“You’re going to have me court-martialed? Now I know I ain’t going back!”
The situation was highly amusing to everyone, especially Williams. The bantering back and forth was refreshing after the trying week these men had undergone and the sleepless nights Panama had struggled through. The flying sergeant realized that this argument was sapping the little remaining strength the lieutenant still possessed so he jumped out of the cockpit and without a word, picked Shorty up in his arms and placed the protesting, struggling Marine in the plane, much to the satisfaction of Baker and the others.
“I’ll be back for another one in the morning,” he promised. “You’ll find plenty in this sack to eat, smoke and keep you warm until I return.”
“Hope you like the ride, Shorty,” one of the boys called out. “Don’t stand up on your one good foot or you’ll rock the boat!”
“I’ll punch you in the nose the minute you get back to Managua,” the little Marine threatened, “and you can court-martial me for that and make it ten counts!”
CHAPTER XI
The following afternoon, a large Mack truck loaded to capacity with a variety of heavy baggage, ten nurses and two doctors, recently arrived from the States for duty in Nicaragua, was slowly rumbling along its way to Managua, over a treacherous dirt road.
As they came to the end of the road, the Marine, driving the truck, pulled up at the edge of a river with a jolt.
“What will we have to do, sergeant,” the doctor sitting beside him, asked, “ferry across or swim?”
The Marine yawned indifferently, stood up and allowed his eyes to search the river from north to south, shaking his head dubiously and slouching back in his seat.