Orders Is Orders Read Online Free

Private Spivits might volunteer to take them.”
    “Yes, sir,” said Mitchell, as though Shunkien was no farther from there than the stanchion to his right.
    “Yes, sir,” said Spivits quickly, as though he was, at that moment, in the very center
     of Shunkien.
    “Good,” said the walnut-faced captain. “Report in a half-hour, full pack.”
    Mitchell and Spivits saluted, about-faced and rattled down the companionway and out
     of sight.
    The exec appeared at Davis’ left. “The captain wants to see you again.”
    They went forward and found the Navy captain still studying the shore with great attention.
     He did not turn. “You might impress your two men with the fact that they are not to
     create any disturbances ashore.”
    “Yes, sir,” said Davis.
    “And you might also tell them that I have just received word that there are three
     major offensives in progress between here and Shunkien. They will be forced to pass
     through those armies.” He turned and cleared his throat. “Damn it, Davis, this is
     a long chance. But it’s certain that two Marines can’t do much damage and it’s equally
     certain that we won’t go to war over the disappearance of two Marines. If it weren’t
     for the repeated requests from Shunkien . . .” He shrugged. “There’s the keg.”
    A sailor lugged it down to the starboard gangway. A hospital corpsman came up with
     the carefully packed package of serum. He stood by, waiting to give it up.
    “I get the drift of this,” said the corpsman to the seaman. “Those two leathernecks
     are outward bound for Shunkien.”
    “Jesus,” said the seaman, startled. “Through all that mess ashore?”
    “I wouldn’t give a secondhand swab for their chances,” said the corpsman.
    “Aw, well, hell,” replied the sailor. “What’s a couple of Marines?”
    B elow, Mitchell was loading his pistol clips with newly issued ammunition. He was thoughtfully
     methodical about it, as though he had no other destination than the range in prospect.
    Finishing the task, he slid the spares into the pouch on his web belt and hitched
     his holster into a comfortable position. He took his pack and, standing before his
     opened locker, began to insert his razor and shaving brush and other toilet articles.
     As he moved the contents of the shelf about, a bottle at the extreme back caught his
     eye.
    He reached for it and pulled it into the light, speculatively reading the label which
     said Canadian Whisky. Five Years Old. One Quart.
    He started to put it back and stopped. Reluctantly, as though he could not stay his
     hand, he took his extra shoes out of his pack and put the bottle in their place.
    Twice he started to take it out again but it required more willpower than he could
     summon at the moment.
    “Might as well carry dynamite,” he said ruefully.
    He shrugged into his shoulder straps and snapped them into place. He picked up Toughey
     on his way out and together they mounted to the starboard gangway.
    Captain Davis handed his gunnery sergeant a sheaf of orders. “Take care of these.
     Here’s the keg and the box. Take care of them and deliver them, intact, to Consul
     Jackson, United States Consulate at Shunkien. Understand?”
    “Yessir,” said Mitchell. “Take the keg, Toughey.”
    Toughey boosted the keg up to his mighty shoulder and steadied it there. Mitchell
     tied the box to his web belt.
    “Is that all, sir?” said Mitchell.
    “Yes. Carry on, Sergeant.”
    Mitchell and Toughey saluted and started down the gangway toward the nervously putt-putting
     motor sailer which had been put into the water. The captain touched Mitchell’s shoulder,
     stopping him for an instant.
    “I wish you luck, Sergeant.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    “And Sergeant . . . be careful about the booze, will you? It’s pretty important that
     you get to Shunkien.”
    “Oh, you bet, sir.”
    Captain Davis took his hand and shook it. “If . . . that is . . . if I don’t see you
     again . . . well .