Satan's Cage Read online

  “What for I need somebody else?”

  Frankie walked toward her and the moonlight made her black hair sparkle. She had a shy but tantalizing smile and she fluttered her eyelashes. He couldn’t take his eyes off her large breasts; she was a tall girl with a healthy curvaceous figure. Her eyes were captivating. Frankie felt himself melting inside.

  He drew close to her and stopped inches away. “Where should we go for a walk?” he asked.

  She pointed to her right. “There.”

  She wore her skirt low on her waist, and it hung beneath her knees. She turned and walked away, and Frankie lagged back so he could take a look at her ass.

  Her skirt was made of thin cotton, and he could see the crack of her ass right down the middle. Her ass was round and meaty, but not pudgy or fat. He figured she was around eighteen years old but the old soldiers said it was difficult to say how old native women were because they matured faster than American women.

  She stopped and turned around. “Why you walk behind me?” she asked.

  “There’s not enough room on the trail for the both of us,” he lied.

  “Yes there is. Come here.”

  Frankie stepped forward and stood beside her.

  “See?” she said, looking up into his eyes.

  Her nipples were only three inches from his shirt, and he felt an overwhelming urge to grab her.

  “What happen to your nose?” she said.

  “My nose?” he replied, coming back to reality. He touched it with his index finger. “It got broke when I was fighting with Japs.”

  “Ah, you poor man,” she said. “But you very handsome anyway.”

  “I am?”

  “Oh yes.”

  She took his hand and led him down the trail. It twisted left and right and cut back on itself a few times, but finally they came to a small clearing next to a narrow stream.

  She turned to face him, still holding his hand. “Here,” she said.

  Frankie looked around. It was a nice quiet spot. Should I just grab her now? he wondered.

  “What you wait for?” she asked.

  Frankie wrapped his arms around her slim waist and leaned forward. She raised her face and their lips touched gently. A thrill shot through Frankie at the instant of contact. His knees went weak and he dropped to the ground. She fell on top of him, their lips still touching. He lowered his hands and squeezed her firm muscular ass. She ran her fingers through his hair and pecked his lips. He opened his mouth and their tongues touched, then entwined. She tasted like a fresh coconut, and he became dizzy. He pulled up her skirt so he could feel her ass without the intervention of her clothing; she wore no underwear. Her skin was smooth as satin. She ground her pelvis into his erection and he thought his balls would explode.

  He rolled her over onto her back and crawled on top of her, diving toward her breasts that lay before him like two melons. He opened his mouth wide and touched his tongue to her left nipple.

  “Ooohhh,” she said, and Frankie thought she sounded just like an American girl although she was from the jungles of New Guinea.

  Frankie kissed her breasts and rubbed his face in them like a wildman. He lifted her skirt and passed his finger through the slippery junction between her legs. She raised her knees and lowered them, trembling on the ground. He fastened his mouth on hers and stuck his tongue down her throat. She moaned and scratched her fingernails across the back of his shirt.

  I’d better put it to her before she changes her mind, Frankie thought. He reached down and unbuttoned his fly, pulling out his schlong. He took it in his hand and aimed it toward her rabbit patch.

  She stiffened. “No!” she said.

  “Whataya mean no?” he asked, and he was prepared to take her by force at that point.

  “No,” she repeated. “Take your clothes away first.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Sure.”

  He jumped to his feet and tore off his shirt. Then he sat down and untied his boots with trembling fingers. He pulled off his stinky socks and she wrinkled her nose.

  “You smell bad,” she said, unfastening her skirt.

  “I ain’t had a bath since I can’t remember when,” he replied.

  “Go to the stream there and wash yourself.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  Frankie was afraid she’d change her mind while he was washing himself, so he thought he’d better move fast. He stepped out of his pants and funky drawers and jumped into the stream, splashing around, lifting water in his cupped hands and spilling it over his body.

  “Do good job,” she said, arranging her skirt like a blanket on the ground.

  “Right,” he replied.

  The water was cool and refreshing. Frankie sat down in the stream and poked his thumbs and fingers between his toes, clearing out the gunk. He lifted water over his head and dropped it onto his hair. The water ran down his chest and over his legs. He lay down in the stream and rolled around in the water, letting it rush over him.

  “You have so many muscles,” she said.

  He came out of the water and knelt beside her, turning her onto her back. She raised her arms and looked up at him with her large glowing eyes. A smile played on her lips as he lowered himself and kissed her. Her skin felt warm and firm. His erection returned with a vengeance. She dug her fingernails into his back as he slipped it into her. She was juicy and tight inside, and she twisted like a serpent underneath him.

  He hugged her tightly and kissed her lips as he sank into her all the way. It was like getting laid for the first time because he hadn’t done it for so long, and only a little while ago he’d been machine-gunning Japs. This was so different, so magical, so wonderful. Frankie drew himself out and pushed himself in again. All his pent-up anger and frustration evaporated into the thin air. He felt the way he used to feel when he was back in New York City, a free man. It didn’t occur to him that a few short hours ago he’d been willing to risk the life of every native in the village, including the one underneath him, so he and his comrades could take the Japs by surprise.

  But that had been Frankie the soldier and Frankie the killer. Now he was Frankie the Casanova again, and that was all he ever really wanted to be.

  “I love you,” she whispered into his ear, hugging him tightly against her.

  “I love you too,” he replied, and he meant it as he held her ass in his hands and pumped her firmly, rocking and rolling on the floor of the jungle.

  SIX . . .

  A child laughed, and Lieutenant Breckenridge opened his eyes. He saw sunlight streaming through a window of the hut around the head of a boy five years old.

  “Morn-ing!” screamed the boy.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge grunted. He looked at his watch and it was 0835 hours. He and his men had gone to bed sometime after 0200 hours. It was time to wake the men up and get moving.

  “Everybody up!” he shouted. “Let’s go!”

  The men already were stirring. The boy’s voice had awakened them. The men burped and farted. Lieutenant Breckenridge counted bodies and realized one of his men was missing.

  “Somebody’s not here,” he said.

  Everybody looked around. Bannon saw a blank space beside him. “It’s Frankie.”

  “Is his gear gone?”

  “It’s still here, but his weapon’s gone.”

  “Maybe we’re lucky,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said. “Maybe he went AWOL. That’d be the best thing that could happen to the recon platoon. Eat your C rations and let’s go.”

  “Maybe somebody should go out and look for him,” Bannon said.

  “We don’t have time,” Lieutenant Breckenridge replied.

  “Can I cook up some of this coffee?” asked the Reverend Billie Jones.

  “Make it fast.”

  “Yes sir.”

  The Reverend Billie Jones collected instant coffee packets from the others and went outside to light a fire.

  “I gotta take a leak,” Shilansky said.

&nb
sp; “You don’t have to make any announcements,” Bannon told him.

  Shilansky stuck his head out of the hut, then pulled it back in. “Here comes Frankie,” he said.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge groaned. He opened his pack and took out a can of sausage patties. Shilansky went outside and Frankie said “Good morning” to him and the Reverend Billie Jones. Frankie lowered his head and entered the tent.

  “Morning,” he said with a friendly smile.

  “Where’ve you been?” asked Lieutenant Breckenridge.

  “I hadda take a piss, sir.”

  “Everything come out all right?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Eat your breakfast. We’re gonna leave as soon as we can.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge blinked in astonishment. He’d expected an argument from Frankie, because Frankie argued whenever he was told to do something, but instead Frankie had said “Yes sir.”

  Lieutenant Breckenridge stared at Frankie as Frankie calmly removed a can of hot dogs and beans from his pack. Frankie didn’t slam his equipment around or snarl the way he usually did. There was something collected and peaceful about Frankie. Lieutenant Breckenridge wondered what it was. He thought he’d test Frankie.

  “La Barbara,” he said, “go outside and help Shilansky make the coffee.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Frankie picked up his back and made his way to the door, ducking so he could pass through the low opening. Lieutenant Breckenridge couldn’t believe it. He’d been certain that Frankie would give him an argument.

  I wonder what’s wrong with him? Lieutenant Breckenridge said to himself. Maybe he’s cracking up.

  The men went outside one at a time and opened their C-rations cans. Frankie and the Reverend Billie Jones made a fire and boiled water in Billie’s helmet. Frankie felt calm and good. He wasn’t mad at anybody anymore. He kept thinking about the beautiful native girl and wondered where she was. A group of natives surrounded the GIs and watched as if they were animals in a zoo, but he couldn’t see Sarah. Frankie figured she was sleeping. They’d made love strenuously for more than three hours in a variety of interesting positions, sometimes he on top and sometimes she on top, and now she probably was tired. He was tired too, but he couldn’t sack out. He was a soldier and he had things to do.

  Finally the water boiled in Billie’s helmet. He poured in the packets of instant coffee and stirred the mixture with his spoon.

  “Bring your cups over here,” he said.

  The men crowded around with their canteen cups, and Billie poured coffee into them. Some coffee was left over so he placed his helmet on the ground between two stones so it wouldn’t tip over. The GIs emptied packets of sugar and powdered milk into their coffee and then sipped the mixture. It tasted wonderful and they hoped it would wake them up fast.

  Children and young girls giggled as they watched the GIs eat C rations and drink coffee. They thought the GIs looked like pale freaks with funny-colored hair. Frankie continued to search for Sarah among the girls, but couldn’t see her. Frankie thought he was in love with her, although he hardly knew her. They were from different cultures but somehow he believed they were perfectly compatible.

  The men finished their breakfasts. They walked down to the stream and cleaned their utensils and cups, still under the scrutiny of the natives. They washed their hands and faces and brushed their teeth, much to the amusement of the natives. One by one they made trips to the latrine. Finally they were finished with all their morning activity. They returned to the hut and strapped on their cartridge belts, put their packs on their backs, and strung their bandoliers of ammunition around their necks.

  “Let’s say good-bye to the chief before we go,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said.

  He hiked up his pants and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Hooking his thumb in the strap attached to his Thompson submachine gun, he led the men toward the hut occupied by the chief, and before he got there the chief came out, followed by two native men.

  “We’ve come to say good-bye,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said in his Southern drawl, “and we’d like to thank you for your hospitality.”

  The chief was confused. “My what?”

  “All you’ve done for us.”

  “Oh. Ah. Well thank you for all you done for us.”

  It was an awkward moment. Lieutenant Breckenridge didn’t know what to say, and neither did the chief.

  “Well, good-bye,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said.

  “Good luck,” the chief said.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge thought he should bow or salute or something, but instead he just smiled, took a step backward, and raised his hands.

  “Follow me,” he said to his men.

  He headed toward the side of the village he and his men had entered during the previous night. His men turned around and followed him, and Frankie spotted her emerging from the door of a hut. He was amazed at how young she looked in the sunlight. She smiled and waved shyly with her index finger. Frankie smiled and waved back.

  “Who’s that?” asked Private First Class Morris Shilansky, the former bank robber from the greater Boston area.

  “Nobody,” Frankie La Barbara said, although his heart was aching. He wanted to break ranks and run into her arms, but he couldn’t. He’d never get away with it. It was no use. Maybe he could come back some day.

  Their eyes fixed on each other as he passed by. Frankie felt a terrible longing inside him. She was beautiful and young and represented a refuge from the horrors of the war. “Oh baby,” he whispered, “I don’t wanna go.”

  “You say something?” Shilansky asked.

  “No.”

  “You sure you don’t know that native girl.”

  “No.”

  “She sure looks as if she knows you.”

  Frankie turned his head around to look at her through the dust kicked up by him and the others in the patrol. She shimmered in the morning sunlight, her index finger still in the air, and then Lieutenant Breckenridge turned left, to pass around a hut. Frankie tripped over his own feet, but Shilansky steadied him.

  “You all right?” Shilansky asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Frankie La Barbara couldn’t see the girl anymore because huts were in the way. He looked straight ahead although his heart was far behind him. Lieutenant Breckenridge unslung his submachine gun and stopped at the edge of the jungle.

  “McGurk,” he said, “take the point!”

  “Yes sir!” replied McGurk.

  McGurk ran past him and down the jungle trail, holding his submachine gun in both his hands.

  “The rest of you guys pay attention,” Lieutenant Breckenridge said. “There might be Japs right around the corner. Move it out.”

  The GIs entered the jungle in a long file behind Lieutenant Breckenridge, whose eyes were on the back of Private McGurk. Frankie turned around to take one last look at the village. He saw women and children lined up in front of huts, but couldn’t see Sarah among them although he could feel her presence back there calling out to him. He wanted to respond, but what could he do? He was stuck in the Army, returning to the war.

  “This fucking war,” he muttered.

  “I know what you mean,” Shilansky said.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Frankie said.

  “Oh yes I do,” Shilansky replied.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge turned his head around. “Shaddup back there!”

  Frankie closed his mouth. The sweat already was dripping off his body, soaking his shirt and pants. He groaned and shook his head slowly from side to side. I hate this fucking war, he thought.

  The sun rose in the sky and baked the jungle. Steam arose from the ground and the humidity was so thick it was a palpable substance in the air. The men’s nostrils contracted and expanded as they breathed it in and out. Their uniforms were plastered to their bodies. Their crotches and armpits itched. Their boots felt as though they were filled with warm grease, and bugs swooped down
to bite their arms and neck.

  They followed the same trail they’d come over the previous night. Branches and leaves scraped across their bodies as they moved along. They had to crawl on their bellies through unusually thick patches of jungle, and sometimes they had to climb over fallen trees. Monkeys chattered in the trees high above them and birds chirped as they flew from branch to branch.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge looked at his watch. It was nearly 1100 hours, and he and his men had been on the move since around 0900 hours. He raised his right hand in the air.

  “Take a break in place,” he said, “but stay alert. There might be Japs around here.”

  The men collapsed all over the trail, and McGurk dropped down where he was in front of the others. They pulled out their canteens and sipped water that now was lukewarm. They wiped their foreheads with handkerchiefs. All were exhausted. The heat was unbearable. The bugs were driving them nuts. A bird cackled in the tree above them.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge took out a Camel cigarette and lit it up. He inhaled the strong tobacco smoke and took his helmet off. His light brown hair was soaking wet. The heat sapped his energy. This fucking war, he thought.

  “Worthington,” he said.

  “Yes sir?”

  “See if you can get through to somebody on the walkie-talkie.”

  Worthington raised the aerial and pressed the button. He spoke into the earpiece and let the button go. All he could hear were the buzzes and snaps of the universe. He tried a few more times, then lowered the walkie-talkie.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “Damn,” replied Lieutenant Breckenridge.

  Lieutenant Breckenridge took another sip of water. He puffed his cigarettes and thought of Virginia, where he was from. He recalled the cool autumn days where he could see his breath every time he exhaled, and wondered if he’d ever make it back to that wonderful climate in one piece. The fighting of the past few days had been brutal. He was cut and bruised like the rest of his men, and his leg still wasn’t completely healed from a bullet wound he’d sustained shortly after the regiment arrived in New Guinea.

  He remembered how he used to swim in the Atlantic Ocean, how cool and refreshing it had been. He recalled the mint juleps he used to drink at parties given at homes in Richmond, where he was from. His family had been part of that city’s upper crust. His father was a wealthy lawyer, and his lineage went back to the days of the old plantations, even before the Civil War broke out.