The Old Breed

Chapter 24

The Blockhouse, Peleliu

September 16th, 1944

"Lift on three. One, two, three!"

I lifted up my end of the stretcher, Lanky on the other side, the injured Marine groaning, the sudden movement causing pain.

"Don't worry, Marine. You're going home." I said, trying to soothe him, only depressing myself. I almost wished I was the one on the stretcher, didn't want to be here, was afraid it would end differently for me, that I would end up in a coffin.

We carried the stretcher forwards, towards an amtrac that had somehow made its way up, the tracks allowing it to overcome some of the smaller chunks of coral, what the wheeled vehicles couldn't. Its engine was still growling, the amtrac obviously not planning on staying long. The driver and codriver were up out of the cab, poking through the openings, the driver leaning back, shirtless, wearing a helmet with no cover, smoking. The dog tags hanging down from his neck gleamed in the burning sun. His bare chest gleaned too, a thin sheen of sweat. He wasn't the only one, other Marines taking off shirts, some tearing away sleeves, the heat rising, jumping above hundred degrees even before noon. I left my uniform intact, knew that it was the only layer of protection for my skin if I had to hit the deck. Pretty lousy layer of protection at that, but more than just my skin. Helmets became ovens quickly, my head burning under mine. The men who hadn't put helmet covers on had found quickly that the sun heated up the bare steel to blazing temperatures, burning hands that touched them. The sweat had come earlier this morning, coming from places I didn't know sweat could come from, the day so blazing hot, but the it was gone now. I had initially been happy by this, my happiness dashed by a corpsman who'd come around, warning us of the signs of dehydration. Lack of sweat was one of those. But we hadn't been resupplied yet, the water gone quickly, nothing left, mouths drying out quickly, visions blurring at the edge, sweat coming and going. And no one knew when we'd be resupplied.

Lanky and I climbed up the back of the amtrac, this one with a back ramp, set the stretcher down besides another. The other stretcher had another man in it, quiet, still, no poncho over him, still alive. I looked him over quickly, saw no visible wounds, looked up at the corpsman inside the amtrac, walking between the stretchers, administering care, asked him, "What's wrong with him, Doc?"

The corpsman, on a knee besides one patient, a man with a bloody bandage on his arm, looked up at me quickly, tired, his eyes bloodshot, his work obviously not having stopped since landing. "Heat exhaustion. You feel it, I definitely do. It's hot as hell out here. Without water, men are starting to go down without firing a shot."

"When do we get water?"

The corpsman shook his head. "Should be another Alligator on its way up with supplies. Think it's coming this way. Hopefully, for your case."

He went back to work, changing the wounded Marine's bandage, the man crying out, the pain obvious in his face. The corpsman mumbled something incomprehensible to the man. I turned to Lanky, understood that the conversation was done, the tall Marine standing up, stepping down the ramp, and I followed him. Stepping out to the side of the amtrac, I put a hand over my eyes, looked forwards, toward the still smoking blockhouse. There was a large clearing around the blockhouse, Marines milling about in the sand, scattered groups, different units coinciding. I looked to the left of clearing saw a few more stretchers, other Marines following the orders of an officer, bringing the stretchers over to the amtrac. To the right, I saw a 60mm mortar team digging in. The crew, three men, were digging the base plate into the sand, setting up the tube, one man judging distances through a special piece. Another crew was already set up, doing a few fire missions, the shells bursting from the tube with a loud whoomph, exploding somewhere in the distance.