by Len Levinson
“You can’t even remember, can you?” Butsko said with a grin.
“It was back in New York—maybe six months ago.”
“You think it felt better for you than it does for me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what makes you think you’re more sensitive than me?”
“It’s more of an intellectual sensitivity.”
“Intellectual?” Butsko asked, having difficulty pronouncing the word.
“That’s right.”
“In other words, you think you’re smarter than I am.”
Now it was Hampton’s turn to look Butsko in the eye. “To be perfectly honest with you Sergeant, that’s exactly what I mean.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Well,” Butsko said, “if you’re smarter than me, I guess I should let you take out the patrol tonight.”
Hampton went pale. “Me?”
“Why not?”
“But I don’t know anything about taking out a patrol!”
“But you just said you’re smarter than me!”
“I am!”
“Then take out the patrol!”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Something was caught in Hampton’s throat, and he coughed. “Because I don’t know what to do.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“I know what to do,” Butsko said. “Does that mean I’m smarter than you?”
Hampton tried to smile. “Maybe when it comes to taking a patrol.”
“How about when it comes to attacking a Jap bunker. How do you attack a Jap bunker, Hampton?”
Hampton shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I know,” Butsko said. “I done it a million times. Does that mean I’m smarter than you again?”
Hampton appeared perturbed. “Well, I suppose you know more about your specialty than I do?”
“What’s your specialty?” Butsko asked.
“My specialty?”
“Yes, your specialty.”
“Um, I don’t have a specialty.”
“You don’t have a specialty?”
“No.”
“Then what the fuck good are you?”
“Well,” said Hampton, “I studied philosophy in college.”
“What philosophy is that?”
“Kant, Hegel, Schopenhauer, and Nietzsche.”
“Sounds like a comedy team to me.”
“They’re famous philosophers.”
“What did they say?”
“Well, they explained life.”
“They did?”
“Yes.”
“Then explain life to me.”
Hampton smiled as if talking to a child. “Well, it’s very complex.”
“That’s your story,” Butsko replied. “It ain’t complex to me.” Butsko picked up his M 1 rifle and aimed it at Hampton. “Life is when you don’t get hit with the bullet. How about that, philosopher?”
“That’s an enormous simplification.”
“In a way life is simple, but let’s go back a few steps. Can you make money outta philosophy?”
“If you have a Ph.D. you can.”
“You got a Ph.D.?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t make money off it.”
“No.”
“Can you kill Japs with it?”
“With what?”
“Philosophy.”
“That’s a stupid question.”
“You’ll find out how stupid it is someday when a Jap is coming at you and all you got to fight him off with is your philosophy.”
Hampton raised his eyebrows. “You’re so elemental, Butsko. You know nothing of the finer things.”
“What finer things?”
“Philosophy.”
“I got my philosophy,” Butsko said.
“You do?”
“Yes I do.”
“What is this philosophy of yours that you have, Sergeant?”
“Tough guys die fast,” Butsko said.
“What was that?”
‘Tough guys die fast. You know what that means?”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Then I’ll explain it to you. Tough guys die fast, and weaklings like you die slow. Tough guys die fast because they’re not afraid and they’re always in the thick of the fight. When they get hit they get hit hard and they die fast. Cowards and weaklings like you are afraid every day and you die a little bit every hour. You die slowly, in bits, shitting your pants, wishing your mama could save you. And when the shit hits the fan, cowards like you lay back and never die clean. You get the weird oddball wounds that hurt the most. Guys like you usually get shot in the back because they’re running the wrong way. Tough guys die fast, so I guess you don’t ever have to worry about dying fast. You’ll die real slow, Hampton, and after you’re gone I’m gonna write your mother a letter and tell her you died running in the wrong direction, and she was the mother of a coward.”
There was silence for a few moments. Butsko had made his little speech with passion, and now he wiped the spit off his lips. Hampton’s face was red with anger.
“I’m no coward!” Hampton said vehemently.
“Prove it,” Butsko replied.
“I don’t have to prove anything to you!”
“Then prove it to yourself.”
“I know I’m not a coward!”
“How do you know?”
“I know!”
Butsko leaned toward him. “You don’t know a fucking thing, you goddamned sissy. All you can do is think you’re better than everybody, but you’re not. The men you think you’re better than have got more guts than you ever did or ever will have, and they know more about war than you’ll ever know. You think you’re smarter than they are? All you know that they don’t is what wine is better than what other wine, as if anybody gives a shit about that piss-water in the first place. You probably know how to order fancy twelve-course dinners in sissy restaurants, but that don’t amount to shit out here. This is a place where people live or die according to how smart they really are, and how lucky they are.” Butsko pointed at Hampton. “You’ll be a casualty before long. Wanna know why?”
Hampton was so mad he wouldn’t answer. He refused to cooperate with Butsko any more.
“I’ll tell you anyway,” Butsko said. “You’re gonna be a casualty before long because I’m gonna make a point of putting you wherever the fighting is the hardest. You’ll either learn to be a man and a soldier, or the Japs’ll kill you. And if you try to run away, I’ll kill you. I won’t kill you fast, either, because only tough guys die fast. I’ll shoot off your kneecaps or put a bullet in your stomach, where it’ll hurt the most. Understand what I’m saying?”
Hampton’s lips trembled with rage, but he still refused to answer.
Butsko lunged forward and grabbed the front of Hampton’s shirt. “You little fucking piece of shit!” Butsko said, his teeth bared and eyes glittering with hate. “You think you’re smarter than me? Well lemme tell you something! Out here in this stinking jungle I can think rings around you any day of the week! Out here you belong to me and I’ll do anything with you I want!” Butsko punched Hampton in the chest, then let his shirt go. “You’re going out on a patrol with me tonight,” Butsko said, “and if you fuck up in any way, I’m gonna kill you, understand?”
Hampton clenched his jaw shut and refused to respond.
“I asked you if you understood!”
Again Hampton wouldn’t say anything.
Butsko felt his temperature rise. “Do you want me to kick the shit out of you right now? Do you want me to do to you what I did to Tronolone and Schlegelmilch?”
Hampton thought of the bloody mangled faces of those two soldiers, and shuddered. Hampton thought he was very handsome, and didn’t want to become an ogre.
“No,” Hampton said.
“You know who you remind me of?” Butsko asked.
“You remind me of another rich society guy from New York who used to be in the recon platoon, only he was a fighter. He wasn’t a big guy but he did his best. He didn’t like this war any better than anybody else around here, but he followed orders and did his duty. He wasn’t a great soldier but he tried at least, and I respected him for that. If he was here right now he’d put you to shame.”
“What was his name?” Hampton asked.
“Craig Delane.”
“Craig Delane!”
“You know him?”
Hampton nodded. “Yes, I knew him rather well. Where is he now?”
“Last thing I heard, he was at the division medical headquarters I think he got his million-dollar wound last night.”
“May I go see him?”
Butsko pinched together his eyebrows and examined Hampton for a few moments. “No,” he said finally. “There isn’t enough time. Tell Bisbee I wanna talk to him, and go back to cleaning your rifle.”
Private Hampton stood up and walked away. Butsko watched him go, feeling revulsion inside. Butsko hated snobs, and he especially hated Hampton because he was such a prissy, fussy son of a bitch. I’ll make a man out of him or I’ll kill him, Butsko thought.
He watched Hampton walk up to Private Clement R. Bisbee, the one with a baby face. Bisbee stood, smiled, and sauntered toward where Butsko was sitting. Butsko figured Bisbee was no more than eighteen years old, and might even be sixteen. He looked sweet and innocent, but he was the one who stole the wallet from somebody in his outfit.
“You wanted to see me, Sergeant?” Bisbee asked politely.
“Siddown.”
“Yes Sergeant.”
Bisbee sat down and smiled. He looked like a decent young man, but Butsko perceived a wicked, treacherous gleam in his eye. This one has to be watched like a hawk, Butsko thought.
“You’re the one who stole a wallet from your buddy, right?” Butsko asked.
“I didn’t do it, Sergeant. Really I didn’t.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Bisbee shrugged. “Nobody believes me.”
“That’s because everybody can see right through you. Everybody’s not as dumb as you think. Anyway, I don’t have time for crooks. I don’t care what you do when you’re not in this platoon, but if you steal anything from anybody in this platoon, I’m gonna cut your fucking hands off, got it?”
Bisbee went pale. “I got it.”
“I don’t believe in court-martials because they take too much time,” Butsko continued. “I don’t like stockades either because they just take up space. The only way to stop a thief is cut off his hands. That’s what the Ay-rabs do, and that’s what I’m gonna do with you. Think about it next time you see a chance to steal somebody’s wallet, got it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Go back to what you were doing, and tell Crow I wanna talk to him.”
“Yes Sergeant.”
Bisbee walked to the other side of the clearing and said something to Private Phillip T. Crow, the pale, scrawny one with the long, gawky neck. Crow stood up and looked fearfully at Butsko, then walked hesitantly toward him. As Crow drew closer Butsko could see his eyes darting nervously around in their sockets. Crow looked as though a strong wind would blow him over.
Crow stopped in front of Butsko and fidgeted with his hands. “Private Crow reporting, Sergeant,” he said in a tremulous voice.
“Siddown, Crow.”
Crow sat down and chewed his lips. His whole body quaked with fear. This guy is really spooked, Butsko thought.
“What are you so afraid of, Crow?” Butsko asked gently.
“I don’t know,” Crow said.
“Yes you do. Think about it for a few minutes. I got time.” Butsko took out his package of cigarettes. “Want one?”
“I don’t smoke.”
“Maybe it’s time you started.”
Crow shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Is there anything you do know, Crow?”
“I’m afraid of you,” Crow said.
“Why?”
“Because I’m afraid you’re gonna beat me up like you beat up Tronolone and Schlegelmilch.”
“I don’t expect a whole lot from my men,” Butsko explained patiently. “I just expect them to do as they’re told, to the best of their abilities. If you do that, you’ll have no trouble with me, okay?”
“Okay,” Crow said.
“What else are you afraid of beside me?”
Crow looked down shamefacedly at his hands in his lap. “I don’t like to suffer and I don’t want to die.”
“You’re suffering right now, ain’tcha, Crow?”
“Yes.”
“You suffer every time somebody calls you a coward, right?”
“Yes.”
“So why don’t you be a man, so you won’t suffer so much?”
“I can’t.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Because I’m afraid, and I can’t pretend I’m not afraid.”
“Where you from, Crow?”
“A little town in Nebraska.”
“What’d you do before the war?”
“I was a schoolteacher.”
“How old are you, Crow?”
“Twenty-eight.”
Butsko lit a cigarette and puffed it. The older ones like Crow were always the most afraid. They had a clearer picture of what life and death were all about. The young kids were too dumb to know what life and death were all about, and some of them even liked war.
“Listen Crow,” Butsko said, “everybody here is afraid. Even I’m afraid to some extent. But we all have to learn to conquer our fear, and the best way to conquer fear is to understand what it is we’re afraid about. First of all, if you’re afraid of pain, you should understand that if pain is really bad, you go into shock. It’s the body’s automatic mechanism for stopping the worst pain. You don’t feel it when you’re in shock, and I know what I’m talking about because I’ve been wounded a few times and I’ve been in shock. Do you think I’m lying to you?”
“No Sergeant.”
“Your other main fear is about dying, right?”
“Yes Sergeant.”
“You don’t wanna die, right?”
“That’s right.”
“You think life is so great?”
“Life may not be so great, but I don’t want to die.”
“Neither do I, but I’m not afraid of dying. Wanna know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m gonna die anyways, so what’s the difference? I mean, it happens to everybody. Nobody gets out of this mess alive. Even women die. I figure it’s like going to sleep, only you never wake up. If there’s any pain, you’ll be in shock, so you won’t feel it. So what’s the problem?”
“What about after you die?”
“What do you mean?”
“What happens after you die?”
“How the fuck should I know, but it can’t be any worse than this, can it?” Butsko indicated the battlefield with a sweeping motion of his hand. “What could be worse than this?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Crow.
“Think about it. Go back to what you were doing. We’re going out on a patrol tonight, so get ready.”
Crow turned paler than he was already. “I’m going out on the patrol too?”
“You bet your ass.”
“I won’t go.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m afraid.”
“So am I, but I’m going. So are all the other guys, but they’re going. And you’re going too.”
Crow shook his head. “No I’m not.”
Butsko leaned toward Crow and said softly: “Crow, lemme tell you something, and I’m not bullshitting you: It’s easier to be an ordinary soldier than a coward. If you’re a coward everybody treats you like shit. If you keep on the way you’re going, you’ll wind up back in the stockade. They’ll put you before a firing squad or they’ll give you a dishonorable discharge. If the
y give you a dishonorable discharge, you’ll be a disgrace to your family. You’ll never be able to go home again. You’ll wander the face of this earth like a lost soul, afraid people will find out about your past. You’ll die a little bit every day.” Butsko made his right hand into a fist and held it in front of Crow’s face. “But if you conquer your fear like all the rest of us around here, you can walk around like a man, without anything to be ashamed about. You’ll be able to look any other man in the eye and say ‘I’m as good as you are.’ And if you die, at least you’ll die clean. Shit, I think I’d rather be dead than put up with the insults and shit you put up with. I mean, c’mon Crow, are you a man or a woman? I’ve known women who’ve got more guts than you. Be a man, Crow. Stand tall. Okay?”
“I don’t know if I can do it,” Crow said.
“Will you try?”
Crow thought for a few moments. “Okay, I’ll try.”
“If you have any trouble, just talk to me, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Go back to what you were doing.”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
Crow stood, dusted himself off, and walked back to the other side of the clearing. Butsko puffed his cigarette and thought about Crow. Somehow I’m gonna have to make him mad enough to fight, Butsko figured. He’ll never make it unless he gets mad enough to fight.
The young dark-haired soldier walked up to Colonel Hutchins’s desk and saluted. “Pfc. Dunphy reporting sir!”
Colonel Hutchins looked Dunphy up and down. Dunphy was the next ranking cook after Corporal Dinkel, who was up at the division medical headquarters, being treated for scalded eyeballs.
“At ease,” Colonel Hutchins said in a cordial manner. “Have a seat, Dunphy.”
Dunphy sat on one of the chairs in front of Colonel Hutchins’s desk. He was seventeen years old and had enlisted when he was sixteen, lying about his age. Numerous adolescent pimples were on his face, and he was ill at ease because he wasn’t accustomed to sitting around with full bird colonels.
Colonel Hutchins folded his hands on his desk and leaned forward. “I have an important job for you, Dunphy—a very important job. Will you do it for me?”
Dunphy was so intimidated all he could say was “Yes sir.”
“Good,” replied Colonel Hutchins. “Take a look at that corner over there.”
