From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [441]
“Like hell!” Liddell Henderson said. “You aint goin to catch this Texan up on no roof. Ah’ll stay down with ma men.”
“Okay,” Warden said, jabbing a finger at him. “Then you are hereby placed in charge of the loading detail. Get ten or twelve men, as many as you can get in the supplyroom, and put them to loading BAR clips and MG belts. We’re going to need all the ammo we can get. Anybody else dont want to go up?”
“I’ll stay down with Liddell,” Champ Wilson said.
“Then you’re second-in-command of the loading detail,” Warden said. “All right, lets go. If anybody’s got a bottle laying around, bring it up with you. I’m bringing mine.”
When they got out to the porch, they found a knot of men arguing violently with S/Sgt Malleaux in front of the supply-room.
“I dont give a damn,” Malleaux said. “Thats my orders. I cant issue any live ammo without a signed order from an officer.”
“But there aint no goddamned officers, you jerk!” somebody protested angrily.
“Then there aint no live ammo,” Malleaux said.
“The officers may not get here till noon!”
“I’m sorry, fellows,” Malleaux said. “Thats my orders. Lt Ross give them to me himself. No signed order, no ammo.”
“What the fuckin hell is all this?” Warden said.
“He wont let us have any ammo, Top,” a man said.
“He’s got it locked up and the keys in his pocket,” another one said.
“Gimme them keys,” Warden said.
“Thats my orders, Sergeant,” Malleaux said, shaking his head. “I got to have a signed order from an officer before I can issue any live ammo to an enlisted man.”
Pete Karelsen came out of the kitchen and across the porch wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. From the screendoor Stark disappeared inside putting a pint bottle back into his hip pocket under his apron.
“What the hells the matter?” Pete asked his two machine-gunners happily.
“He wont give us no ammo, Pete,” Grenelli said indignantly.
“Well for—Jesus Christ!” Pete said disgustedly.
“Thats my orders, Sergeant,” Malleaux said irrefragably.
From the southeast corner of the quad a plane came over firing, the tracers leading irrevocably in under the porch and up the wall as he flashed over, and the knot of men dived for the stairway.
“Fuck your orders!” Warden bawled. “Gimme them goddam keys!”
Malleaux put his hand in his pocket protectively. “I cant do that Sergeant. I got my orders, from Lt Ross himself.”
“Okay,” Warden said happily. “Chief, bust the door down.” To Malleaux he said, “Get the hell out of the way.”
Choate, and Mikeovitch and Grenelli the two machine-gunners, got back for a run at the door, the Chief’s big bulk towering over the two lightly built machinegunners.
Malleaux stepped in front of the door. “You cant get by with this, Sergeant,” he told Warden.
“Go ahead,” Warden grinned happily at the Chief. “Bust it down. He’ll get out of the way.” Across the quad, there were already two men up on top of the Headquarters Building.
Chief Choate and the two machinegunners launched themselves at the supply room door like three blocking backs bearing down on an end. Malleaux stepped out of the way. The door rattled ponderously.
“This is your responsibility, Sergeant,” Malleaux said to Warden. “I did my best.”
“Okay,” Warden said. “I’ll see you get a medal.”
“Remember I warned you, Sergeant,” Malleaux said.
“Get the fuck out of my way,” Warden said.
It took three tries to break the wood screws loose enough to let the Yale night lock come open. Warden was the first one in. The two machinegunners were right behind him, Mikeovitch burrowing into a stack of empty belt boxes looking for full ones while Grenelli got his gun lovingly out of the MG rack. There were men up on both the 3rd and 1st Battalion roofs by now, to meet the planes as they came winging back, on first one then the