“Oh, yeah?” questioned the unpopular leatherneck. “So sez you!”
“Yeah, so sez me!”
“Then you think yer big enough, huh?”
“Listen, soldier,” the noncom added as a final gesture, “there ain’t nothin’ in no drug store what will kill you any quicker than me!”
“I suppose you think yer poison, huh?”
“Naw—T.N.T., that’s all!”
The devil dogs gathered their belongings and started south, toward Managua and the Marine operating base, arguing and threatening as they went on their way, though secretly each man was thrilled beyond words over something new to discuss that had so many different angles, certain to last the two days until they reached the capital without becoming stale or rehashed.
CHAPTER X
Three weeks had passed, three weeks for the constantly active Marine aviators, flying over mountain and jungle, supplying the leathernecks on foot with food and ammunition, guiding them through an impassable country in their futile search for Sandino and his rebel band.
With the dawn, came orders to scout over jungle regions in search of lost parties or else departures on long observation, map-drawing flights.