Free The Long Patrol: World War II Novel by Chris Glatte

injury make it hard for him to move through the jungle? He thought he’d be fine sitting in a foxhole, but how would his wound feel if he was forced to walk and run on it? He guessed he’d find out soon enough.
    The jeep braked to a halt and the driver pointed, “There’s the CP, they’ll know where you belong.”
    O'Connor waved and approached the tent. He stuck his head in and a sergeant sitting behind a card table looked up at him, “What can I do for you?”
    O'Connor thought he recognized him, but couldn’t place his name. “Private O'Connor reporting for duty. I’m in 2nd squad, Baker Company.”
    The sergeant looked at him closer, “You the guy who took out those Japs heading for the aid station?”
    O'Connor looked down, “I wasn’t alone and why does everybody keep bringing it up?”
    “Yeah, Corporal Hooper was with you.” He looked sideways at him, “You mean you don’t know?” O'Connor only stared. “Those Japs were carrying satchel charges. The big sergeant had a diagram of the entire area and a big red X marked over the aid station. Those savages were gonna blow it up sure as shit, but you and Hooper stopped ‘em.”
    O'Connor felt embarrassed with the praise. The sergeant continued, “The LT’s not here, but I’m sure he’ll want you back with your squad.” He pointed, “2nds over there somewhere, maybe two hundred yards.” He grinned, “Just listen for Sergeant Carver’s voice, he’s always chewing someone out.”
    “Thanks Sarge.” O'Connor walked down the line of tents searching for his squad-mates. He recognized Private Troutman sitting outside drying his socks over a pathetic fire. “Hey, there you guys are.”
    Troutman looked up from his chore, “Well shit. Look who it is.” He leaned into the tent, “Red’s returned from the dead.”
    O'Connor punched Troutman’s arm as he entered the tent. The smell of rotting feet and sour bodies struck him. He’d only been gone a couple days, but they looked like different men. Someone grabbed him around the neck as he entered and gave him a noogie. “Welcome back, asshole.” It was Private Crandall, but he had a set of stripes on his arm, Corporal Crandall.
    O'Connor shucked him off, “Whoa, corporal huh? You must’ve blown the right guy.” Crandall punched him in the arm. “You guys miss me?”
    He went over and slung his gear onto an empty cot. “You guys are living in high style. Cots?”
    The man in the cot next to him pulled the sheet from his face, “They figured we needed a break after the other day.”
    The mood sobered as each man remembered the Japanese attack. O'Connor sat down and looked at the man. It was Dunphy. He looked like he’d lost weight and his skin was pale. He lit a cigarette and took a long pull. He blew smoke towards O'Connor. O'Connor nodded through the blue haze, “Yeah, I heard.”
    As dusk was descending there was another air raid siren. They rolled off their cots, grabbed their rifles and trotted to the slit trenches behind the tent line. The Japanese bombers normally attacked the airfield, but you never knew if they’d switch things up and go after the beach.
    O'Connor was next to Dunphy as the bombs dropped around Henderson. Dunphy lit a cigarette and offered O'Connor a puff. He took a long drag and blew it out. O'Connor stood up and put his head on the side of the hole. “The attack the other day…heard it was bad.”
    Dunphy didn’t respond at first. O'Connor let the time pass, he’d talk if he wanted to. O'Connor sat next to him. Dunphy blew smoke out his nose and nodded. “Yeah, bad as it gets I guess.” He kept smoking. It was all he was going to get out of him.
    ***
    Their sleep was interrupted one more time during the night by an artillery barrage, but it wasn’t aimed at them. At first light Sgt. Carver stormed into the tent and in his booming voice yelled for them to form up in ten minutes.
    They stood at parade rest with the rest of the company as Captain Blade