From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [276]
Did I give her a bruise? Re-enlistment Blues!
“Woke up sick on Thursday
Feelin like my head took a dare
Looked down at my trousers
All my pockets was bare
That gal had Mowed my fuse. Re-enlistment Blues.
“Went back around on Friday
Asked for a free glass of beer
My friends had disappeared
Barman said, ‘Take off, you queer!’
What I done then aint news. Re-enlistment Blues.”
“There!” Slade said triumphantly. “I dont give a flying fuck what anybody says,” he said proudly, “I say thats pretty damn good. What next now?”
Prew was still snapping his fingers. “That jail was cold all Sa’day,” he said, “standin on a bench lookin down. Make it like that, see? Sa’day. Two syllables.”
“Okay,” Slade said, writing.
“Hey!” Friday interrupted. “Thats not Weary!”
They stopped, and all of them looked at the figure coming toward them on the path. It was not Weary Russell. Andy kicked the almost empty bottle down over the embankment quickly. Slade brought his flash to bear on the coming figure. The beam reflected back at them from two gold bars on the shoulders. Slade turned questioningly to Prew, not knowing what to do.
“Attennsh-Hut!” Prew yelled. It was automatic.
“What the hell are you men doing up here at this hour of the night?” asked Lt Culpepper’s voice sharply, sharp as his Culpepper nose or his ramrod Culpepper back.
“Playing the git-tars, Sir,” Prew said.
“I surmised that,” Lt Culpepper said in a dry droll tone. He came up to them. “What in fuck do you mean by turning a flashlight on up here?”
“We were using it to copy out some notes, Sir,” Prew said. The other three were looking at him as the spokesman. He went on, trying to keep the rage of frustration out of his voice. There would be no more blues writing this night. “There were flashlights on all over the bivouac area, Sir,” he said. “We dint think having one on here for a few minutes would hurt anything.”
“Now you know better than that, Prewitt,” Lt Culpepper said in a dry droll tone. “You men are supposed to be on a field problem approximating actual war conditions. That includes a full blackout.”
“Yes, Sir,” Prew said.
“Those lights below were inspection lights,” Lt Culpepper said. “The only time they are ever used is to inspect the posts.”
“Yes, Sir,” Prew said.
“Would they use lights to inspect posts under actual war conditions?” Slade said. His voice was trembling.
Lt Culpepper turned his head without moving his straight Culpepper shoulders or stiff Culpepper back, in the traditional Culpepper military style, developed over many Culpepper generations. “When you address an officer, soldier,” Lt Culpepper said crisply, “it is customary to either precede or conclude your question with the title Sir.”
“Yes, Sir,” Slade said.
“Who is this man?” Lt Culpepper said, in a dry droll tone. “I thought I knew everybody in the Company.”
“Private Slade, Sir,” Slade said. “17th Air Base Squadron, Hickam Field, Sir.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I came over to listen to the music, Sir.”
Lt Culpepper turned his light from Prew to Slade. “Are you supposed to be on post, soldier?”
“No, Sir.”
“Why havent you reported in?”
“When I’m off post my time’s my own, Sir,” Slade said in a kind of abortive outrage. “I broke no rules by coming over here when I got off post.”
“Perhaps not,” Lt Culpepper said in a dry droll tone. “But in the Infantry, soldier, we do not allow men from other outfits to hang around our bivouac area. Particularly in the middle of the night. Got it?” he popped.
Nobody said anything.
“Prewitt,” Lt Culpepper popped.
“Yes, Sir.”
“You are the senior man here. I hold you responsible for all this. There are men down in camp trying to sleep. Some of them have to go on post—” he peered at his chronometer, “in thirty-seven minutes.”
“Thats why we came up here, Sir,” Prew said. “Nobody has complained about it that I know of.”
“Perhaps not,” Lt Culpepper said in a dry droll tone. “But that does not alter the fact that it is against regulations generally, and against my orders specifically, as of right now. It also does not