beside it.
He looked out over the masses of dead. He felt as tired as he’d ever felt. If the Japanese decided to come again at that moment, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to lift a finger to stop them. They’d been on Guadalcanal for less than a week, but it felt like an eternity.
CHAPTER FIVE
O'Connor broke from his black sleep to the sound of thumping mortar rounds exploding. He thought for a moment he was dreaming until he felt the ground shudder slightly beneath his cot.
His surroundings flooded back to his consciousness and he sat upright forgetting his injuries. He winced and yelled out when he felt the bandages on his legs stretch and pull against his singed skin. He was forced to lie back down.
He closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. The mortars were getting louder and soon they were falling so close together there was no distinguishing one explosion from another. He took a deep breath, he had to get up, get back in the fight. His unit was in the shit and he was laid up, useless in this damned infirmary.
The men around him were also awake listening to the barrage. They looked at one another trying to find solace from their fear. If the Japanese attacked and broke through they’d be just as dead as the men on the line. The Japanese weren’t known for showing mercy even to the wounded.
O'Connor saw the man to his right trying to sit up. He’d been gut shot. He could tell by the way the medics treated him he wasn’t expected to make it. It wasn’t stopping him from trying to join the fight though. O'Connor was much better off than him, only slightly wounded. He grit his teeth and came to a full sitting position. The move made him cry out involuntarily and he cursed himself for his weakness.
He sat on the side of the cot and felt dizzy. He held his head and rubbed his temples until the world stopped spinning. When it did the nausea came and he threw up whatever food, mostly bile, that was left in his stomach. He ignored the others and stood up. He swayed and had to sit down to keep from falling over. The jarring caused more pain, but the pain focused his resolve. He used it to stand again and walk. Each step brought more pain and with it more focus. The nausea was gone, replaced by sheer purpose. He went through the medical tent flap and was immediately greeted by a medic. “Whoa, soldier where you think you’re going?”
O'Connor looked at him with daggers, “Where’s my weapon?” The medic backed up a step, seeing his dark glare. He glanced behind him at a stack of rifles against a fallen palm tree. O'Connor pushed his way by him and grabbed the first rifle. He pulled back the breech; it was loaded with a full eight round clip. He slammed the breech forward with a satisfying click. Beyond the weapons he saw ammo satchels. He slung the first one over his shoulder and started walking towards the sound of falling mortars.
He took it slow since running was out of the question. He was barely able to walk a straight line, but the louder the explosions got the more sure-footed he became. He’d walked one hundred yards when he tripped on a root and sprawled. He hit hard, knocking the breath out of him. The pain was more than anything he’d ever felt and he thought he might pass out. If the Japanese came they’d bayonet him where he lay, but at least he’d have his rifle. If he was going to die he’d like to have a gun in his hand, not a wad of bandages.
He felt hands under his arms pulling him up. He came back to reality and got to his feet. He looked at the man who’d helped him; it was Corporal Hooper. He smiled at him, “Hooper. Where’d you come from?”
He motioned behind them, “I was back at the damned infirmary too. When I saw you limp by I figured you could use some backup. That medic gave me some trouble, but I finally convinced him.” He rubbed his knuckles, they were scratched.
From the front they heard their own mortars countering the Japanese then the
He looked out over the masses of dead. He felt as tired as he’d ever felt. If the Japanese decided to come again at that moment, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to lift a finger to stop them. They’d been on Guadalcanal for less than a week, but it felt like an eternity.
CHAPTER FIVE
O'Connor broke from his black sleep to the sound of thumping mortar rounds exploding. He thought for a moment he was dreaming until he felt the ground shudder slightly beneath his cot.
His surroundings flooded back to his consciousness and he sat upright forgetting his injuries. He winced and yelled out when he felt the bandages on his legs stretch and pull against his singed skin. He was forced to lie back down.
He closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. The mortars were getting louder and soon they were falling so close together there was no distinguishing one explosion from another. He took a deep breath, he had to get up, get back in the fight. His unit was in the shit and he was laid up, useless in this damned infirmary.
The men around him were also awake listening to the barrage. They looked at one another trying to find solace from their fear. If the Japanese attacked and broke through they’d be just as dead as the men on the line. The Japanese weren’t known for showing mercy even to the wounded.
O'Connor saw the man to his right trying to sit up. He’d been gut shot. He could tell by the way the medics treated him he wasn’t expected to make it. It wasn’t stopping him from trying to join the fight though. O'Connor was much better off than him, only slightly wounded. He grit his teeth and came to a full sitting position. The move made him cry out involuntarily and he cursed himself for his weakness.
He sat on the side of the cot and felt dizzy. He held his head and rubbed his temples until the world stopped spinning. When it did the nausea came and he threw up whatever food, mostly bile, that was left in his stomach. He ignored the others and stood up. He swayed and had to sit down to keep from falling over. The jarring caused more pain, but the pain focused his resolve. He used it to stand again and walk. Each step brought more pain and with it more focus. The nausea was gone, replaced by sheer purpose. He went through the medical tent flap and was immediately greeted by a medic. “Whoa, soldier where you think you’re going?”
O'Connor looked at him with daggers, “Where’s my weapon?” The medic backed up a step, seeing his dark glare. He glanced behind him at a stack of rifles against a fallen palm tree. O'Connor pushed his way by him and grabbed the first rifle. He pulled back the breech; it was loaded with a full eight round clip. He slammed the breech forward with a satisfying click. Beyond the weapons he saw ammo satchels. He slung the first one over his shoulder and started walking towards the sound of falling mortars.
He took it slow since running was out of the question. He was barely able to walk a straight line, but the louder the explosions got the more sure-footed he became. He’d walked one hundred yards when he tripped on a root and sprawled. He hit hard, knocking the breath out of him. The pain was more than anything he’d ever felt and he thought he might pass out. If the Japanese came they’d bayonet him where he lay, but at least he’d have his rifle. If he was going to die he’d like to have a gun in his hand, not a wad of bandages.
He felt hands under his arms pulling him up. He came back to reality and got to his feet. He looked at the man who’d helped him; it was Corporal Hooper. He smiled at him, “Hooper. Where’d you come from?”
He motioned behind them, “I was back at the damned infirmary too. When I saw you limp by I figured you could use some backup. That medic gave me some trouble, but I finally convinced him.” He rubbed his knuckles, they were scratched.
From the front they heard their own mortars countering the Japanese then the
Similar Books
