We couldn’t have asked for anything more.
After dinner, we sat around, drinking our wine and talking about home and family. The guys were happy, homesick, and a little tipsy. We had just about polished off the final bottle of champagne when there came a knock at the door.
Kurt jumped to his feet. “I’ll get it.”
From behind me, the door opened, and I heard a female voice say, “Housekeeping. Do you need anything?”
Kurt quickly ushered the young lady into our room. “You can keep my house anytime, honey.”
By now, we were all standing and looking at the girl. Hank gave out a low wolf whistle, and Jim’s eyes were popping out of his head. She was a Mexican girl, petite, young and pretty even in her drab maid’s uniform. Over one arm, she carried fresh towels. Her eyes were dark brown, and they sparkled as a smile lit her face. She stood there for a moment, looking back at all of us, and then asked, “Are you boys Marines?”
“You’re damn right we are, honey,” replied Hank.
Still smiling, she moved further into the room and laid the towels over the back of a chair. Our eyes were fixated on this shapely young lady.
Looking around at us again, she continued, “I know what all Marines want…and I am going to give it to you boys!”
The room fell silent for a second. Then Kurt cried out, “All right, doll. We’re here to have some fun!”
My mind started racing. We could be in real trouble here.
“I know,” she said, “because my brother is a Marine, just like you, and he’s fighting on Guadalcanal.”
The smiles on our faces melted away instantly. Her brother was a fellow Marine, and he was where we might soon be. Guadalcanal had been all over the news. We had lost many good Marines on that island in the Pacific. Her words jarred us out of our champagne fantasies and back to reality.
Moving towards Kurt, she continued, “He tells me that all that Marines want to do is kiss girls. Okay!”
With this said, she placed her two hands on Kurt’s face and stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. Next she moved to Jim, then Hank, and then me, doing the same for each of us. Finally, she walked towards the front door and concluded, “Now I’ve given you all what you wanted. I hope you’ll always be safe in the Marines. God bless you and America…good night, boys.”
In the blink of an eye, she was gone.
We were speechless. She had been sexy, yet innocent, so tender, so loving.
Finally, Kurt remarked, “Did you smell that perfume?”
Jim sighed. “Did you feel how soft her lips were?”
Hank added, “And that body! What a beautiful body.”
The last to comment, I said, “Let’s finish off the wine before we head back.”
At 2045, we departed the hotel…but not before we took one last long look at the room that had brought us so much joy. Before leaving, I asked the guys to keep our activities a secret. The last thing I needed was trouble over buying booze for my under-aged friends. They agreed.
On the bus ride back to base, there was a lot of bellyaching from the other guys about the heat, the cost of food, and the fact that there had been no broads, no beer and no boogie. Kurt, Hank, Jim and I sat quietly, with smiles on our faces. It was a liberty none of us would ever forget.
The Gauntlet
The next week was final qualifications on the obstacle course. All recruits had to finish the course in fifteen minutes or less. If they failed to qualify, they could be held back for further training. Each platoon would be given two chances to complete the course within the allotted time. The course itself was two miles long, going mostly uphill on loose sand. Along the way, there were a large number of different hurdles that had to be traversed, obstacles like high walls that had to be scaled, cliffs that had to be climbed by using ropes, and swinging bridges over muddy ponds. The base record for the course was ten minutes, twenty seconds. The platoon would have to run the hurdles while wearing full battle gear, which meant an extra seventy pounds of weight.
On the first day of the qualifications, we were paired by squads, with two men leaving every sixty seconds. My running companion was Kurt. He was strong, with long, muscular legs. He could run like a cougar, so I knew I had competition. Sergeant Nelson started each pair, using his whistle and a watch to record the start times. As his shrilling filled the air, we were off.
The first hurdle was a long row of old tires lying on the ground. High-stepping through twenty wheel openings takes balance and coordination.
Kurt took the early lead, but by the third obstacle, scaling a twenty-foot wall, I had caught up. The day was hot and the humidity high. By now, we were both nothing more than sweatballs running along a sandy trail. At the half way point, I took the lead and never looked back. Stumbling across the finish line, I gasped for breath as Corporal Johnson recorded my finish time. A few seconds later, Kurt joined me as I was pouring water over my head. He was out of breath and panting like a new puppy. “I almost beat you, Dutch. Boy, can you run!”
That evening, the results were posted in the Day Room. My time was ten minutes, thirty-four seconds; Kurt’s was ten minutes, thirty-nine seconds. We had the best times in the platoon. Sergeant Nelson made a big deal about our times, and challenged us to beat the base record, the next day. Kurt and I shook hands and accepted the challenge, knowing it could be done.
Before leaving the Day Room, I noted that five guys, including the Comedian, had times over fifteen minutes. When I talked to Jim about his time, he put a good face on it and told me that he had fallen down twice and was confident that he would be okay, the next day. His words were positive…but his expression was doubtful.
We were fortunate to be the first platoon on the course the next morning, at 0800. The morning was cool and the air still crisp. It was a good omen for our attempt to break the base record. My squad was the last to start, and Sergeant Nelson held Kurt and me for the last. We stood like Olympic athletes, waiting for his whistle. Then we were off.
I took the early lead and was determined to hold it. My rifle and backpack seemed lighter today, and my legs felt stronger. By the halfway point, I still had a good ten or fifteen seconds on Kurt. The breeze on my face felt cool and refreshing.
Finally I came to the last obstacle, a muddy pond that had to be crossed by a swinging rope line attached to a log A-frame. As I reached for the rope, I saw the Comedian lying on the ground, on the other side of the water.
“What the hell are you doing, Jim?” I screamed as I swung across.
“I twisted my damn ankle. You keep going. I’ll be all right.”
With beads of sweat rolling down my face, I stopped and looked down at him. He was holding his right ankle and there was a look of pain in his eyes.
“You’ve got to finish this. You have to get going!” I blurted out.
“I can’t. It hurts too much. Please, you keep going,” he answered in agony.
Reaching
