve shook his head impatiently. “I told you every day for the past week—‘no!’ Look’s like you got the air.”
Still in a good humor, though inwardly disappointed over Elinor’s failure to answer his recent letters, he reached down and picking up the empty bucket, slammed it over the astonished corporal’s head, emitting a loud roar of laughter and walking off toward the line of tents, leaving Steve struggling to release the bucket.
As Panama approached the company street where the tent was located that he and Lefty occupied, he heard the voices of several Marine flyers lifted in harmony. He smiled contentedly, for this was home to him. The grim, khaki-colored tents, standing like rows of silent ghosts; the songs of the Marine Corps brutally sung by dish-pan quartets, then a sudden foul oath emitted by an occupant of one of the tents, voices raised in argument over a card game or some other trivial matter; that was the only world he had known since the day he ran away from home to become one of Uncle Sam’s soldiers of the sea. It was his life, his love and his work and he was never so contented as when returning from an expedition during a campaign, knowing that his day’s labor had been well done.
He rambled along, through the narrow little street with rows of tents on each side, humming a popular song, dog-tired and ready to fall into a welcome and waiting cot.
Inside of the last tent on the street, Lefty was nervously pacing back and forth, disgruntled and uncertain. He walked to the entrance and closed the canvas flaps, then turned and went to his cot, pulling out a dirty work shirt from a bundle and shining his shoes with it. He was an amazing sight, attired in the blue and scarlet dress uniform of the Marines at that hour of the night, campaigning in an open field in the midst of impending hostilities.
Just as Panama arrived a few feet away from the entrance to the tent, he heard hurried footsteps from behind, and turning, recognized Steve, breathlessly running toward him.
“Hey, Romeo,” the corporal shouted, wait a minute. “I got some news for you.”
Panama stopped and waited for Graham, grinning good-naturedly and certain that the boy had followed him to pull some prank as a means of getting even for his putting the bucket over his head.
“How’d you get the pail off your dome?” Williams greeted Graham by asking a little derisively.
“That’s what I’ve come running to tell you,” Steve announced. “Somebody pulled it off for me and who do you think it was?”
“Sandino?”
“No, Elinor Martin!”
Panama gazed at Graham with questioning and doubtful eyes, believing this to be some kind of practical joke.
“Honest, it was Elinor,” the boy reiterated. “She came in to-day with nine other nurses and two doctors. I told her you had just landed and she’s waiting over at the field hospital for you now!”
The sergeant, noting the ring of truth in the other man’s voice and the look of sincerity plainly visible upon his face, threw his arms about Steve and shouted for joy, forgetting all about his much-needed rest and the fatiguing work of the past two days.
“Cut it out!” Graham demanded, breaking loose with much difficulty from Panama’s embrace. “Save that for your nursie.”
Williams thanked Steve again and again, telling him to run back to the field hospital and explain to Elinor that he would be along in a few moments. As the boy started back, he threw the tent flaps apart and boisterously entered.
As his eyes fell upon Lefty decked out in full dress uniform, he stopped cold in surprise, believing the boy to be either drunk or part loco.
“Where do you think you’re goin’, all dolled up like Mrs. Astor’s pet horse?”
“What do you mean?” Lefty asked without looking up.
“The dress uniform, here in Nicaragua, during a campaign! What’s the idea?”
“I’m going out!”
“Where?”
“Just out!”
“In that get-up?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Nothing—only, well, it ain’t being done!”
“Then I’ll be different!” the boy announced in the same crisp fashion.
“Got a date?” Panama persisted in questioning, merely because Lefty’s strange attitude was worrying him.
“I’m going to town!”
“Got permission?”
“Don’t need any! I’m going, that’s enough. If anybody don’t like it, they can lump it!”
“Oh, yes sez you!”
“Oh, yes sez I!”
Panama made no attempt to continue the debate, primarily because he believed it was useless to argue with a man in such a set frame of mind, then, there was Elinor, waiting for him, probably as impatient to see him as he was to get there.
“What do you think, kid,” he began, hoping to pull the boy out of the dumps, never for the moment realizing that what he was about to say would only make Lefty feel all the worse, “Elinor’s here! Can you imagine it? She’s over at the field hospital waiting for me! Sent Steve to tell me to shake a leg. Me for a wash! Whereinell’s that basin gone?”
Phelps remained silent though he walked over to a small box near his cot and picked up the basin, handing it to Panama.
“Maybe I ain’t got much of a face,” the happy sergeant speculated as he poured some water from a bucket into the basin, “but I stand a better chance gettin’ by if it’s clean!”
Lefty sat down on the edge of his cot only to have to get up again to hand Panama (now dripping wet and blind from soap suds) the towel. Once dry, the sergeant tore out of his greasy flying togs, into a clean blouse and fatigue trousers, halted now through his usual difficulty in tying his black tie.
“Be a good guy, Lef,” he asked, “and tie this darn thing for me, will ya?”
As Lefty silently complied by rising and facing his loquacious friend, Williams continued to ramble on, “Say, did you know she was down here?”
Lefty nodded in affirmation, proceeding with his task.
“Didja see her yet?”
“Yeah!”
“Did she ask about me?” Panama now inquired with eagerness.
“For gosh sakes alive, will you hold still?” Lefty barked impatiently, “how am I going to tie this gadget if you keep on yapping?”
Williams remained silent after that, a trifle hurt over Lefty’s apparent indifference insofar as his romance was concerned. When the boy had finally tied a knot, Panama sheepishly dug down into the pocket of his trousers and brought forth a small diamond ring, holding it in the palm of his outstretched hand in full view.
“I’ve been trying for six months to get up enough courage to give this to Elinor. Somehow, I always get tongue-tied just at the very moment I feel set to pop the question.”
Lefty walked away impatiently to the farthest end of the tent and sprawled out on a box, picking up an old magazine. “Ain’t that too bad?” he said, mockingly.
“Yeah—but I’m goin’ to put it on her little finger to-night or bust, sure!”
“Aw, shut up, will you?”
Panama was completely taken back by Lefty’s antagonistic attitude and for a moment, he gazed at the boy with a puzzled expression, finally asking, “Whatinell’s the matter with you, anyway?”
“Nothing!”
“Somethin’ is eatin’ you—what is it?”
“I said, nothing was the matter!” Lefty snapped, no longer attempting to hide his growing resentment. He rose, picked up his white cap and walked to the forward end of the tent, his passage now blocked by Panama who stepped before him.
“Say, where do you think you’re going, Sheik?”
“Aw, what do you care?” Lefty growled, with an effort to push past the sergeant.
This attitude was all that Panama needed to make him forget his interest in the boy as a matter of friendship and once more bring to life the hard-boiled, bossy top kick.
“Wait a minute, there, bozo,” he commanded. “I know what’s on your mind. You think you’re goin’ down to that local gin mill and get all illuminated, but you ain’t! You know that there is an order forbidding us to mix with the natives. Now, take off that coat and hat. I’m goin’ to give you somethin’ to keep you busy!”
“Not to-night!” Lefty protested.
“Yeah, to-night, right now,” Panama said, pulling out some papers and handing them to the boy. “Make out these reports for me and stay here! Savvy?”
Lefty didn’t venture to reply but sat down, holding the reports, mutely acknowledging the other’s authority as Panama picked up his hat and started out, returning in a moment and gazing at the boy, mistaking Phelps’ attitude for one of heartsickness caused by military failure. His entire demeanor suddenly changed to one of softness and understanding.
“Listen, kid, forget that crackup,” he said, in a warm manner of friendship, putting his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “I know you want to fly, and you’ll get your chance. Now, listen. You’re a clean guy. Don’t go down and get mixed up with a lot of rotten dames, it ain’t worth it and you’re not foolin’ no one but yourself. Keep decent, that’s the thing to do! Everything is bound to turn out all right!”
Lefty listened to this advice attentively, though he refrained from looking up.
Panama waited a moment for some sort of response but there was none forthcoming.
“Come on, kid, don’t be a sap and ruin all your chances because you happen to be in the dumps just now!”
This entreaty had no more effect upon the boy than the others. He continued to sit on the edge of the cot without speaking, gazing at the floor as he toyed with the papers he was holding in his hands.
“Lefty, you ain’t goin’ down there, are you, kid?” Panama questioned with deep concern. “What do you say, soldier? You ain’t goin’ to that filthy joint and get in a jam with a lot of dirty, brown-skinned molls what ain’t worth it, are you?”
The boy brushed Panama’s hand from off his shoulder, rose and without offering a reply, dropped his hat on the cot behind him and slowly unbuttoned his coat, making no attempt to conceal his adversity to this procedure.
Panama, in turn, was overjoyed over the boy’s easy submission to his will and began an attempt to lift him out of the dumps by pulling off his tie and mussing his hair. Lefty held out as long as he could, then unable to continue his indifference toward the man whom he loved as a brother, he responded to the sergeant’s rough-house foolery by knocking off Panama’s hat and pulling his tie.
This was exactly the state of mind Williams had been striving to pull the boy into and he went for Lefty with all of the playful enthusiasm he possessed. In a moment, the two men were rolling over the floor, in typical soldier fashion, laughing lustily as they pulled at each other’s clothes.
After he had forcibly undressed the boy and once more brought him around to his usual happy frame of mind, Panama rose, breathing hard, his cheeks flushed from the friendly encounter and his eyes flashing with enthusiasm.
“You got me in a fine shape to see my girl,” he said as he began to straighten out his ruffled uniform and brush back his hair.
Lefty picked up a shoe and threw it at him with Williams just ducking in time as he picked up his hat and ran out. In a moment he was back again, watching the boy straighten things up around the tent.
“You ain’t goin’ out, are you, kid?”
“Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t?”
“Sure, only I wanted to be positive, that’s all,” Panama explained with a ring of apology in his voice. “Guys like us, trying to be somebody in this here flyin’ racket, shouldn’t bother with women anyway.”
“I guess you’re right,” Phelps agreed, though secretly amused.
“Sure I am!” Panama reiterated, and then remembering what he came back into the tent for, asked somewhat sheepishly, “say, you ain’t got five bucks till pay day, have you?”
“Sure!” Lefty replied, reaching into his wallet and bringing forth a bill. “What do you want it for?”
Panama was at first reluctant to reply as Lefty watched him, amusedly, then at length, after pocketing the money, he managed to say: “Well—er—I don’t like to meet Elinor when I’m broke. You know how it is with the dames—they get such a funny idea of a guy when he ain’t got any dough. Play safe, that’s my motto, kid!”
Panama arrived at the field hospital just a few minutes after Elinor, tired of waiting, had left.
One of the nurses informed him that if he hurried, he might catch up with her before she reached the women’s barracks.
Without a word, he ran through the narrow streets of tents, out on to the main road that led into town. Just ahead of him, he spied the trim, silhouetted figure of the nurse, strolling along in the moonlight.
It was a beautiful tropical night, and the silver-white clouds in the sky and the full, warm moon casting its pure, white light over the black tops of the silent, old Spanish Mission, built hundreds of years before, filled the heart of the soldier with a romantic fervor. His pulse quickened and his step became more buoyant. It was a perfect setting for the scene he had hoped to enact with Elinor that night.
Here was a man and a woman, alone in a great, intoxicating world of warmth and romance, walking in the shadows of an old, ancestral Mission, the walls of which had looked down upon similar romantic episodes enacted by great Spanish grandees and their ladies, long centuries before.
As he ran breathlessly to catch up with the girl, he thought, “If she will respond to this night and background as I have, the rest will be easy.”
“Elinor, wait a moment,” he shouted.
The girl stopped just before the old Mission gate and waited for Panama, now only a few feet away.
“I thought you had forgotten about me,” she said, holding out her hand which the sergeant grasped eagerly as he reached her side.
“Forget about you? Oh, Elinor, I—I couldn’t ever do that! You see, I only landed a few minutes before Steve told me you were here and——”
“I understand,” she interrupted. “It was selfish of me to ask you to meet me when you must be dead to the world.”
Panama smiled sheepishly as he looked down, conscious of the fact that he was still holding her hand in his. They both felt a trifle uncomfortable when Elinor, emitting a nervous, apologetic laugh, released her hand.
“I’m never too tired to see you,” he said softly. “Besides, I wasn’t a bit anxious to hit the hay anyway.”
He hesitated for a moment and then, summing up enough courage, took her arm as they started down the road past the Mission gate.
“Look at that moon, Panama!” Elinor exclaimed exultantly. “Isn’t it romantic?”
His heart beat faster by leaps and bounds. He thought that now surely was the moment to take her in his arms and whisper all of the things he had been planning to tell her during the six months, but as usual, words failed him and he merely nodded his head, saying, “Yeah, it is sorta nice, ain’t it?”
She sighed deeply and Panama believed she was impatient, waiting for him to speak, though inwardly, she was longing for someone else, a tall, indifferent, handsome boy whose image filled her heart with a million yearnings since the day she had first met him.
They had been walking for more than fifteen minutes with the Marine sergeant remaining inarticulate as ever. Finally Elinor broke the silence by asking where he was taking her.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied in a characteristic, blunt fashion. “Any place, it doesn’t matter!”
“Let’s walk down by the tents,” she suggested, hoping that if they went in that direction, Lefty might make a sudden appearance.
“Aw, no,” Williams objected, hoping to keep her on the lonely road so that when he regained his lost courage, there would be no intruders to interrupt their romance. “Let’s keep on goin’ this way, the—er—the scenery is much nicer!”
He stole a sidelong glance at her, fearing that she might further protest to their continuing along the Mission road, but she didn’t speak. Her arm found its way into his and he felt a peculiar sensation up and down his spine.
“Gee, this is swell, ain’t it, Elinor?”
“What is?”
His face flushed a vivid crimson and he was thankful to a dark night for hiding his excited emotions. “Why—er—everything,” he stammered, “the moon and—er—well, everything!”
Just over beyond the Mission, some natives were chanting dreamy Spanish songs of love to the accompaniment of strumming guitars.
“Listen to that lovely music!” Elinor exclaimed, completely enthralled. “It’s all so—so perfectly beautiful!”
“Just like a storybook, ain’t it?” was Panama’s description.
“You’ve spent a lot of time in the tropics, haven’t you, Panama?”
“Three years at the Canal, a year and a half in Haiti and now back here for the second time,” he replied in a dreamy manner. “I think it’s great! This part of the world is just like apple pie to me!”
“Do you like apple pie?” Elinor asked for want of something better to say.
“Sure, when it’s homemade! Don’t you?”
Elinor struggled to suppress a giggle, and with a sombre look, replied, “Why, yes—surely—I guess everybody does.”
“My mother made swell pie,” he explained. “You don’t get much of that sort of thing knockin’ around in this racket. Sometimes I sorta want to quit it all and get a regular job where I can have a home and——”
“Yes, I understand,” she interrupted. “Men want that kind of a life after a certain age, don’t they, Panama?”
“I don’t know about that,” he said, a trifle piqued at her mention of his advancing years, “I ain’t so old!”
She gasped slightly, realizing that she had hurt him by her thoughtless remark and hurried to explain, “Why, of course you’re not! What I meant was——”
“Oh, it’s all right, I don’t mind,” he said. “I don’t mind anything you say!”
They had reached the end of the road by this time, and Panama took the girl’s arm, turning off to the right, making sure that they would take the longest way back to camp.
Just ahead of them was the thatched roof hut of a native family, no different from hundreds of others that dotted the landscape throughout that section of the country.
A proud young mother sat on the doorstep, nursing a dark-skinned infant. As the Marine and the girl approached, she looked up at them and smiled, showing two rows of white, pearly teeth. Panama left the road and walked over to the hut, picking the baby up in his arms as Elinor followed after him.
“Gee, I get a great kick out of all kinds of babies!” he announced with enthusiasm, looking over his shoulder at Elinor, who was standing just behind him. “Do you like kids?”
She nodded her head in affirmation and gently patted the little fellow. “My, but he’s a cute little rascal!”
The hard-boiled sergeant kissed the infant and, with much concern, handed it back to the anxious mother, also taking a coin from his pocket and placing it in the baby’s small hand.
As they started back toward the road, Williams pulled a tropical flower from a bush, and gave it to the girl.
“These flowers remind me of a barber shop,” he explained, at loss to think of a more appropriate comparison, “only they’ve got cologne beat all hollow, ain’t they?”
Elinor’s intuition warned her that it was time to sidetrack Panama’s flow of romantic thoughts and crude manner of expression, so she conveniently changed the trend of conversation by asking about Lefty in an assumed manner of indifference.
“He’s fine and tickled pink with his first taste of campaign duty!” Williams replied.
“Are you living together?”
“Sure thing! We’re pals! Say—listen to that music now. Ain’t it grand?”
She walked a little ahead of him, completely enveloped with the magic of the dreamy, tropical music, listening ecstatically, unmindful of the nervous state Panama was in as he fumbled for the diamond ring through his pockets.
He finally discovered it and brought it out, half hiding it as he struggled to gain enough courage to broach the subject he had promised himself to bring up that night.
As he stopped to rehearse the words over again in his mind, Elinor turned about suddenly and faced him.
“Tell me, Panama, how is Lefty coming along?”
Her sudden manner of direct approach startled him so, that he dropped the ring from his hand and without looking to see where it fell, stammered, “Oh—er—Lefty? Oh, yeah, he’s fine! Sure, he’s over in camp now, workin’!”
He hated to search for the lost ring while Elinor was watching, though he couldn’t very well afford to lose it. Intensely embarrassed, he began to look about the ground as the girl watched him, keenly amused.
“Did you drop something?” she asked.
“No, well, yes—but it’s nothing,” he fabricated, lighting a match and dropping to his knees to search the path more thoroughly, “I’ll find it in a minute.”
Her expression changed to one of interest as she dropped down beside him, helping in the search for whatever the lost object might be.
“Please don’t bother, Elinor,” he begged as he looked up and found her beside him. “Really, it ain’t much and I know just where it dropped.”
Just then, her eyes fell upon a small, sparkling object a few inches from where she was resting on her knees. She reached forward and picked up the ring in her hand, unnoticed by Panama who was still delving into the grass by the roadway.
She rose to her feet and looked at the small diamond, suddenly struck by the realization that he had brought her all the way out here, hoping to gain enough courage to propose. Her eyes softened and she gazed down at Panama tenderly, shaking her head as she sympathized with the man over the futility of his hopes just as she pitied herself over her own failure to win Lefty.
“Panama,” she said sweetly, with a ring of tolerance in her voice.
The man turned about, fumbling nervously with his hands as he noticed the telltale object she was holding in the palm of her outstretched hand.
“Is this what you’ve been looking for?” she asked, pretending to be ignorant of the ring’s true purpose.
“Why, yeah—sure!” he replied, clumsily bringing himself to his feet again and unable to look at her. “I—er—I can’t imagine how it could have fallen out of my pocket!”
“The way we came, past the Mission,” she asked, “that’s the shortest road back, isn’t it?”
“Oh, sure, if you want to go that way,” he announced, putting the ring away in the pocket of his blouse, glad to once more have it out of sight.
“I—I think we’d better,” she said, “I’ve had a long trip and——”
“I understand, and I’m pretty tired now, anyway,” he interrupted, turning about and leading her back the way they had come, still conscious of the faux pas he made regarding the engagement ring, “You know somethin’?”
“What?”
“That ring I lost—” he stammered. “Well, I bought that for—er—my aunt!”
“You don’t say?” Elinor replied, assuming an attitude of complete ignorance. “When did you buy it?”
“Oh—er—before I left Pensacola, I think.”
“As long ago as that?” she asked. “Why, I should think you would have sent it to her by this time.”
“Yeah, I should have, only—well—I just don’t seem to find the time!”
“Then supposing you give me her address and I’ll send it for you,” she suggested mischievously. “If you carry it around with you, you may lose it.”
Panama’s cheeks flushed and he bit his lips, looking at Elinor appealingly and wondering to himself what kind of a jam he was in for now.
“No—I—er—I’ve kept it so long and—well—I guess we’ll he goin’ back soon and——”
“Sergeant Williams!” he heard a familiar voice call, and looking just ahead, saw Steve Graham running toward them.
Though he had never liked this product of the San Francisco pool parlors, at that particular moment, he welcomed the boy’s arrival with open arms, knowing that the intrusion would relieve him of having to make further explanations regarding the ring.
“What do you want, Graham?”
The boy came up alongside of them and seeing Elinor, touched the peak of his cap with his hand as she smiled in acknowledgment.
“Can I see you for a minute, sergeant?”
Panama excused himself and left the girl standing alone as he and Steve walked a little to the side of the row, entering into earnest conversation.
“That mechanic of yours left camp all dolled up in his dress uniform,” the corporal explained. “He was headed for the Cantina and I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Elinor couldn’t help but overhear what Steve had said and, as she thought of Lefty, mixed up with a lot of native women in a local barroom, helpless under the intoxicating influence of bad liquor, her blood ran cold and her face became chalk white.
“If the military police find out where he’s gone,” Steve went on to explain, “you know where he’ll land!”
Panama’s eyes narrowed and he bit his lips, inwardly furious over Lefty’s blunt disobedience in the face of all that had happened back in the tent.
“Run along, Graham,” he told the boy, in a manner of dismissal, “and forget about what you saw. I’ll have him back in half an hour if I got to drag him!”
Steve grinned with understanding and bowing slightly to Elinor, ran back, up the road to camp, satisfied that he had done his duty by God, country and the Marine Corps.
Elinor stood twitching her fingers from nervousness, waiting for Panama to do something, but as the sergeant continued to remain motionless, merely looking after the disappearing Graham, she came over to his side and tugged at the sleeve of his blouse.
“I couldn’t help but hearing,” she said. “Is Lefty in trouble?”
Panama turned and looked down at her, still livid with rage over the mechanic’s insubordination.
“I told that fool to stay in camp,” he roared. “He’s goin’ to learn who’s boss around here and do as he’s told!”
Fearful for the boy’s safety and worried that his escapade might send him to a military prison, thus ruining any possible chance of winning his wings in the future, she held the angered sergeant’s arm tightly and pleaded: “Don’t be too hard on him, Panama; he doesn’t understand!”
“I’ve got to bring him back or he’ll land in the brig,” Williams explained, his voice softening as he once more became the man and not the hard-boiled sergeant. “You won’t mind, will you?”
Barely able to conceal her personal concern over Lefty’s welfare, she fairly pushed Panama forward, urging him on his way, feeling that there wasn’t a minute to be lost.
“Never mind me,” she said, “I can find my way back alone, only please hurry and get him!”