This was one way to spend the fuckin' war. I carried a surfboard more often than a gun and we were the go to spot for the fuck-ups of the pacific. We manned a forward radio outpost not big enough for an airstrip , and with a coast so rocky the only stretch of actual beach was about the length of a football feild. Not many boats came in. Not much anything came or went out. Not much of anything happened, as far as the war was concerned.
We would get our occasional Casualty import. A few shot up navy guys show up to lay around and get better. We had a small nursing station filled with the Army's best looking girl soldiers. If I were on a carrier or a gunboat out in the fight, and I heard about Island 28, I'd go right ahead and shoot my toe off, just in hopes I'd land on this island. Not everyone was so content with the distance between our island and the fight, but they made due in fighting each other. I swear America's best post war boxers, surfers, and drunks came right off Island 28.
I'd been one of the first to set foot on the island with the corps. of engineers, to build the radio tower and the lodging for the crew that would eventually man it. We also, as I had mentioned, built a small field hospital. 15 beds. Enough to get us the extra funding we "Needed". I would later find that the Colonel and commanding officer stationed on our island, Col. Brighton , had intended to spend the money on booze for himself and the rest of us. He got his leg torn off on the deck of a gunboat 3 days before the Bullshit at Pearl Harbor, the beginning of the war he was born to fight. He was heartbroken and became quite an eccentric drunk. Luckily his position was more that of a Mayor than a military leader. He had swung some kind of deal that allowed him command in a region that was still considered disputed but not of any tactical advantage. Our forces had pushed on and built more powerful towers , there were plenty. We could have cut transmission 6 months ago and no one would be the wiser. My theory is that our tower made all the other frequencies a little less snowy. A luxury frequency. Whatever.
I remember the day our party began wind down. Things were changing.
It was about 9 AM when I rolled out of my bunk onto the floor. Some guys were up, some were face first in their pillows. My boss being one of them. Sgt. Hadley. He was less of a warrior and more of a foreman. He, myself, and 13 other men built everything on the island and now spent our time on "Up-keep". There was almost no up-keep. The occasional paint job. Downed transmitter. Someone put their fist through a window after a fight by the tower. Not a very demanding position.
I decided I'd go over to the tower to make sure everything was running fine. Most everyone had been drinking the night before, shooting targets, and birds. I had decided to stay in and re-read the letters I had gotten from the girl I had back in Los Angeles.It wasn't serious and she was the kinda girl who would fuck your friends, but hell the letters were nice. Fell asleep early so I wasn't dead to the world like the rest of the crew. I didn't make it passed the Alarm-Horn before it sounded. In fact- it was directly over my head as I exited the door and nearly blew my ears useless. "What the fuck!" I shouted, along with half the hung-up soldier drunks still inside the barracks.
Looking up I could see our little stretch of beach was littered with the small transport boats they used to bring the wounded a-shore. There were people jumping out. Then stretchers.
"Come on lets give em a hand!" Jerry,one of the mechanics, grunted as he passed me on the way down to the shore. He was a decent guy. Had no desire to be on this island. He was older, about 55, and had grandchildren at home. We headed down together, jogging. "excitement! woo!" Jerry joked. Not yet knowing the severity of the situation.
The conversation buzzing down by the boats, from what I could tell, was about a boat that had been shot to shit by a couple Jap planes. Dive bombed and gunned to hell. The worst news for us is that it wasn't all that far from here. The wounds were fresh. Usually we got high ranking types, half healed and getting ready to head out again. Most of these bastards looked like leftovers. I spotted A navy medic without a stretcher partner. He waved and I ran over to grab the other side of the sticks.
"Thanks, man this guys wrecked." The medic said. The name on his jacket read 'Moss' . The grunt in the stretcher no longer had a jacket, a shirt, or a left leg. "I think he lost his hearing too" Shouted the medic over the commotion on the beach. We made our way as quickly as we could up the beach to where the nursing station lie. There was a fairly dramatic incline near the top of the beach and carrying the stretcher up it was a task. We managed but others were having trouble as-well. There was shouting and fighting over what method should be used to bring the stretchers up the crest of the slope. No time for that. The medic and myself made our way into the Station. The nurses were frantically preparing their tools and beds. There were four doctors and they all ran up to us and began barking directions. Ours was the first stretcher to have made it into the Station.
"Set him here at this table" Said one of the doctors. They all looked the same now with their masks on. I had met them all at different points in time on the island but never gotten to know them. They didn't cary on like we did. We set the bloody mess on the table. and backed off. He was swarmed by nurses and doctors. As I saw more of the stretchers pour in, I knew without a doubt the party was winding down.
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