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

addressed them. “Men, the 164th is moving up the line to support the 1st Marines. We’re expecting the Japs to try another thrust from the east. We’re expecting them to run infantry supported by tanks up the coast road. That’s good tank country and we’re sure they still have em. The 1st Marines need assistance on their right flank and were going to provide it.” He let that sink in. “The rest of the day will be spent moving and digging in. Your sergeants will fill you in on the specifics.” He paced, “The Japs tested us and we rose and beat them back decisively, but they’ve still got a lot of fight left in ‘em. Have no doubt we’ll be in for more of the same. You men performed marvelously and I’ll expect the same in the coming weeks and months.” He put his hands on his hips and squared up, “That is all.”
    The sergeants dismissed them and they melted back to their tents to collect their gear. As they were packing, Private First Class Morgan said, “What’s with that guy? Is that really his name? I mean Captain Blade sounds like some comic book hero or something.”
    Corporal Hooper spoke up, “I don’t care if his name’s Captain Marvelous. He’s a good officer, cares about us. Can’t say the same about the LT.”
    Dunphy laughed, “Don’t get me started on that guy. Heard he never ventured from his hole during the attack, just cowered.”
    They collected their gear and went back to the main supply area to meet up with their transports. As they were standing beside the truck waiting to load, a man in white knee high socks, clean khaki shorts and shirt and a floppy jungle hat walked past holding his head high. The men watched him walk by, staring like he was something from another planet. Private Mcdougal in his flat Midwestern tone said, “Who in the hell is that?”

 
     
    CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
    Thomas Welch walked past the green clad soldiers with his chin held high. He’d show them how a proper Englishman carried himself even out here. He’d kept this clean change of clothes buried deep in his pack for this day. The day he came out of the bush and presented himself to the Americans.
    He sauntered up to a man with sergeant stripes and asked him in his heavily accented British, “Hallo, could you direct me to your commanding officer?”
    The sergeant unslung his Thompson submachine gun and squinted at him. He looked him up and down twice, “Who the hell are you?”
    Keeping his arms close to his sides he gritted his teeth, “That’s none of your business. I’d like to speak with your commanding officer. I have information he’ll want to discuss.”
    Not to be intimidated, Sgt. Carver growled, “If I’m taking you to the brass it sure as hell is my business.” He took a wide stance blocking his way.
    He harrumphed, “Very well, my name is Thomas Endicott Welch the Third. I’m a member of the British government, who happen to be your allies, and I’ve urgent news for your commanding officers.”
    “Wait here. You guys keep your eyes on him, don’t let him leave and don’t hurt him.” He spun and walked off towards the end of the truck line.
    As the minutes passed the men of the 2nd squad surrounded Thomas Welch and grinned. They stared at him like he was a prize cow at auction. The sight of someone not covered in grime was awe inspiring. O'Connor was the first to speak, “How could you come out of the jungle looking so clean?”
    Before he could reply, Sgt. Carver came trotting back and put his grimy hand on his clean shirt. “Come with me. Captain Blade and Lieutenant Caprielli will see you now.”
    Thomas took a look around at the men and gave a curt nod, “Very good. Lead on Sergeant.”
    Captain Blade and Lieutenant Caprielli were seated behind a makeshift desk made from oil barrels and a large plank of splintered wood.
    When Thomas Welch entered he gave a smart British style salute, palm facing them. The two officers looked at one another then returned his salute.