“It’s an eye patch,” Deke said. “Try it on.”
“Huh,” Lieutenant Steele said. He took off his helmet and turned his face away from them to shed his bandage and put on the patch. Even so, Deke caught a glimpse of the red, puckered scar—all that remained of the eye that he had lost in that sniper battle on Guadalcanal. Having a few scars of his own, Deke understood if the lieutenant was a little self-conscious.
When he turned back, the eye patch was in place. It was a good fit and would stay securely in place. All in all, it was a vast improvement over the dirty bandage that Lieutenant Steele had been using to hide what remained of his wounded eye.
“You look like a pirate,” Philly said with a hoot, but he was grinning. “But I’ve got to say, Honcho, that eye patch makes you look kind of badass. I watched Deke make that out of a piece of boot leather. And here all I thought that old country boy could do was shoot and terrorize sheep. Next thing you know, he’ll be knitting scarves.”
Steele touched the leather eye patch. He seemed genuinely moved by Deke’s efforts. “Deke, I’ve got to say that’s a big improvement. I can’t thank you enough, son.”
“Aw, it was nothin’,” he said.
Lieutenant Steele reached out and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze, then moved on. Deke gulped hard and turned his face away from the others, suddenly overcome by emotion. His own father used to squeeze Deke’s shoulder that same way.
“Keep that up and you’ll get yourself promoted,” Philly said. “They’ll have to come up with some kind of exalted rank for you, I guess.”
“If you say so.”
Deke hadn’t made the eye patch to get promoted. He realized that the approval he had received from Lieutenant Steele was all the thanks that he needed. He hadn’t even known what a void his own father’s death had left in his life. He had known Lieutenant Steele for only a few short days, but he was already the closest thing to a father figure that he had known for years.
“You know what, Deke?” Philly said, interrupting his thoughts. The city boy was giving him a lopsided grin that signaled one of his wisecracks was brewing. “I’ve got a hole in the seat of my pants, and my ass is sticking out something terrible. Think you could fix it for me?”
“Philly, the only thing I’m gonna do with the seat of your pants is kick you in it,” Deke said. “Now keep an eye on that jungle. Like Honcho said, you never know when the Japs might be back.”
As if the heat wasn’t enough to contend with, by late afternoon thunderclouds had built on the horizon. They could see the gray line of rain approaching like a curtain. Spikes of lightning shot through the brooding clouds.
“Here it comes,” Philly said. “I don’t know which is worse around here, the Japs or the weather.”
Deke snorted. “That ain’t no contest, Philly. A little rain won’t kill you, but a little Jap will.”
A few minutes later, Deke reflected that maybe he’d been wrong about that. The storm approached ominously. Nearby, Whoa Nelly started to whine as the sound of thunder picked up. Funny that gunfire didn’t seem to bother her. The thunder was a different story.
“It’s all right, girl,” Egan reassured her. “Just a little thunder is all.”
The sun vanished, but there was no sense of relief in the respite from the heat, because the sun was replaced by deep gloom and thunder. The storm hit them with a squall; then the rain came down in buckets, quickly turning the foxholes into soupy quagmires. Deke’s broad-brimmed hat kept the worst of the rain from running down the back of his neck, but there was nothing that he could do about the rainwater bubbling up around his knees and thighs as he crouched in the foxhole, looking out at the jungle. It might have been his imagination, but he thought that the broad foliage of the jungle plants and even the tall palms that hadn’t been shattered by the bombardment lifted their leaves to welcome the rain.
Maybe the Japs would welcome it, too, because the rain grounded the US planes that had been patrolling the island. Now that the Americans had captured the airfield, there was little worry about Japanese planes.
They had hoped that the squall would blow on through, but the mass of clouds seemed to drop anchor over the island. Rain fell and wind blew. Lightning flashed and thunder crashed. Deke was worried about the rain getting into his telescopic sight, so he stuck his rifle under his poncho and jabbed his knife into the mud nearby, within easy reach. Earlier, he had given his pistol to Yoshio, who had soon returned from his mission to interview wounded prisoners.
Yoshio huddled miserably nearby, rain sluicing off his helmet and down the back of his collar. He had stuck Deke’s pistol in his pocket.
The interpreter noticed him looking. “Deke, do you want your pistol back?”
“Nah, you hang on to it. But Yoshio, we’re gonna have to find you a rifle later,” Deke said. “That way, you’ll be more like an actual soldier.”
“If you do not think I am a soldier, then what do you think I am?”
