Meat Grinder Hill Page 5

  “I know we just got here. Let's take our clothes off.”

  “What's the hurry?”

  “I wanna go back to see the movie.”

  Wanda groaned. “Frankie, you're awful.” He reached over and unbuttoned the top button of her khaki blouse. “Lemme see your tits, baby.”

  She slapped his hand away. “Frankie!”

  “What's the matter?”

  “Slow down.”

  “What for?”

  “You're going too fast.”

  “Hey, c'mon. It ain't like this is the first time we're gonna do it.”

  She looked at him with annoyance. “You were so romantic at first, but you're not romantic at all anymore.”

  Frankie realized he wouldn't get anything unless he played it her way, so he decided to cool it. “Okay, okay.” He decided he'd have a cigarette and chat for a while, then go to work on her slowly. If he missed the movie, there'd be other movies.

  “Want one?” he asked, holding out his pack to her.

  “Thank you.”

  He lit them both with his Zippo. “Nice night, isn't it?”

  She looked at him and wrinkled her brow. “You know, Frankie, you're really a terrible person.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You don't care about me at all.”

  “That's not true! Would I be here with you if I didn't care about you?”

  “Yes, because you'll do anything to get laid.”

  “Well, what else is there to do?”

  “Sometimes it's nice just to be with somebody else. You don't have to have sex.”

  “Who don't have to have sex?” Frankie asked.

  “People don't.”

  “Bullshit, and let me tell you, there are a lot of nurses on this island who'd give their left tits to be with me right now, but I'm with you because I like you best.”

  “That's a lie and you know it.”

  “It is not a lie!”

  “Yes, it is, but I'll believe it because I want to.” She looked out the window at the palm trees and, beyond them, at the half-moon in the sky. She knew Frankie was just using her, but he was so sexy that she didn't care. She'd never had so many boyfriends in her life since becoming an Army nurse and was realistic enough to understand that that was because the GIs had such limited choice among women. A man like Frankie La Barbara never would look at her twice back in Toledo.

  “I feel bad,” Frankie said. “You think I'm a heel. Maybe I should drive you back to the base.”

  “Since we're here, we might as well stay here.”

  Frankie went limp behind the wheel and looked unhappy. She knew he was trying to get her sympathy, and it was working. He was handsome enough to be a movie star, exept there always was something nasty and evil on his face, and that's the part that really turned her on.

  She bent toward him and kissed his cheek. “God, you're really something.”

  He didn't move a muscle. “No, you don't have to do that. It's okay. We can just talk.”

  “You bastard,” she said, nuzzling his neck. “You know you've got me where you want me.”

  He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and grabbed her, squeezing her soft, full body, pressing his lips against hers and sticking his tongue in. She let him push her down in the front seat, and he kissed her cheeks and chin, becoming intoxicated by her sweet fragrance and brushing his lips against hers again, licking them with her tongue.

  “Am I going too fast?” he asked, tantalizing her.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “There's not a helluva lot of room in this car. Let's get the blanket and go into the woods.”

  “Don't move. Just stay where you are for a few moments.” Frankie counted to three, then slapped her ass. “Okay, let's go”

  He got out of the car, took the blanket from the backseat, then went around to her side and opened the door.

  She stepped out and looked at the moonlight on the palm trees. He took her hand and led her into the woods, stopping at the first clearing and laying out the blanket. Then he stood and looked at her.

  “Frankie,” she said, “you really do kind of like me, don't you? I mean, you're not just doing this for the sex, are you?”

  “I don't like you baby,” Frankie said. “I love you.”

  “You don't mean that.”

  “No?”

  He moved toward her and squeezed her against him, covering her face with kisses. His hands roved up and down her back and grabbed her meaty haunches, while he thrilled to the touch of her gigantic breasts against his shirt. Feeling dizzy, her knees gave way, and Frankie lowered her gently to the ground. She lay with her eyes closed, and he unbuttoned the front of her blouse, uncovering her brassiere, which stuck out like two torpedoes. Frankie bent down and bit one of the peaks.

  “You got the best tits in the world,” he told her.

  She shivered as he chewed on the end of her boob and worked his hands underneath to unsnap the strap. She raised herself an inch to help him and the strap came loose. Frankie pushed her bra up, baring her huge breasts, and buried his face in them, lapping and slobbering, kissing and sucking the nipples. Wanda squirmed and felt juicy. She ran her fingers through Frankie's thick black hair and saw the moon through half-closed eyes. Her nipples extended and became hard under the pressure of his tongue. His left hand steadied one breast while his right pulled up her skirt, his fingers seeking that soft spot between her legs, sneaking in underneath the legband of her underpants, and burrowing into the hot, moist flesh.

  She arched her back and moaned, Frankie, nearly suffocated by tits, figured she was about ready. He sank his middle finger into her whirlpool and she moaned, moving her head from side to side on the blanket. It was greasy and hot in there, the magic spot he craved. He wiggled his finger around and raised his face until it was level with hers.

  “You're hot stuff, baby,” he said through a throat constricted with raw animal lust. He pulled his finger out a bit and twiddled her gumdrop.

  She spread her legs and closed her eyes, and he knew the time had come to get her clothes off before she changed her mind. In lightning movements he pulled down her skirt and underpants, showing her thick, firm legs and the wispy brown curls where they formed a juncture. Then he took off her blouse and brassiere while she kicked off her shoes. Frankie jumped up like a rabbit, tore off his shirt, and leaped out of his pants, but his shoes were still on and they'd stay on because he didn't want to waste any time taking them off.

  He looked down at her; she was like a big healthy nymph of the forest, all pink and smooth, soft as marshmallow and heaven to touch. He lowered himself on top of her, laying his prong on her belly, and she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly to her and pursing her lips.

  He kissed her, and her lips tasted like wild raspberries. Women's saliva always tasted like ambrosia to him once he got them aroused. He slurped inside her mouth with his tongue, and she slurped back, saliva dripping down their chins, both getting a little crazy. Frankie grabbed his flaming, throbbing dork, wiggled his hips, and touched it to the delicate petallike lips between her legs.

  She made a soft high-pitched animal noise as he worked it up and down against those wonderful gooey lips, and she raised her ass off the ground to bring him more deeply into her. He pulled his equipment away.

  “I think maybe we're going too fast,” he said.

  “You bastard.”

  “Maybe we should talk a while.”

  “Don't do this to me.”

  “Sometimes I get the feeling you only want me for sex.” She looked into his eyes. “Frankie, if you continue to tease me like this, I'll kill you.”

  “Well, I guess I wouldn't want you to do that,” he said with a grin as he slid it in all the way.

  The tingles and tickles and twitches were so good she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming out loud. Frankie rested for a few moments, letting it soak, and then kissed her, pushing his tongue deep in her mouth, almost against
her throat, while his cock pulsated inside her softest, most tender place. Then he pulled out, paused, and shoved it in again. She squirmed and whimpered; he could tell that she liked it.

  “Pretty good, huh?” he asked in a whisper.

  She nodded.

  He plunged in again, working her slowly at first so he could build up to a crescendo at the end. She wagged her hips from side to side and raised her knees in the air as he invaded her premises first from the left and then from the right, charging from the top and withdrawing from the bottom. Their lips clashed passionately, and she scratched her fingernails across his back.

  Oh, boy, Frankie thought wildly, pumping away, if only the guys could see me now.

  Betty Crawford returned to her ward to check the orderlies and see how her sickest patients were doing before she went to the movies. First she went to the nurses’ station to see if there were any messages for her, and then she strolled through the ward to make sure that everything had been done that needed to be done, because her orderlies were regular GIs and they had a tendency to goldbrick.

  She stepped outside to look at the lawn and saw a bulky figure sitting in the distance, a faint red glow coming from the vicinity of one of his hands. She'd figured he'd be there, because that's where he spent most of his time, just staring off into the distance and thinking about something; she often wondered what.

  She felt uncomfortable and wrinkled her brow, because she knew in her heart that she'd returned to the ward basically to see him; she was off duty after all, and she'd never checked up on things so much before he became a patient of hers. She didn't know what to think of him; he was so strange, so obviously embittered.

  She walked toward him, her feet moving almost by themselves. If I were silly like some of the other girls around here, I might think I had a crush on him, but it's only a matter of one person finding another person interesting. She had to tell herself this because she was engaged to marry a young lieutenant on General George Patton's staff in North Africa, a man she'd met at UCLA when they were students.

  She approached him from the left, and he turned around and looked at her.

  “Hi, Sergeant Butsko,” she said cheerily, “How're you feeling tonight?”

  He groaned. “I guess you just caught me smoking again.”

  She waved her hand. “Oh, that's all right. You're mending well. I guess it's okay if you smoke now. I can't seem to stop you anyway.”

  Butsko puffed his cigarette and grinned. “You're a good nurse. You're not a pain in the ass like some of the others.”

  “Aren't you going to the movie?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don't feel like it.”

  “James Cagney and Joan Blondell are in it.”

  “So what?”

  She held her hands behind her back. “Don't you ever get tired of just sitting here?”

  “Yeah, but there's nothing else to do.”

  “You could go to the movies.”

  “Movies are stupid.”

  “They're a distraction at least.”

  “I don't need any distractions. I don't have anything that I wanna run away from.”

  “Don't you want to forget the war?” she asked softly. “Don't you get tired of it?”

  “Yeah, I'm tired of it. I'm so tired of it, you wouldn't believe it.”

  “Then come to the movies with me?” Suddenly she realized what she said and was glad it was dark, so he wouldn't see her blushing.

  He looked up at her, his face immobile. “I don't wanna see the movie. Maybe later I'll take a walk.”

  She almost said, Can I go with you? but bit her tongue. “Do you feel well enough?”

  “Yeah, I been feeling pretty good lately.”

  “Well, I wish you'd go to the movie. I think it'd do you good.”

  Butsko shrugged. Betty wanted to stay and talk with him, but he might think it odd. “Well, I'll be seeing you,” she said.

  “Right.”

  “Have a nice walk.”

  “Yeah.”

  She turned and walked off across the lawn, putting her hands in the pockets of her khaki trousers, feeling perplexed. She was afraid he might suspect that she liked him and take it the wrong way. I basically treat him like everybody else, more or less, she told herself. I'm friendly with all my patients.

  But she had to admit to herself that she'd never invited one of them to go to the movies before, and she didn't particularly like James Cagney or Joan Blondell either, but she was going out of boredom, like everybody else on the base. Everybody else except Sergeant Butsko.

  There's something about him that I like, she thought as she passed between two barracks. I really wonder what it is.

  FOUR . . .

  The recon platoon moved out early in the morning, an hour before dawn. They passed easily through the American forward positions and entered no-man's-land, with Longtree on the point and the rest of the platoon following. Bannon and his runner, DelFranco, were about halfway back.

  The molten tropical sun was just below the horizon, making the eastern sky red and casting a hellish glow onto the jungle. The platoon moved forward stealthily, aware that Japanese suicide patrols could be all around them, sighting in for the kill.

  On the point Longtree was glad to be getting away from the regiment for a while, because he couldn't stand the chickenshit. He heard a sound in the bushes ahead and froze, holding up his hand. The rest of the platoon stopped behind him. He got down on his stomach, and so did everyone to the rear. It could be a wild pig or a bird or a land crab, or it could be the Jap who would send Longtree to the Happy Hunting Ground. Long-tree inched forward as silently as a snake. He heard the sound again; it was coming from the underbrush to the right of the road. He crawled off the trail and into the foliage, then was swallowed up by the treeline.

  It was like being in a strange green world tinged with red. Birds chirped and monkeys chattered high in the trees. But the sound he'd heard had been on the ground. He hoped it wasn't a lost wandering crocodile, because there were a lot of them on Guadalcanal too.

  He heard the sound again and crawled toward it, making no sound himself. The noise became more distinct as he moved forward; then he peeked around a tree and saw them: two land crabs fucking next to a boulder. Longtree didn't know whether to be angry or amused. He decided to get the hell out of there. Standing up, he turned to walk back to the trail, when he heard the snick of metal. He'd never heard land crabs, whether fucking or not, make a sound like that.

  He dropped to the ground again just as a bullet cracked over his head and slammed into a tree behind him.

  "Japs in here.!” he screamed.

  Back on the trail Bannon didn't know if it was one Jap or a hundred Japs, but there was only one way to find out. “Into the woods!” he hollered, waving his arm. “Keep your heads down!”

  The recon platoon was like a well-oiled machine as it fanned out and entered the woods. Meanwhile, Longtree strained his eyes trying to see where the shot had come from. Maybe it was an American patrol returning.

  "Who goes there!” Longtree said.

  A fusillade of rifle fire erupted from the woods in front of Longtree, all the bullets flying over his head. The Japs were firing at the rest of the recon platoon entering the woods, but the GIs were keeping their heads low, and at the first sound of the fusillade they were down on their stomachs.

  "Can anybody see them?” Bannon asked.

  "They're someplace in front of me!” Longtree said.

  "First and Second squads, form a skirmish line on Longtree's left! Third and Fourth squads, form a skirmish line on Longtree's right!”

  "Where the fuck is Longtree?” Corporal Gomez asked, his left hand covered with a thick bandage.

  "Over here!” said Longtree.

  The squads moved into position, making a lot of noise. Longtree heard rustling in front of him and could perceive that the Japs were moving out. It sounded like there were five or six
of them. They probably figured they were outnumbered and it was best to get the hell out of there.

  "They're moving out!”

  "Keep your heads down!” Bannon shouted. Bannon crawled to where Longtree was. “Where were the Japs?” Bannon asked Longtree.

  Longtree pointed. “Over there. There were maybe five or six of them. I think they ran away.”

  “Maybe some left and some didn't. It might be a trap. We'll have to check. Everybody forward, but watch your asses!”

  In a long wave the recon platoon crawled across the moist, stinking floor of the jungle, through piles of rat shit and little stagnant pools full of mosquito larvae. Adult mosquitoes buzzed around their heads and bit their bare arms. Lizards scampered out of their way. Finally, Longtree and Bannon came to footprints in the muck.

  “This must be where they were,” Longtree said, examining the footprints. “Looks like they went that way.”

  “It still might be a trap. You'd better go up there and check it out.”

  Longtree nodded and crawled forward, his rifle cradled in his arms. Bannon motioned for DelFranco to join him with the walkie-talkie and the bazooka. DelFranco wiggled forward, lugging his equipment.

  “How're you doing?” Bannon asked, because DelFranco had never been out on patrol with the recon platoon before.

  “Okay.”

  “Stay close in case I need that radio.”

  "Yo.”

  Meanwhile, Longtree crawled more deeply into the jungle, and for all he knew a hundred Japs could be waiting for him to come. Why does it always have to be me who goes forward to check everything out? he thought. But he knew the answer. He was the best scout in the recon platoon—maybe the best in the entire regiment. None of the others really understood how to track an enemy. None of them had the ears or the eyes he had. He wouldn't feel safe if somebody else was on the point. He crawled deeper into the jungle, following impressions in the mud, torn leaves, scratches on the bark of trees.

  Bannon sat with his back against a tree, smoking a cigarette and waiting for Longtree to come back. DelFranco lay on the ground nearby with his head on his pack and his eyes closed. With his pointy nose, mustache, and receding chin, Bannon thought DelFranco looked something like a rodent.