Ham On Rye - Charles Bukowski [64]
Lt. Herman Beechcroft was best. His father owned a bakery and a hotel catering service, whatever that was. Anyhow, he was best. He always gave the same speech before a maneuver.
“Remember, you must hate the enemy! They want to rape your mother and sisters! Do you want those monsters to rape your mother and sisters?”
Lt. Beechcroft had almost no chin at all. His face dropped away suddenly and where the jaw bone should have been there was only a little button. We weren’t sure if it was a deformity or not. But his eyes were magnificent in their fury, large blue blazing symbols of war and victory.
“Whitlinger!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Would you want those guys raping your mother?”
“My mother’s dead, sir.”
“Oh, sorry…Drake!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Would you want those guys raping your mother?”
“No, sir!”
“Good. Remember, this is war! We accept mercy but we do not give mercy. You must hate the enemy. Kill him! A dead man can’t defeat you. Defeat is a disease! Victory writes history! NOW LET’S GO GET THOSE COCKSUCKERS!”
We deployed our line, sent out the advance scouts and began crawling through the brush. I could see Col. Sussex on his hill with his clipboard. It was the Blues vs. the Greens. We each had a piece of colored rag tied around our upper right arm. We were the Blues. Crawling through those bushes was pure hell. It was hot. There were bugs, dust, rocks, thorns. I didn’t know where I was. Our squad leader, Kozak, had vanished somewhere. There was no communication. We were fucked. Our mothers were going to get raped. I kept crawling forward, bruising and scratching myself, feeling lost and scared, but really feeling more the fool. All this vacant land and empty sky, hills, streams, acres and acres. Who owned it all? Probably the father of one of the rich guys. We weren’t going to capture anything. The whole place was on loan to the high school. NO SMOKING. I crawled forward. We had no air cover, no tanks, nothing. We were just a bunch of fairies out on a half-assed maneuver without food, without women, without reason. I stood up, walked over and sat down with my back against a tree, put my rifle down and waited.
Everybody was lost and it didn’t matter. I pulled my arm band off and waited for a Red Cross Ambulance or something. War was probably hell but the in-between parts were boring.
Then the bushes cracked open and a guy leaped out and saw me. He had on a Green arm band. A rapist. He pointed his rifle at me. I had no arm band on, it was down in the grass. He wanted to take a prisoner. I knew him. He was Harry Missions. His father owned a lumber company. I sat there against the tree.
“Blue or Green?” he hollered at me.
“I’m Mata Hari.”
“A spy! I take spies!”
“Come on, cut the shit, Harry. This is a game for children. Don’t bother me with your fetid melodrama.”
The bushes cracked open again and there was Lt. Beechcroft. Missions and Beechcroft faced each other.
“I hereby take you prisoner!” screamed Beechcroft at Missions.
“I hereby take you prisoner!” screamed Missions at Beechcroft.
They both were really nervous and angry, I could feel it.
Beechcroft drew his sabre. “Surrender or I’ll run you through!”
Missions grabbed his gun by the barrel. “Come over here and I’ll knock your god-damned head off!”
Then the bushes cracked open everywhere. The screaming had attracted both the Blues and the Greens. I sat against the tree while they mixed it up. There was dust and scuffling and now and then the evil sound of rifle stock against skull. “Oh, Jesus! Oh, my God!” Some bodies were down. Rifles were lost. There were fist fights and headlocks. I saw two guys with Green arm bands locked