From Here to Eternity (88 page)

like I was somebody else! At ease. Rest. Relax. You dont have to be formal with me." Pete moved his foot twelve inches to the left and clasped his hands behind his back. "Sir, I wish the Company Commander to know that I appreciate everything he did," Pete said emotionlessly, his face still rock-hard like a soldier at attention. "I will never forget it, Sir." Lt Ross looked at him a moment, and then rubbed his hand over his face again. "You might as well sleep here the next couple of days, Sgt Karelsen," he said. "Till they call you in. You might as well be comfortable. Tell Sgt Malleaux I said give you a cot, and set it up in the Headquarters tent. The Weapons Platoon may as well start getting along without you right now." "Yes, Sir," Pete said. "Thank you, Sir." He came back to attention slowly and with style, bending forward a little bit from the waist, and made that slow wide-sweeping snap of a salute again. It was a beautiful salute. "Sir, if the Company Commander will excuse the Sergeant, the Sergeant will retire," Pete said. "Go ahead," Lt Ross said. Pete did a slow, precise, perfect aboutface and started off for the door at a solid 120 per. "Whats that stuff?" Lt Ross said, pointing at the little pile of effects. "Wait a minute, Pete." Warden said from his chair. "You'll want to hear this, too." He separated the effects and spread them out and told them about Prewitt. "Well," Lt Ross said. "Thats fine. Thats wonderful. That makes it a grand slam. We're batting a thousand." "When did it happen, Milt?" Pete said from the door, his voice genuinely human for the first time. There was a kind of a heartsick note in it that made a dull anger flare up in Warden. "About eight o'clock," he said impassively. He told them the story just as the MP Sgt had related it to him. Then, for Lt Ross's benefit, he went back and sketched in the rest of it from the beginning when Prewitt quit the Bugle Corps. He left out a few things. For instance, he did not say anything about the late S/Sgt Fatso Judson. And he did not mention how with Baldy Dhom's initial shove he had covered up for him on the Morning Report for a week or so. Also, he did not mention Lorene of the New Congress. "Well," Lt Ross said when he finished. "That boy had a pretty good batting average himself. He managed to violate just about every AW in the book. He managed to just about ruin the reputation of my organization; and I dont even remember ever having seen the man, to recognize him." "Sir," Pete said from the door, "if the Company Commander will excuse me now, I will leave.. I can be of no further use to the Company Commander and lst/Sgt in this matter." "Sure. Go ahead, Sergeant," Lt Ross said. "Get some sleep. We both need it." "Yes, Sir," Pete said. "Thank you, Sir." He came back to his slow precision of attention, making that same beautiful salute as he did so, and aboutfaced slowly and perfectly. As he went out through the blackout flap, he whispered to Warden. "I got a couple bottles up at Schofield, today, Milt. They're extra. Come down to the tent after." "What the hells the matter with him," Lt Ross said when he had gone. "He dont have to be formal with me. Hell, I did the best I could for him." "You dont understand him," Warden said. "I sure as hell dont." "He's being a soldier," Warden said. "He's proving he's still a soldier. Its got nothing to do with you, Lieutenant." "Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever understand any of you guys," Lt Ross said. "Or the Army." "Dont push it," Warden said. "You try to push it too hard. You got plenty time yet." He leaned back deep in his chair and began to brief him about Lt Col Hobbs of the Provost's office, and how he had fixed it so all Ross had to do was keep his mouth shut and look agreeable. "But I thought Prewitt didnt have any relatives?" Lt Ross said. "He dont. But it will make it easier all the way round, this way. And in addition," Warden said pointedly, "you will not have any mention of a dead deserter on your Company's records, Lieutenant." "I see," Lt Ross said. "You can count on me." He rubbed his hand over his face again. "This is sure going to make a swell report to send in to Col Delbert; after today. I think its just about as well we're finally rid of this man Prewitt." "Just about," Warden said. "I guess you think thats calloused?" Lt Ross said quickly. "No." "My first responsibility is to this Company as a whole," Lt Ross said. "Not to the individuals in it. And any individual who threatens the security of the whole threatens my responsibility. I still say, I think its just as well we're finally rid of him." "You dont have to justify yourself to me, Lieutenant," Warden said. "No, but I have to justify myself to myself," Lt Ross said. "Well, then just dont use me as your punching bag then, will you?" "You thought a lot of this Prewitt, didnt you, Sergeant?" "No. I thought he was. a good soldier." "Yes, he sure as hell sounds like it," Lt Ross said bitterly. "I think he was nuts. He loved the Army. Anybody who loves the Army is nuts. I think he was crazy enough to have made a good paratrooper, if he wasnt so small, or commando. He loved the Army the way most men love their wives. Anybody who loves the Army that much is nuts." "They sure are," Lt Ross said. "In a war a country needs every good soldier it can lay hands on. It cant have too many." "One soldier more, or less, dont matter much," Lt Ross said tiredly. "You think not?" "Production is what wins wars," Lt Ross said. "Thats why a man who loves the Army is nuts," Warden said. "I guess thats right," Lt Ross said. "Well, you'll be out of it, before long, anyway. Out of this, anyway." He rubbed the same grimy hand over the same face, that was smeared now, and then got up and collected his carbine and his helmet. "I have to go out and take a look at Makapuu yet before I turn in, Sergeant. Its going to be rough on Cribbage with Sgt Karelsen out. They're going to have a hard time for a while. If anything comes up, you'll know where to find me." "Send Anderson or Clark up to relieve me on this switchboard when you go down, will you?" "Which one's on first?" "I dont know. Let them decide. But I want Rosenberry to get the last shift; he was up with this all the time I was gone." "Okay," Lt Ross said. He went out. In a few minutes Company Bugler Anderson, sleepy-eyed and tousleheaded, came in looking sullen like a man who bet on red when the black had come up. "Lost, hunh?" Warden said. "I should of made him cut the cards," Andy said. "I never can beat Friday matching." "Its midnight. Theres only eight hours left. Take three, give Friday three, and let Rosenberry have the last two," Warden said. "He was up with it all evening while you guys were banging ear." He got his rifle out of the corner. "Okay, Top," Andy said. He did not look happy, but then you did not argue with The Warden any more than you would have argued with Jesus Christ. Especially when he was in this mood. "Hey, Top?" "Yeah?" "Is that really true about Prewitt?" "Yeah, its true." "Gee. Thats tough," Andy said. He got his comic book out of his hip pocket and sat down by the switchboard. "Thats really tough." "Yeah," Warden said. "Sure is." Outside, in the fresh sea air under the kiawe grove, the late-rising moon was just coming above the mountains back of Koko Head, its silver light making one dark cave of the whole grove. From the wagon, and below him, the ground sloped down sharply through the patchy darkness under the trees of the grove to the bright levelness of the parking lot at the top of the cliff, where he and Karen had parked that time and watched the highschool kids having their picnic. Feeling very remote, and aware of the weight of the rifle, he picked at random one of the new paths in the sandy soil that were becoming more packed and smooth every day now since Pearl Harbor, and that formed a many-choiced web through the grove amongst the newly placed tents and the old popcorn wagon and two WPA septic-tank outhouses that had been there before. The air felt very good in his lungs and on the outside of his head. He walked on in the shade-dappled moonlight, feeling something ugly and hard flare up inside his chest. He went up another path toward the scattered tents of the camp. The Headquarters tent was dark and Friday and Rosenberry were asleep on their cots, and he took still another path toward the supply tent over by the blacktop. In the supply tent Pete and Maylon Stark were sitting up with Pete's Schofield bottles, by the light of a blanket-shaded Coleman lantern. On the improvised table of sawhorses and one-by-six planks against the back wall Pete's portable radio, that he had carefully packed and brought along on The Seventh, was playing dance music. "It aint hahdly even the same outfit any more," Stark said gloomily drunkenly. "Come on in, Milt," Pete said sympathetically from the cot. He moved over. "We just been talking about how fast the Compny's changed the last couple of months." Warden noted the open bottle was less than half empty. Stark must have started in earlier with one of his own. "Balls!" he sneered at them. "It aint changin any fastern it ever was." He unslung his rifle and sat down beside Pete and accepted a canteen cup half full of straight whiskey. He drank it off quick and handed it back for a refill. "Wheres Russell? I thought he'd be in here tellin his story." "He's already been," Stark said darkly. "He's over across the road to the kitchen tent," Pete said, "tellin the cooks." "What'll he do when he runs out of people to tell?" Stark said. "Bust, probly," Pete said. Behind them the music on the radio stopped and an announcer came on. "Lucky Strike green has gone to war," the announcer said. "Yes, Lucky Strike green has gone to war." "I aint never seen no outfit change so much in so short a time," Stark said funereally. "Say, what the hell is this?" Warden jeered. "I thought this was a party. Its more like a wake." "It could be a wake," Stark said belligerently. "Then lets liven it up a little. A wake's supposed to be lively. Lets dial out that crap and get some good gutty hot jazz." "Leave it be," Pete said. "Its the hit parade." "What. On Monday night?" "Prewitt happened to be a good friend of mine," Stark said testily. "Its a re-broadcast from the States for Servicemen," Pete explained. "No stuff?" Warden derided. "A re-broadcast? For servicemen? Boy, they really treatin us right any more, aint they? Pretty soon they be wipin our ass for us maybe, hunh?" "He may not of been a good friend of yours," Stark said. "But he was a good friend of mine." "He was no goddam friend of mine," Warden sneered. "All he caused me was headaches and troubles." "You're a hard hearted son of a bitch," Stark said pugnaciously, "you know it:?" "Thats no way to talk about a man from your own Compny, Milt," Pete said, "after he's been killed. Even if he was over the hill. Even if you are kidding." "Kidding," Warden said. "Who the hells kidding?" "I just cant get over it," Stark said. He started naming them. "Leva; transferred to M Co as Supply Sgt. Bloom; a suicide. Maggio; discharged a Section Eight. Holmes and Big Jim O'Hayer gone to Brigade Hq. And then all these heah ROTC jokers comin in. And now Prewitt." "Balls," Warden scoffed, "sometimes we lose that many men in a single month, as short timers." "You dont think dyin is any differnt from goin home as a short timer?" Stark said. "They didnt all die," Warden said. "You try it sometime," Stark said, "and see." "The effect on the Compny Roster's no differnt," Warden said. "Pour us another drink, Pete." "And now old Pete will be leavin in a couple days," Stark said gloomily. "Dont forget Old Ike," Warden grinned. "Well, I for one will be damn glad to get out of this outfit," Pete said. "Six years in an outfit is long enough." "And I, for one, dont blame you," Stark said. "You guys think I like layin on my ass in them holes in the rock out at Makapuu like a lizard?" Pete said. "Because it aint even the same outfit no more," Stark said. "You guys sound like a couple kids," Warden snorted. "No outfit ever stays the same. What do you want? Everybody all grow old together and all retire on the same day and go live somewheres in a body?" Behind them the music stopped again and the announcer came back on. "Dont look for your Luckies in their familiar green package on the tobacco counters," the announcer said. "No, your Luckies are wearing a different color now." "Mark my words," Pete said with accurate prophecy. "The golden days on this rock are over. When they do start givin passes, there'll be men lined up for blocks at every bar and every whorehouse. And they'll run them through like an assembly line." "Like to get out of it myself," Stark said. "Ony I aint got no place to go." "But old Pete," Pete said, "is going to be sitting on a rosy cloud of plenty. Back Stateside." "If I did have a place to go," Stark said. "I couldnt get a transfer now." "And then I'll think about you boys still sitting on the rocks at Makapuu," Pete said. "If I could transfer," Stark said, "it would still be the same. Draftees everywhere. ROTC jokers everywhere." "You're both of you nuttiern fruitcakes," Warden jeered. "No outfits ever any different than another; peace or war. And it'll be closed down just as tight back Stateside as it will here." "Oh, no!" Pete said. "Oh, no!" "So it wunt do me any good to transfer if I could," Stark said. "Oh, no!" Pete said. "There'll be women everywhere. All of them out on the loose. With the sky the limit." Warden looked at him carefully. "For Christ's sake, shut up," he said boredly, "both of you." "I envy you," Stark said gloomily. "Goddam right you do," Pete said. "They'll put me to training draftees. I'll have a nice soft easy job. Just like a business man in an office. I'll do my eight hours and then I'm through for the day. Why the hell should I want to stay in this goddam outfit?" "I envy you," Stark said dismally. "Oh, god, how I envy you." "Shut up!" Warden said to him. "Bars!" Pete said. "Cocktail lounges! Nice hotels to take them to! Good restaurants! I know what its like. I was in the last war." "You'll be gettin out just as the old Compny folds," Stark said. "You wont be here to see the end." "I said shut up, Stark!" Warden said. "And you'll be sleepin on rocks!" Pete hollered. "Eatin cold chow off a messkit! Workin your ass and arms off puttin up bob wire!" He got up off the cot. "You'll be living on the beaches!" he yelled, throwing it at them. "Standin in line for a drink or a piece of ass! You'll be the first Infantry outfit under the gun! The first ones to be shipped down south when we start into them crummy islands!" He was leaning forward at them stiffly, shooting it down at them, his arms straight down at his sides against the roundbottomed-doll fat hips. His face was very red. Some tears ran down off his face and, leaning forward as he was, dripped onto the blunt round toes of his