From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [480]
And in the middle of all this holocaust, lying on the floor, pure white, virgin, unmarked, untouched, like a baby sitting unharmed and indifferent in the middle of a fallen house, was a War Department letter with a sheaf of endorsements stapled on it, Warden’s confirmation of appointment as Second Lieutenant (Infantry) in the Army of the United States.
Warden stood a moment in the doorway and surveyed the wreckage. Then he threw his rifle viciously into the corner and the little wagon rocked on its wheels as the stock of the Star Gauge ’03 burst across the grip.
Andy, who had been raised in the Regular Army where to drop your rifle on the ground at drill was a major sin punishable with no less than two weeks’ extra-duty, gasped audibly and looked at him with open horror.
“Get on that thing,” Warden said thinly, indicating the switchboard, and grinned at him wildly slyly. “Start at the bottom and call every position for a check call to see if they’re all coming through. Then check Battalion and the Message Center. Check every tab.”
“Okay, Top,” Andy said, and got on it.
Warden picked up the two pieces of the rifle contritely, the stock butt dangling limply from the sling. He had had that rifle four years; he had brought it into A Co with him, and taken it out of A Co with him into G. He had nosed out Sgt/Maj O’Bannon for Regimental high score with that rifle. He checked the action lovingly. It was all right. He could get a new stock, but the action could not have been replaced. He laid the two pieces down tenderly by the door, feeling a little better. Then he picked up the offensively unharmed, still virgin, War Department letter with its endorsements and tore it across, then across again, then across a third time, and scattered it over the floor. With the rest of the wreckage.
“They all check in okay, Top,” Andy said from the switchboard.
“Okay. Good. You still got two and a half hours of your shift to do yet. I’m going to bed.”
“Well, what about the Orderly Room? What about the wagon? Aint you going to clean it up any?”
“Let Ross do it,” he said, and got the pieces of his rifle and went out.
Outside, everything was still as death. After a while, after so long a time, there wasnt anything left but to go to bed. You went so long, and did so much, and were done so much, until finally there came a time when there was absolutely nothing anywhere left on earth to do but to go to bed.
Warden put the pieces of the rifle at the foot of his cot and went gratefully to bed.
In the morning they found Stark down on the beach sleeping peacefully in the sand with his tear-stained cheek resting on his trusty cleaver.
Warden, who was up fresh and early, had already taken it up with Lt Ross, who was furious (furious was no word to describe it), before they had even found Stark.
“You cant bust him, Lieutenant. He’s the only man we’ve got who can come anywhere near running the mess at all, with the men scattered all over hell’s half acre like they are.”
“The hell I cant bust him!” Lt Ross said furiously. “I’ll bust him if every manjack in this Company starves to death!”
“Who’ll you get to run the mess for you?”
“I dont give a damn who runs the mess for me!” Lt Ross said furiously. “Look at this place! My god, Sergeant, I cant let a man get away with a thing like that! We’ll never have any discipline! We’ve got to have discipline!”
“Sure, but we got to have food, too.”
“He can run the mess as a private!” Lt Ross said furiously.
“He wouldnt do it.”
“Then he can be court-martialed for malingering!” Lt Ross hollered furiously.
“You couldnt make that stick. You’re a lawyer, Lieutenant. You know you couldnt make it stick, to court-martial him for refusing to run the mess without the rating.”
“I cant let him get by with this!” Lt Ross said furiously.
“You just dont understand him, Lieutenant. He’s a funny guy. He goes on rampages like this