Work Text:
Yet another sleepless night on Pavuvu had lead to this, the desperate struggle for survival, against overwhelming odds and an implacable enemy.
It was past midnight, and most of the Marines had retired for the night. Leckie was still awake, and planned to stay that way. His affliction -- his little night problem, as the doc called it, didn't let him get much sleep anyway. Instead, he tried to get some writing done, or even read something. It was slow going, and every now and then, he would take another sip of whiskey, compliments of the Army. The light from his oil lamp seemed to attract every single creature -- from insects and bigger, to his hooch. He could hear the tell-tale sounds of claws tap-tapping across the wooden floor of his tent. Leckie tensed, ready for action. He had his rifle butt at the ready. But the clipping sounds did not head for him. Instead, as Leckie waited, an outraged shout came from pallet that Hoosier slept in.
"That goddamn son of a bitch! Where'd it go?" Hoosier, usually so slow to emerge from sleep, was up and about very quickly. He then turned around and glared at Leckie, who was struggling to contain his amusement.
"Dunno, I wasn't paying attention. I thought you two might need some time for yourselves, so I averted my gaze."
The stream of imprecations, profanity, colorful language was enough to make even the most hardened veteran to take a pause. As it was, there were disgruntled murmurs from the sleeping Marines nearby.
Hoosier veers around and says, "You, you are gonna help me find that crab, and we are gonna make it pay."
"How are we going to find it? It's probably gone back to its lair by now."
"No. We'll find it, and then we'll kill it." With these vengeful words, Hoosier went to gather his weapons for this war against the crabs.
There was a brief silence, as Leckie decided that this was a great time to check if he had any more alcohol on hand. He did, thankfully. As he pulled out a half empty bottle of whiskey from his sea bag, he heard a loud thump and a muffled scream. Hoosier was back, with the beginnings of a black eye on his left eye.
At Leckie's silent question, he said, simply, "Got in to the wrong tent."
Leckie offered him the bottle, which he took and drank almost a quarter of it.
"Now wait a minute, that's all the whiskey I have -"
"Come on, let's go."
And they were off.
*
Outside, the darkness was thick with heat, and the smell of rotting coconuts. The heat, although less than it was in the day, was still oppressive. The two marines were quiet, watching for any movement in undergrowth. Leckie, wondering why his life always seemed to take strange and unwelcome directions, took a swig of his whiskey.
"There he is."
The was a small rustle of palm fronds, and small figure inched towards the beach. At least, that what it looked like, in the dark, and to the drunk...
"You can track that crab, huh?"
"Be very quiet. Come on."
"You have some kind of spiritual connection with this crab, Hoosier? Maybe this is one of those spirit quests, that the Indians would go on. Read it in a western, once. Maybe tonight you become a real man."
"If you keep talking, you might stop being a real man." Hoosier's Ka-Bar made a wicked little snick against the coral rock, as the pair stumbled to the beach.
"We could call you Loved by Crabs."
"Shut up."
Hoosier's crab was making its way to the shore, and the two men were hot on its heels. Sometimes Hoosier would lunge at it with his knife, but the wily crustacean would dart to and fro, always avoiding the blows. Leckie took a few half hearted stabs at its general direction. They made their way to sandy ridge, and Hoosier's crab quickly scuttled up and over it.
The men, already slowed by alcohol and exhaustion were slower to get there, and when they did, it was an unpleasant sight. Hundreds of land crabs swarmed the ridge, and Hoosier's crab was quickly absorbed into the seething mass.
There was nothing they could do.
Hoosier, angered by the futility of their situation, grabbed Leckie's bottle, and over the other man's protests, ripped a strip from his t-shirt, and stuffed the rag into the bottle. Then, with his lighter, he set the rag aflame and threw it as far as he could. They waited breathlessly for the impact.
Maybe there wasn't enough alcohol, or Hoosier hadn't waited long enough for it to soak the rag, or perhaps God just loved crabs, but the Molotov cocktail merely fizzled out. It did kill a crab on its way down, though. At least, the crab stopped moving. Perhaps it was just stunned.
Now there really was nothing they could do.
"I'm gonna go in." Hoosier said, holding up his knife up, but his voice lacked much in the way of conviction.
"No, don't. That would be stupid." Leckie said, slowly. And with that observation, he staggered down the sandy ridge, obviously worst for drink.
Hoosier stood there for several minutes, wondering where in that crowd his crab was.
With a sigh, he turned and headed for the camp. But as he was making his way to the path, he heard a cry and large splash. Leckie was nowhere to be seen.
*
The cool waters of the Pacific ocean surrounded him, enveloping him in its dark embrace. Leckie was a strong swimmer, and even in his befuddled condition, he managed to float face up. The southern sky was ablaze with stars, and in that moment, it seemed impossible that the whole world should be at war. Or that he, floating so quietly in the water, could die at anytime. The soft sounds of crab legs on the sand indicated that he was not alone. The man and the crab, one floating, the other waiting, enjoyed a companionable silence.
Peace, for a brief time.
"For fuck's sake, haven't you got any sense at all?"
Leckie felt a pair of strong arms pulling him toward the beach. Hoosier hauled him to the edge of the water. Leckie was prone, on the sand while Hoosier sat down next to him. Hoosier was panting, and with a disgusted sound, he examined Leckie's state.
"I leave you for one minute, and you run into the ocean?"
"I wouldn't say that. I was just walkin' and... It was so hot. The ocean ran into me."
Hoosier made a sound in between an laugh and sigh.
"Didja get the crab, Bill?"
"No. I did not get the crab. It's gone back to its crab wife and crab kids. Probably'll come back tomorrow and bother me."
"Yeah. You know... I drank a lot tonight."
"I can see that."
"Drink today,
and drown all sorrow;
You shall perhaps not do it tomorrow;
Best, while you have it, use your breath;
There is no drinking after death."
"That from a poem?"
"Uh hmmm, I forgot which one..."
"Yeah?" Hoosier felt for his cigarettes. They were miraculously not wet from his impromptu swim. With a sigh, he felt for the matches. Also not wet. Hallelujah.
He lit one up, and breathed in deeply.
"Bill?"
"Yeah?"
"I wanna do something. Something I don't think I'd have the courage to do if I was sober."
There was silence, and Leckie could see Hoosier nod. Or at least, see his cigarette nod.
"You gotta put out that cigarette."
"Ain't nothing you can say or do that would be worth putting out this cigarette."
"Fine, then. We should get back." Leckie struggled to get up, only to be pulled back down by Hoosier. He landed on the sand with soft thump.
"First things first, Lucky. You gotta put your pants back on."