Another hand. “When the hell do you want these mothers made?”
Merchant grinned. “I was thinking a week ago. But, since the sun is beginning to set, I think tomorrow morning is a better idea. When we start, though, we’re going to work like hell and pretty much around the clock. In the meantime, we have a bunch of dead cows that have been carved into steaks, and a whole lot more beer, and unless anybody has any objections, let’s get started.”
Bear clutched his rifle and ducked as the grenade went off not more than fifty yards away. He looked up and laughed. “Another damned Jap just went to meet his ancestors.” The other men in his group smiled appreciatively, but nervously. When would the last Jap be dead?
Almost all the Japanese Alaskan force had been killed in the suicidal attack on Fairbanks, but a few hundred had been left behind for various reasons, usually involving their inability to move because of earlier injuries or illness. Clearing them out of their nests and hidey-holes was both time-consuming and dangerous. Maybe the Japanese remnants weren’t very mobile, but they were, as he liked to say, very hostile.
Rifle fire to his left made him duck again until he recognized the sound as that coming from an American Springfield.
“Got him,” someone yelled.
Good work, Bear thought. Once they cleared out all the Japs, Ruby could head back to her home at Anchorage. She said she had some things to clean out and then added that she thought she was through with the restaurant business. She’d told him she’d had enough of waiting on a bunch of drunken lechers who tried to paw her and then left lousy tips. She would stay with Bear. She told him it would be fun hibernating with him during the cold, snowy winter. He thought he would burn up a lot of firewood keeping it warm enough so they could romp naked, but decided it would be well worth it and, besides, Alaska had a lot of trees. Come summer they would worry about making a living and other long-term stuff.
More shots and this time he dropped to the ground. He recognized the sound of a Japanese rifle, followed by a rain of shots from Springfields. A moment later came the crump sound of a grenade going off, followed by yells from American soldiers. Another Japanese fanatic had decided to swallow a grenade. Jesus, he thought, what crazy people. Who would ever prefer death to surrender and living? Then he thought about the atrocities committed by the Japanese on American POWs and captured civilians and wondered just what he would do if confronted by the choice of dying or surrendering to Japanese mercies. Damn, he thought. What a hell of a way to run a war.
Farris had spent much of the time since he’d been wounded floating in and out of consciousness. He’d dreamed sometimes, and the dreams were often terrible. He kept seeing Stecher being blown up and then a montage of Japanese faces, their mouths open and all of them screaming that he should die. What was worse was that he couldn’t force himself to wake up, as he could as a kid with a nightmare. He’d heard people’s voices saying that they were keeping him sedated until his injuries had healed enough.
Injuries? What the hell were they talking about? He felt like he was underwater and trying to reach the surface. His mind strained and reached for the light. He opened his eyes and blinked. The room was dimly lit and he had trouble focusing. He looked around and saw another bed, but it was empty. The room was stark and sterile and obviously a hospital.
Then he realized he was looking through only his right eye. Oh Christ, he wondered, have I lost an eye?
He mumbled something and a man appeared and stuffed a drinking straw in his mouth. “Drink this. You’ve got to get yourself lubricated before you can talk properly.”
Farris did as he was told and the cold water was an elixir. “Drink all you want, buddy, just take it slowly. I don’t want to have to clean up your puke.”
With each successive swallow, he felt his strength returning. A distant memory recalled his aunt watering her potted plants and how some of them would perk up almost immediately. He decided that’s what he was, a house plant, a house plant with one eye.
Shit and double shit.
He tried to move and realized that his left arm wasn’t responding. He reached over with his right and found his left side was swathed in bandages. He gingerly checked his head and the left side of his face was also bandaged. Damn it, was anything working? He groped between his legs and was relieved to find that everything seemed at least present and accounted for in that department.
Another face appeared and this was clearly a doctor. His nametag said so. “I’m Doctor Greeley and you’re in a military hospital in Vancouver, British Columbia. You were wounded a couple of weeks ago and were flown down here for treatment once your wounds had stabilized. You are very lucky.”
“Am I blind?” Farris managed to say. His voice came out raspy and he wondered if he could be understood.
The doctor took a deep breath. “Not really and maybe not at all. Obviously you can see out of your right eye, but we are a little concerned about your left. We are also concerned about your left arm. We’re not totally certain what happened, but you may have lost some use of your left side as a result of being buried under a pile of bodies. Maybe you were pinned for too long and there was some nerve damage or other problems resulting from oxygen deprivation or something else we don’t quite understand. Tell me, do you recall what happened to you?”
Farris closed his eyes and tried to remember. At first it was snapshots, then he saw Japanese, like in a movie, screaming and yelling, and coming straight at him. Only this time it wasn’t a nightmare. Then he was inundated and buried under a pile of flesh.
“I remember,” he said. “I just wish I didn’t have to.”
“Good reasoning. But it does tell me that your mind is working and that is a very good sign.”
“If my mind worked all that well in the first place, I wouldn’t have gotten myself into this stupid situation. By the way, Doc, what am I doing in Canada?”
“Kindly recall, Lieutenant Farris, that Canada and the United States are allies, and that we Canadians have pretty good doctors and hospitals. We use anesthetics and some of us have been known to clean our hands and our surgical tools before operating, even though we’re not sure why,” he said with obvious sarcasm.
“Either that or we could have left you up north in the care of some well-meaning medics who would have called on an Eskimo shaman if they needed a second opinion. Which would you prefer?”
“I think I like it here. What happens next?”
“That’s somewhat up to you. Now that you are fully conscious and likely to stay that way, we are going to wean you off of morphine and then arrange for you to be flown south, either to San Francisco or San Diego. Not that it matters to the military, but do you have a preference?”
“San Diego, if you can arrange it. I have an uncle down there and maybe a girlfriend, a nurse, and she can maybe take care of me.”
Jesus, he thought. Would Sandy even want to see him if his arm was crippled and he had only one eye?
“Excellent choice. I’ll put you in for Kansas City and see what the army comes up with.”
“Doc, when I get out of this bed, you know I am going to have to kill you.”
Greeley smiled. “Ah, but you’ll have to catch me first, which would mean you are quite well indeed. By the way, you have some mail.” He handed Steve a thin bundle of letters and left.
After Greeley left, a male nurse took pity on his fumbling one-handed attempts to pry open the envelopes and did it for him. The first letter was from Colonel Gavin praising him for his bravery and hoping he would recover quickly. He was also being put in for a medal. Stecher was getting the Silver Star, posthumously, of course.