then faltered on, asking for more grenades . . . mortars . . . even some rifle ammunition. He just wanted something to take back to his buddy up forward still holding their position. The knowledge that he must go back empty-handed was more than he could bear. Then he reached into his pocket and found that even his tobacco can was empty. When it seemed that the machine-gunner was shattered beyond all hope, a black-jawed, smiling old, veteran crawled over from where he had just dragged in another of the wounded. Sitting shoulder to shoulder with the younger man, he calmly told him how they were still holding the line—and that no gook in the world could break through United States Marines. The grimy old veteran talked a feeble smile back upon the face of the corporal. Tears still streaked his face up under his helmet where the rain could not wash them away, but the Old Marine seemed not to notice. Finally the corporal raised his head and asked once again whether any reinforcements had arrived . . . or more ammo . . . or grenades . . . or anything? To each query the old veteran merely shook his head. Then, the Young Marine got back upon his feet, picked up his empty rifle and stood for a moment wiping the mud from its bayonet. The Old Marine was already on his way along the crest of the ridge so probably never heard Corporal Leonard Hayworth when he locked the bayonet into place, then muttered, half to himself, “Okay, I'll wait for ‘em.” He had just started back into the line when a mortar bomb landed almost on top of him. Shaken and dazed by the blast, he still stayed upon his feet . . . and continued groggily, but almost erect, to walk right back into the firing line. Two other Marines bad been even nearer the explosion. Bomb fragments ripped into the groin of one, and he too swayed yet stayed upon his feet. The second Marine was unhit, but the concussion left him glazed and empty and mumbling incoherently. Hail fell upon them and all the men around. The nearest corpsman was near—but covering the wounds of another Marine only half visible in the field when he fell—so none saw them as they lurched off down the slope to the rear. 86 l Ⅳ. The Hill This is War!
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