The Old Breed

Chapter 33

Pavuvu

October 2nd, 1944

"You've gotta be kiddin' me!" Rocky exclaimed, leaning over the bow rail, binoculars held firmly against his eyes.

"What?" Lanky responded, leaning forward to try and see what Rocky was talking about.

"It is here again!"

Nelson, with a hint of annoyance, said, "Rocky, where the hell is here?"

He grumbled, pulled the binoculars down from his eyes. "Our favorite crab infested hellhole."

Pavuvu. The island that lived and breathed crabs, coconuts, heat, and work. Trying to look on the bright side, I thought about how we'd already set up our tent city, removed most of the coconuts, paved coral roads, and finished most of the maintenance, so we'd have less work this time, more time available to use for leisure. But thinking about Hawaii's bars, beaches, girls, and lively views helped put aside that little bubble of positivity, turning me grouchy. I wasn't the only one.

"Aw come on, let me see. You can't be serious, after what we went through, it's got to be Hawaii, right?"

A real young Marin said that, and Nelson stared incredulously at him. Nelson pointed at the low squat island poking its way over the horizon, said, also incredulously, "You think that's Hawaii?"

The Marine seemed to draw into himself, said in a low voice, "No?"

Nelson turned, looked at me, shook his head, the invisible message. He whispered, "Damn replacements. Can't even tell their own geography let alone go live and fight on these places."

I wanted to tell Nelson that none of us had known anything about Peleliu or the other islands we'd fought at, but kept the thought to myself.

"Wow," Lanky breathed, handing the binoculars to someone else while pointing out towards the island. "Now that's a lot of boats."

"Ships," Sergeant Nelson corrected. "Boats are small enough to be carried on a larger vessel, while ships are the vessels that carry boats. And those could not be carried by ships."

They were talking about the large freighters squatting in the water around Pavuvu, a few destroyers mingled between them. The ones empty of freight were floating high on the water, the filled ones hanging a lot lower. I scanned the large cranes protruding from their decks, the hodgepodge of wires and ropes, the same gray coloring as every Navy ship. Only one ship stood out, painted a stark white, a converted merchant vessel, bright red crosses on the bow and stern. A hospital ship. I knew that some medical ships carried women nurses, played with the idea of if there were any women on the island. It was quite possible.

"All hands to your stations. Prepare for docking." blared the loudspeaker, reaching over the voices of us Marines.

Sergeant Nelson clapped me on the back, started moving forward, saying, "Get your gear, Bishop, we're moving out."

"C'mon, Bish, that's us!" Lanky said loudly, patting me on the shoulder, pushing me forwards.

"Alright, alright," I responded, swinging my bulky sea bag over my shoulder. Lanky laughed, shouted, "Dry land, oh thank God!"

We crossed through a hatch into one more small passageway and, past the heads of more Marines, another hatch was open, daylight streaming in. Lanky pushed me forward some more, using me as a battering ram against the tide of people. Lanky's plan of attack worked, and while we butted our way to the front of the line, I got all the angry stares and curses while Lanky just kept down behind me. There were two sailors guarding the hatch and they only stared at us as we pushed our way through, the daylight glorious, bright to my eyes, used to the our dimly lit quarters.