“Well, I won’t be tickled silly over the idea, but that ain’t the worst thing could happen. Besides, I’m about fed up on this racket down here. This hangin’ around, waitin’ for somethin’ to happen is drivin’ us all loco.”
A Marine private jumped off the rear of the truck into the water and waded through to the front wheel mud guard.
“Let’s try and get out of here,” he said to the sergeant. “Give her the gas and I’ll try and push this wheel forward.”
Once more the rear wheels began to spin furiously, throwing up mud and water and drenching the Marine standing by the front mud guard.
He reached under, putting all of his weight forward in an effort to extricate the truck but the front wheels were too securely imbedded to even as much as budge an inch.
The nurses and the one remaining doctor craned their necks over the side of the truck, watching the futile progress of the puffing leatherneck in the water.
“Are we going to make it?” Elinor asked anxiously of the perspiring and mud-soaked devil dog.
“I don’t think so, lady, but that guy the sergeant threw out, he’ll probably send help when he arrives at Managua.”
“How long will it take to get another truck down here,” the other doctor asked.
“That road to the right, on the opposite bank, leads straight in to the capital,” the Marine in the water announced. “If your friend steps on it and doesn’t stop to pick daisies, they should have a truck back here in about five hours.”