From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [243]
He came back marching a detail that appeared to be at least two-thirds of G Company, and drill for G Company the rest of that day was a skeletal sophism. The detail lined up before the barracks were counted off and answered another check roll call, looking sheepish and shuffling and very badly scared (the CQ had mentioned the presence of the FBI), yet wearing underneath the fear that unmistakable festive air that any holiday from the monotony of drill will bring, even if the holiday is an investigation by the FBI. They all knew the FBI, that it had jurisdiction over civil crimes committed by the Army, and they had all read the gang-buster comic books. The CQ had no idea why they were wanted, but there was only one civil crime that could have called in so many participants. It could only be a queer investigation.
Nearly all the Waikiki Tavern gang were there. Corp Knapp was there, so was Sgt Harris, so was Martuscelli. Polack Dyzbinski was there, so was Bull Nair, so was Dusty Rhodes, The Scholar, so was fat Readall Treadwell. Champ Wilson and Liddell Henderson were both there, so was Corp Miller, so was Sgt Lindsay, so were Anderson and Friday Clark, and Prewitt.
They were allowed to go upstairs to wash and change to CKCs since they were being taken to town. Neither the CQ nor the armed MP guards were sent up with them. Nobody was worried about anybody trying to escape. The names were on the roll call.
They came downstairs to catch one fleeting glimpse of the departing recon with the city police mustard, the Shafter suntan and black brassard, and the dark conservative business suits that were more of a uniform than either of the others, and were fallen in and counted off and given another check roll call, and then were herded into the open trucks to find Pvt 1cl Bloom and one other Pvt 1cl from the NCO School sitting disconsolately waiting for them. The MP guards rode in the cabs with the drivers boredly. There was no fear of anybody trying to jump out and escape a roster of the FBI.
Having the entire backs of the trucks to themselves, conferences of strategy were called in the backs of both trucks simultaneously, as if by the same natural instinct that makes southbound geese and schools of fish rendezvous at certain predetermined places, both conferences following instinctively the same identical pattern, each truckload instinctively knowing and trusting that the other truckload was doing the same thing, so that in effect it was really one big conference of strategy, instead of two.
By checking back and utilizing each man’s memory, each truckload was able to determine just who was in the other truckload, and from that to deduce just who was missing. It was discovered, then, that there were at least six queer-chasers from G Company as persevering and proficient as any queer-chaser present, who had not been called at all.
In both trucks, almost simultaneously, there were indignant cries of “What the hell” and “Those lucky bastards” and “How the hell do they get off so easy” and “They aint no goddam bettern we are.”
In both trucks, almost simultaneously immediately, there were answering cries, by the same men who had voiced the other cries, of “Shut up, for god sake” or “Hell yes. We got enough worrying to do about us without worrying about them” or “Yeah, drop that. Lets decide what we going to do.”
When quiet was restored, it was also discovered there were two men from F Company and one from E in the truck Prew was in. There was one man from F in the other truck, they said, but none from E. It was decided by the board of strategy that whoever it was that had informed was pretty well acquainted with G Company, although that did not greatly