by James Jones
You wouldnt think it would take so long. Even all tore up, it took so long. My body’s all tore up. My body. He did not want his body to be all tore up.
You can let go if you want to. They’d never know. You cant speak. You cant move. And its taking too long. And my body’s all tore up. Tore to pieces. Tore all up. Its a shame. And they’d never know.
But you’d know. You got to do it right. It wont take very long. Just a minute more now. And you want to do it good. Even if nobody will know it. Just another minute. Then it will end. Then it will be over.
He lay, feeling sweaty, and made himself look at it. At its being over. Looked it in the face, feeling sweaty.
I’m scared.
If you could just say something. Just a word. If you could just even move a little. If you could just do anything, besides just lay and look at them, and look at it. Christ, but the world was a lonesome place.
But then, as if in a way he was seeing double, he realized that it wasnt really going to end after all, that it would never end. There wasnt even that consolation, he thought sweatily. What he had thought once a long time ago, he thought, that day in Choy’s with old Red. How that there was always an endless chain of new decidings. It was right after all. That made him feel good, the being right.
“Man, those Thompsons sure do make a mess of them,” Cpl Oliver said. “Aint he dead yet?”
“I cant understand why he stopped,” Harry said complainingly. “Or why he didn’t shoot. It makes you feel like an awful son of a bitch. Hell, I didnt know. I was just firing. Honest, I didnt know a tall. Fred, listen?” Harry Temple was crying nervously. “Fred; Fred; listen?”
“Shut up,” Fred Dixon said.
“Honest, Fred? Fred, listen?”
“I said shut up,” Dixon said. He slapped him. “Take it easy, now.”
“I might as well look him over,” Tom Oliver said.
“Go over there and sit down, Harry,” Dixon said. “Oliver, what’d you find?”
“Nothing yet,” Tom Oliver said. “I knew he’s no soljer. Hey, wait a minute. Look at this. Heres an old SP Card. Dint I tell you that uniform looked funny? He’s over the hill, thats what he is.”
“Yeah,” Fred Dixon said. “What outfit does it say?”
“Pvt Robt E L Prewitt, G Company, —th Infantry,” Oliver said. “Well. So he is a soljer, after all.”
“Yeah,” Dixon said. “Tryin to get back to his outfit. Well, we better get in touch with them and have somebody come out and identify this body. Come on, Harry. Tom, you stay here. We’ll drive up the field phone station.”
Warden was in the orderly tent when the call came in over the field phone. He sent Rosenberry over to get Weary Russell and went himself. Lt Ross was gone to Schofield with Pete Karelsen for the day to see the Colonel to try and get Pete re-instated, and they were not back yet. Warden was glad they were not back yet.
“You’re in charge, Rosenberry, till we get back,” he said. “Make a note of any calls not emergency. Emergency calls relay right on in to Battalion.”
“Yes, Sir,” Rosenberry said quietly.
“Come on, Weary. You got the jeep?”
“So old Prewitt’s dead,” Weary said when they were on the road. “You really think its Prewitt, First?”
“I dont know. We’ll know pretty soon. Its right this end of the golf course,” he told him.
He did not say anything else during the rest of the ride, till they got there.
“There it is,” he said.
There was quite a cluster of blue headlights and flashlights alongside the road. They couldnt have missed it. It was about forty yards back in off the road.
“Pull right on in there with them,” Warden said.
“Right,” Weary said, and put her in low range.
There was the patrol jeep, two other jeeps, two captains, one major, and one lieutenant colonel. All of them clustered around the sandtrap.
“You are the Company Commander of G Company, —th Infantry?” the Lt Col asked him as he and Weary climbed out.
“No, Sir. I’m the first sergeant.”
“First sergeant!” the Lt Col said. He looked at his chevrons. “Wheres your Company Commander?”
“He’s out on a mission, Sir.”
“Well, where are your other officers?”
“They’re all out on missions, Sir.”
“Thats incredible!” the Lt Col exclaimed. “They cant all be out on missions!”
“Sir, we have a ten or fifteen mile stretch of beach positions that have to be inspected.”
“Of course,” the Lt Col said. “But what we need here is an officer. This is a serious matter.”
“Sir, I am authorized to act in any contingency if the Company officers are absent.”
“You have written orders to that effect?”
“Yes, Sir,” Warden said. “But not with me.”
“Well,” the Lt Col said. Then he said, “Did you know this man personally, Sergeant?”
“Yes, Sir.” Weary Russell was down in the sandtrap, squatting on his hams talking to two of the patrol detail.
“Well,” the Lt Col said. “Go ahead and identify him then.”
Warden stepped down into the sandtrap and looked at him. One of the patrol detail turned on a blue flashlight.
“Thats Prewitt, Sir. He has been absent without leave since the 20th of October.”
“Then you identify him,” the Lt Col said. “Officially.”
“Yes, Sir.” He came back up out of the trap.
“I wish we could have had an officer,” the Lt Col said. “A thing like this is serious. Very well,” he said, and moved with a paper into the blue lights of one of the jeeps. He was a tall spare man. “Sign here, Sergeant.
“Thank you. Now here are the man’s effects. I had them itemized. You’ll have to sign for those too, please.”
“These are all, Sir?” Warden said.
“You realize, of course,” the Lt Col said, “that my men are in no way responsible for what has happened. They were acting in the line of duty. That will all come out at the inquest.”
“Yes, Sir,” Warden said.
“The man is obviously a deserter,” the Lt Col said. “When my men tried to bring him in he broke and ran. Then when they fired, the man stopped and turned and turned back directly into the line of their fire. I wish we could have had an officer out here. You tell your Company Commander to stop in the Provost’s office and see me tomorrow. Lt Col Hobbs. All right, sign here, Sergeant. For those effects. I do no know, of course, what verdict the inquest board will bring in. You will be informed.”
“For the sake of the man’s relatives, Sir,” Warden said, “it might be better if they could just simply make it Killed in Line of Duty. The names of your men could be left out, and that way there would be less of an incident all the way round.”
The Lt Col looked at him a little curiously. “That’s an excellent idea. I was just going to mention it myself, as a matter of fact.”
“Yes, Sir,” Warden said.
“Still, of course,” the Lt Col said carefully, “you realize I have absolutely no sayso with the board’s verdict.”
“Oh, no, Sir,” Warden said.
“Well, I guess that about covers it, Sergeant. We will take the body down to the mortuary, of course.”
“Which mortuary, Sir?”
“The customary one,” the Lt Col said. “I forget the name. You know the one I mean. The same one that used to do all the Army’s business before the war.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“He will be interred here, of course. Probably the Red Hill cemetery. That will all be taken care of later.”
“Sir,” Warden said formally, “I would like to make formal request that this body be buried in the Army’s permanent cemetery at Schofield Barracks.”
The Lt Col looked at him again. “Upon what authority, Sergeant?”
“None, Sir,” Warden said. “Except that I’m sure my Company Comma
nder would prefer it. Our Company has other men buried there.”
“The Schofield cemetery is a permanent cemetery,” the Lt Col said. “I thought you said this man had relatives. Since the Pearl Harbor attack all temporary interments have been made in the new Red Hill Cemetery.”
“Yes, Sir,” Warden said. “But it will be some time before any bodies can be shipped home, Sir. Probably until after the end of the war. And this man was a Regular Army soldier. He had at least eight years service,” he lied.
“Oh,” the Lt Col said. “Well,” he said finally, “I believe I can attend to that for you. I’m an Old Army man myself, Sergeant.”
“Yes, Sir,” Warden said.
The Lt Col made a note in his pocket notebook. “Now. If you will just sign for these effects, please. There is nothing but this wallet, a small pocketknife, this obsolete SP Card, and a keychain with one key. Sign here, please.”
“These are all, Sir?” Warden said.
“Except the pistol. I shall have to confiscate that, of course. And the cartridges.” He extended his pen. “Now sign here, please.”
Warden did not take it “I want to be sure its everything, Sir.”
“Sergeant, I told you it was.” The Lt Col looked around frowningly. “Now if you will just—”
“Begging the Colonel’s pardon, Sir.” The S/Sgt in charge of the patrol detail stepped up to them and saluted.
“Yes, Sgt Dixon,” the Lt Col said impatiently. “What is it?”
“Sir, I believe there was another item that is not on the list.”
“There was?” the Lt Col said. “And why wasnt I told of this before, Sergeant?” he said sternly.
“I guess it just slipped past in the confusion, Sir.”
“What was the item, Sergeant?”
“A small black pocket notebook, Sir,” the S/Sgt said. “The last time I saw it it was lying on the seat of our jeep there.”
“Then I am forced to beg your pardon, First Sergeant,” the Lt Col said.
“Thats quite all right, Sir,” Warden said.
“I’ll get it for you, Sergeant,” the S/Sgt said.
“I’ll go with you,” Warden said.
At the jeep they had to turn on the flashlight to look for it. It had fallen off the seat down into the floor well of the rider’s seat.
“Here you are, Sergeant,” the S/Sgt said. As he picked it up a paper fell out of it onto the jeep floor.
“Just a minute, Sergeant,” Warden said. He borrowed the flash and got the paper.
“I didn’t see it,” the S/Sgt apologized.
“Its all right.” Warden opened the paper and held the flash on it. It looked like short lines of rhymed verse, a poem. At the top was the title printed in capitals. THE RE-ENLISTMENT BLUES. He did not try to read it. He folded the paper and buttoned it down in his shirt pocket carefully and looked at the notebook. There was nothing in it but a long list of books under the printed caption: TO READ. Somehow, even in the midst of all this, he felt an apart aloof moment of vague surprise, to find a list of books like that in Prewitt’s effects. Most of them, he had read himself, at one time or another. But he did not expect Prewitt to have wanted to read them.
“You know,” the S/Sgt said as Warden buttoned the notebook into his other shirt pocket, “we feel pretty bad about this, Sergeant.” He looked around him, and then went on in a low voice. “Harry Temple, he’s a Pfc, the one who did the shooting, is all busted up over it. Its not like a Jap or something like that. I guess you think we’re lying. But that was what he actually did. He turned right back into our fire.”
“What did he do?” Warden said.
“Nothing,” the S/Sgt said. “He was running. Cpl Oliver, he’s my second in command, he fired two or three times. But he kept running. Then Harry Temple opened up with the Thompson. Just firing. Then the light went on. And your man just suddenly stopped and turned around right into the fire. He had that .38 in his hand, but I dont think he even raised it. We found it in the sand later. You know how those Thompsons are. They spray all over. He was right on the edge of that sandtrap. He could have jumped down in it. I guess you think I’m lying?”
“No,” Warden said.
“Was he a friend of yours?”
“No,” Warden said. “Not a friend.”
“Well, I wanted you to know we were all awfully sorry.”
“Everybody’s always very sorry,” Warden said. “Afterwards.”
“Thats right,” the S/Sgt said. “He was tryin to get back to his Compny. I could have let him gone. But I didnt. I didnt know. I wasnt sure. This sand,” he said vaguely; then he said it again, viciously, “this sand. This goddam sand. Its like a goddam fuckin desert.”
“Its all in the game,” Warden said. “The whole thing was all in the cards. It wasnt your fault. Forget it.”
“I’m going to put in for relief,” the S/Sgt said, “from this place. And request another beat on the other side of town. I dont like this goddam sand.”
“You cant get away from sand in Hawaii.”
“Well, I just wanted you to know, Sergeant,” the S/Sgt said.
“Okay,” Warden said. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Thanks a lot, Sergeant.”
He went on back over to the jeep by the trap, where Weary was still talking earnestly to the two men from the patrol, and signed the receipt for the effects that was still lying on the hood. Then he found the Lt Col and saluted.
“Is that everything now, Sir?”
“Have you signed for the effects?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then I think that is all. You found the notebook?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I must apologize again for the oversight, Sergeant,” the Lt Col said formally.
“Thats quite all right, Sir,” Warden said formally.
“I do not like things like that to happen,” the Lt Col said. “Well, you’re free to leave any time, Sergeant.”
“Thank you, Sir.” He saluted, and went over to the trap. “Weary! Come on, lets go.”
After they had got back on the Highway and Weary had put the jeep back into high range, Warden turned in the seat and looked back at the dwindling cluster of lights. All he seemed able to think about was how there wasnt even going to be any boxing season this year at all now, anyway.
“It gives me the creeps,” Weary said. “You’d think he would of at least jumped down in the trap.”
Warden swung back around in the seat. At least he had been able to do those two things for him, anyway. That of the Service Record, and the getting of him buried in the permanent cemetery at Schofield. Which was where he would have been buried anyway, if the Provost’s Lt Col had known he didnt have relatives. Once they had him in the ground they would never bother to move him.
“Remember that time at Hickam?” Weary said. “When you and him got all drunked up and passed out in the middle of the road and I nearly ran over both of you?”
Warden did not answer. There was still the third thing. He knew he ought to go down and see Lorene. She would want the key to her house back, if nothing else. But then, he could mail the key with the letter if he took the keychain off it.
“Boy, you were both of you sure drunk that time,” Weary said.
“Yeah,” Warden said. He would rather take a beating, than to have to go down and see her. But he knew he would go.
“What the hell do you suppose made him do it?” Weary said.
Warden did not answer because he was wondering why did it always all seem to come in bunches?
Chapter 53
MILT WARDEN HAD, that morning, received the confirmation of his appointment as a Second Lieutenant (Infantry) in the Officers’ Reserve Corps.
In the same batch of dispatches was another letter, from Regiment, informing G Company of the impending removal of its Weapons Platoon Sergeant, Peter J Karelsen.
But they did not know about Pete until later. Lt Ross opened Warden’s appointment first.
&nb
sp; It was a War Department letter, addressed to the CO of G Company for approval, and it had a long string of endorsements on it. It must have been kicking around channels on the Island since clear before Pearl Harbor. The effect upon Warden, when Lt Ross (with studied indifference) tossed it over onto his desk, was that of a man surprised red-handed in a guilty act. His first, instinctive, reaction was to tear it up quickly and stuff it down in the bottom of the waste basket before anybody saw it. Then he thought about Karen Holmes.
Anyway, Lt Ross had already opened it and seen it first.
At Hanauma Bay, during the first five days after the bombing, they had set up the CP in the popcorn vender’s wagon under the grove of kiawe trees. Then when they got the tents from Schofield they still left it in there anyway, ostensibly for camouflage, but in reality because it had a wood floor and was up off the ground.
It was not very big in there and there were four of them, plus the field phone switchboard to the Positions, crowded into it when the Message Center truck delivered the G Company dispatch bag that morning. Him and Rosenberry and Ross, and Culpepper; since Pearl Harbor Culpepper had been promoted to 1st/Lt and been made the Company Exec. And when Warden looked up, they were all three grinning at him.
It was, he had thought sourly looking at them, the same half-assed foolish grin that everybody always got knowingly when some jerk passed out cigars because his stupid wife had a goddam baby. We know how you did it, the grins always implied slyly, we know what was required. Then the stupid jerk blushes; and if his wife is anywheres around she blushes; and if the goddam baby wasnt red as a beet it would probly blush too. I baptize thee in the name of the Grin, the Blush, and the Holy Twitchett; thou art born of woman; let us kneel, brothers, and all blush together before God; somebody had a baby.
“There’ll be some papers to sign yet,” Lt Ross grinned at him happily, when he handed it back. “And the oath to take. But to all intents and purposes you are now an Officer in the US Army, Sergeant. My congratulations.”
“Army of the US, Ross,” Culpepper corrected grinning. “How do you feel, Sergeant?”
“How the hell I supposed to feel?”
