From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [264]
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Friday,” Prew said irritably.
“I guess it does sound kind of crazy,” Slade said embarrassedly. “No, I didnt volunteer for it. I was on the Main Gate, but Follette got me kicked off and put down here.”
“These here is worse than anything I ever seen in the Infantry,” Friday said, slapping.
“Oh, I dont know,” Prew said, slapping. “I’ve had to soldier in spots a hell of a lot worse than this. You take winter maneuvers at Myer now. Say,” he said, “how’d you like to have a cup of coffee, Slade? Before we go up the embankment?”
“Swell,” Slade said eagerly. “You guys even have coffee at nights, hunh? out in the field. We dont even have coffee at night, and we got a permanent guardhouse.”
“No coffee!” Friday said. “Why, man, thats awful. Night guards got to have coffee.”
“Sure they do,” Slade said. “Oh, we got a silex coffee-pot in the dayroom, and we could make it ourselves. But half the time they run us off at night and wont let us use it. Thats the Air Corps for you.”
“Would you like to have a sandwich, too?” Prew said.
“A sandwich?” Friday said. “Say, listen, Prew.”
“You dont mean you have sandwiches too, whenever you want them?” Slade said. “Christ, you guys live like kings.”
“Hell,” Prew said. “What good is coffee without hot sandwiches?”
“You mean they’re hot, too?” Slade said.
“But, listen, Prew,” Friday said.
“Sure,” Prew said. “We got a real mess sergeant in this outfit.”
“You must have,” Slade said.
“He knows how to take care of his men,” Prew said, “when they got to pull guard at night. You dont mind it being rugged, you got a guy like that to look after you.”
“But, Prew,” Friday said. “Listen, Prew.”
“Come on,” Prew said. “We almost there.”
At the truck gap through the wire Slade came inside, and they cut back straight for the kitchen tent, Prew leading. It was exactly the same inside as when they had left it. The cook sat up as they came in.
“Now what?” he cried. “Jesus Christ. This aint no pleasure resort. Who the hell is that guy?”
“A friend of ours from the Air Corps,” Prew said, coming on inside. “He’d like a cup of coffee.”
Friday stopped just inside the flap and backed against the tautness of the wall, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.
“A cup of coffee, hunh?” the cook said. “What does he think this is, the Red Cross?” he said.
“How about a sandwich, cookie?” Prew said doggedly.
“A sandwich!” the cook said. “A SANDwich!”
“Sure,” Prew said doggedly. “To go with our coffee.”
“Mother of God,” the cook said. “A sandwich.”
“You got the meat and stuff already all laid out there,” Prew said. “We fix it ourself and save you work.”
“Oh, no,” the cook said. “No, sir. Not on your goddam life. To hell with that noise. Them rations is for the Third Relief.”
“Friday’s on the Third Relief,” Prew said.
The corporal sat up in his chair and looked at all of them disgustedly. “What the hell is this? Grand Central Station? I aint going to get no goddam rest in here. I might as well go inspect my goddam posts.” He elbowed his way out bitterly past Friday and went out through the flap.
“I aint running no mess hall for the whole of Hickam Field, Prewitt,” the cook said. “My god.”
“You got plenty,” Prew said doggedly.
“Like hell,” the cook said. “And I give you guys a sandwich and every son of a bitch and his brother will be wandering in here all hours of the goddam night for sandwiches. I wont never get no sleep.”
“You’re off all day tomorrow,” Prew said doggedly. “You can sleep then. All day. We’ll be on post.”
“I’m goin to town tomorrow.”
“What the hell has got into you all of a sudden, cookie?” Prew said. “You never act like this before.”
“I didnt?” the cook said blankly.
“Why hell no. What kind of a impression you think you making on the Air Corps? acting like this all of a sudden. And here I been telling what a fine kitchen force we got.”
“Like hell,” the cook said, recovering. “I say no sandwiches. And thats all.