He propped the rifle against a stunted banana plant and removed his headband and wrung it out and wiped his face and stood there awhile, waving away the mosquitoes with the cloth and itching his crotch absent-mindedly. If he stayed motionless only another couple of seconds, the bugs found him and whined around his head. From all around came the ten thousand sounds of the jungle, as well as the cries of gulls and the far-off surf, and if he stopped dead and listened a minute, he could hear also the pulse snickering in the heat of his flesh, and the creak of sweat in his ears. He was aware that he was terrifically on edge. He stepped carefully, thinking about snakes and trying to be quiet because he wanted to hear any boars before they charged him. There were supposed to be some wild boars around here. He just wanted to do some hunting in the jungle. He didn't know how he felt about this country. There were supposed to be some wild boars roaming this island military resort, which was all he had seen so far of the Philippines.
Now it was late in the morning, and Seaman Apprentice William Houston, Jr., began feeling sober again as he stalked the jungle of Grande Island carrying a borrowed.
The Armed Forces Network from Subic Bay stayed on through the night, broadcasting bulletins about the unfathomable murder.
The two marines sat with the three sailors on the bunks in the Quonset hut for transient enlisted men, watching the air conditioner drip water into a coffee can and drinking beer. There was one small nightspot on the island, a dilapidated club with big revolving fans in the ceiling and one bar and one pinball game the two marines who ran the club had come by to wake them up and tell them what had happened to the President. Seaman Houston and the other two recruits slept while the first reports traveled around the world.
0 kommentar(er)
