The Bone Hunters Read Free

Sean.
    â€œMight as well stop for everyone,” said J.D.
    Sean pulled out his wallet with the dog-eared photograph of Cathy. She was standing in her father’s backyard in Pontiac looking back at him with a shy smile. Cathy had written in November about how proud she was of his promotion to corporal. Her father was a foreman at the Chevy plant and didn’t think Sean was worthy of her. He would think differently when Sean got back with his new stripes.
    Rain began to fall when they were better than halfway to Camp Holcomb, the heavy downpour turning the dusty hardpan into a rutted mess. Glancing out the rain-streaked window into the darkness, Sean saw a few lights in the distance. They turned out to be a deserted train station along the Peking-Mugden Railway.
    They had been driving more than five hours when the staff car slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road. It was nearly midnight. Captain Allen emerged from the passenger side and walked back toward them through the rain.
    Sean lowered his window.
    â€œReplenish your canteens while we gas up,” he said, “and turn off your lights.”
    J.D. grinned as the captain went past, took another quick swig of the Haig & Haig, and passed the bottle toSean. Sean heard the two marines behind them on the freight bed unleashing the gas cans to refill the tank.
    A deserted rural village straddled both sides of the road around them in the shadowy darkness. Fenced animal pens rimmed the open spaces between a dozen clay-walled huts. There were no lights in the buildings. The animal pens were empty.
    J.D. opened a large paper sack and pulled out a handful of Chinese raisins. Stuffing them in his mouth, he began chewing the fruit. Juice trickled down from the corners of his mouth to his chin.
    â€œYou take a leak first,” he said, scanning the buildings, “and check the tires.”
    Leaving the satchel of fragmentation grenades on the seat, Sean took the Thompson and stepped down from the cab onto the muddy apron. After circling the truck to make sure the tire pressures were holding, he stopped by the front fender to relieve himself. While one of the two marines in the back poured gas into the tank, the other trained his BAR toward the closest line of huts.
    Another marine moved between the trucks, refilling the men’s canteens from a five-gallon GI can. Sean watched raindrops dripping off the edge of the brim of his campaign hat.
    A dog began to bark. Its cries seemed to be coming from behind one of the buildings on the far side of the road. The dog stopped barking for a few seconds and then began again, more excited now.
    Then the dog’s cries stopped.
    Sean pulled back the bolt on the Thompson and inserted a bullet into the magazine. A few moments later, ashadowy figure of a man emerged from one of the darkened buildings. The man was swaying a little as he headed toward the captain’s staff car. Sean wondered for a moment if he was drunk. He saw that the man was carrying something in his hands. It appeared to be trailing smoke.
    â€œA Jap mine,” shouted J.D. “Hose him down.”
    Resting the butt of the Thompson against his arm, Sean pulled the trigger and fired a short burst. The bullets hammered into the man’s chest, throwing him backward. Two seconds later, a huge explosion engulfed him and lit up the night.
    Sean felt fragments of road gravel peppering his face like hard rain, and the air was filled with the reek of cordite. The driver’s-side door of the staff car swung open and the marine driver climbed out, taking cover behind it.
    â€œThey’re coming,” he shouted, firing at one of the doorways with his .45-caliber pistol.
    A Nambu machine gun opened up on them from the roof of one of the buildings. Tracer rounds flashed through the rain and hammered into the staff car and the windshield of their truck.
    This is what it’s all about,
thought Sean Morrissey. It was really happening to