Better Times Than These by Winston Groom

Author:Winston Groom [Groom, Winston]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 0671522663
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 1994-12-13T08:00:00+00:00

The first light of dawn grew from rosy pink to gray, then blue, and while the last morning stars sparkled in the west the bombardment of The Fake began. From a gun park nine miles away, big 175-millimeter guns lobbed a thunderous barrage up and down the knolls.

The brilliant flashes and trembling of the earth greeted the early-November morning while Bravo Company waited in its holes and sweated it out, observing its objective in daylight for the first time. The artillery tore overhead like invisible freight trains, ripping the air apart and exploding with such unimaginable impact that a few of the men actually thought they had gone deaf. From this distance, the knolls did not appear particularly hard to negotiate. The artillery of today and other days had scorched and shredded the earth, leaving only a few patches of trees isolated like tiny islands in a bare brown sea of earth.

The barrage lifted as quickly as it had begun, and they heard the sound of helicopters flying toward them, low over the trees. Moments later they came in, dumping out supplies, their engines still running. The last to land deposited Kahn and three nervous replacements sent forward at the last minute after committing certain sins in the rear.

Alpha Company was milling around in loose platoon formation, checking its equipment and preparing to move out. Charlie Company would follow them, and then Bravo Company. Already there seemed to be a firefight in progress on the second knoll, but no people were visible, and Sharkey hurriedly tried to fill Kahn in on the day’s program and the week just past. There had been more trouble with the men while he had been gone—most of it in Brill’s platoon. Also, a man in Weapons Platoon had threatened the life of Lieutenant Inge, and Inge was considering proceedings against him. Many of the men were weak with dysentery and other illnesses, and some of their gear was in lousy shape.

“You picked a hell of a time to come back,” Sharkey said.

Kahn squinted toward the little firefight on the knoll, and searched his pockets for a pack of cigarettes.

“Now you tell me,” he said dejectedly.

Still they waited, and still the order to move out was not received. Trunk, sitting on an ammunition crate, tried to interview the three replacements and at least make sure they had their essential equipment before he decided what to do with them. One of them, a freckled-faced boy with darting eyes and a mischievous smile, was a former jeep driver who had wrecked a major’s jeep after loading up on too much beer. The other two were black cooks in the noncom mess whom the Brigade Sergeant Major had banished after they served a disagreeable meal. The Sergeant Major kept a motto above his desk:

HE WHO TRIFLES HERE SHALL GO TO THE FARTHEST RIFLE PLATOON, IN THE FARTHEST RIFLE COMPANY . . . NEVER AGAIN TO SEE BASE CAMP.

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