OCR Text |
Show V n PRATT w.n.u.release -t THE STORY THUS FAR: Forty four-year-old Wtlbert Winkle, who operates a repair shop Id the back of bis home, is notified by his draft board that he Is In 1-A. He breaks the bad news to his domineering wife. Amy, who Is quite perturbed. On arriving tt camp Mr. Winkle is given his physical, and to his great surprise and dismay, is accepted accept-ed for the army. He takes the oath of enlistment and gets so many "shots" he cannot remember Just what they all are for. He Is sent to Camp Squibb, a thousand miles from home, where he meets Mr. Tinker, a man of his own age. Mr. Winkle gets KP and some bayonet practice, In which he does not do o well. CHAPTER VIII Once more Mr. Winkle fired the machine gun. By moving it about sufficiently he managed to send several sev-eral bullets where they were supposed sup-posed to go. He clung to the trigger trig-ger desperately, hoping to do well, if only by accident. The Sergeant had to yell for him to stop. "Pop," the Alphabet told him fondly, "if it was anybody except ex-cept you, I'd know he was gold-. gold-. bricking. In that case I'd make him into the best machine-gunner on the range. But I guess you and any kind of a gun ain't the kind to make iriends. You got to learn some more, but youll never learn much. He clung to the trigger desperately, desperate-ly, hoping to do well, if only by accident. All right, Private Tindall, let's see 'what the master mind can do." Freddie sat nonchalantly at the gun. It was the first time he had followed an order with any kind of grace. He looked around. The Lieutenant Lieu-tenant was far down the line. "You see that target?" Freddie asked Sergeant Czeideskrowski. "That's you." "Shoot the gun instead oi your mouth," Jack advised. Freddie glared at him. Freddie took his time at the gun. Finally he fired. Delicately he handled han-dled the bouncing death. He sliced the up and down marks on the target. tar-get. He sliced those running across. "He cut to ribbons those marked on a slant. When he was through he asked triumphantly of the Sergeant, "How do you like yourself now?" The Alphabet regarded the target with regretful admiration. "If there was somebody else than a rat who did that," he observed, "it would be One-A nice and I would send him a gold-engraved invitation to join the machine-gun crew I think the Lieutenant's Lieu-tenant's going to let me make up." The first Mr. Winkle knew of it was the sound of loud voices coming I Irom the rear of the barracks. Run-L Run-L ning out with other men, he discov-J discov-J red that Jack hadn't waited to get ( Freddie away from camp. When Mr. Winkle rushed forward to stop it, he was caught snd held by one of the huge arms of Mr. Tinker, Tink-er, who advised fiercely, "Let'm alone." The battle was progressing on pretty much of an even basis by the time the Alphabet arrived on the scene. Afterward, Freddie claimed that he was swinging at Jack when he hit the Sergeant. Jack recounted the same tale when one of his blows caught the Alphabet Instead, and In his case he was sincere but nol appreciated by the higher authorl tics. As they were led off to the Lieu tenant by Sergeant Czeideskrowski, Jack called to Mr. Winkle, "Pleast don't " "I won't," promised Mr. Winkle He didn't even write home abou the incident when both the warrior: were given terms in the stockade. Mr. Winkle was ordered to repor to the orderly room. Wonderinf what serious breach of military eti quette he had committed, he de parted to the accompaniment of en couraging remarks from his com rades. "It was nice knowing you. Pop.' "When you get to England, dro us a card." The Lieutenant leaned back in hi; chair behind his desk and regardec him. "Getting along all right?" hi -asked. verely, a good deal put out that this little ruse had been discovered so easily. "Look," he said, "here we work up to be Thomas A. Edison slow-like. slow-like. Starting from the ground. I think you heard the Captain mention men-tion something about procedure sheets. You got yours?" Mr. Winkle held it up." "What's it say you do?" " 'First,' " Mr. Winkle read, " 'crank engine by starter; if engine en-gine fires but motor won't run, pour gas in the carburetor.' " "Now you got the idea," the Corporal Cor-poral ordered. Mr. Winkle cranked the engine, which fired but didn't run. He took up a can and poured gasoline in the carburetor and tried again. The engine en-gine ran for a moment and then spluttered to a stop. Mr. Winkle glanced longingly at the carburetor adjustment and then j consulted his procedure sheet once more. He learned he now knew that the seat of the trouble was the fuel system. He checked the gas supply, sup-ply, the lines and the connections. Finally he came, according to procedure pro-cedure to the carburetor. He swiped with his screw driver again, and this time, when he pushed the starter, start-er, Army procedure was triumphant. When he shut off the engine, he stood back with a puzzled expression on his face. "Can I ask a question, Corporal?" "Something you don't understand?" under-stand?" "Well," proposed Mr. Winkle, "supposing I'm out In a stalled truck with the enemy after me. Do I go through the procedure and get captured, cap-tured, or do I adjust the carburetor and escape?" He knew by now it was heresy to make such inquiries, but the answer to this one worried him genuinely. The Corporal regarded him with-eringly. with-eringly. "Maybe your skin will tell you that if you think it's worth saving." sav-ing." ... Mr. Winkle and his friend, Mr. Tinker, were in town to celebrate their completing the Motor Mechanics Mechan-ics course and having received their certificates of graduation. They stood outside the bar Mr. Tinker patronized. Mr. Winkle was about to be on his way down the street alone, as usual, leaving Mr. Tinker to the attractions within. Mr. IP rt3 "Getting along all right?" he asked. Tinker had been wishing that he would join him this time. "How about it?" he inquired. "No," Mr. Winkle replied judiciously, judi-ciously, "I don't think so." "I know you're married and all, but that ain't any reason you can't enjoy yourself." Mr. Winkle shook his head. "I ain't trying to get you to do anything you don't want to do," argued ar-gued Mr. Tinker. While they stood discussing it, with Mr. Tinker making most of the comments, com-ments, they saw two soldiers coming com-ing along the street. One was Jack, but they couldn't believe their eyes at first when they recognized the other. They hadn't seen Jack or Freddie since the fight. Incredible rumors, which they refused to accept, had reached them that Freddie had finally final-ly been broken into small pieces and was being put together again in another an-other form. Now the soldier on Jack's arm stood straight He was confident, but not arrogant. And no mustache blackened his upper lip, which was shaven clean. Mr. Tinker was the first to speak, to Freddie. "That ain't you, Tindall." Tin-dall." Mr. Winkle stared, perplexed, from one to the other of the young men. "It can't be," he said. Jack laughed. "Sure it is. He's an Army lug now." He nudged Freddie. Fred-die. "Go on, yardbird, speak your piece." Freddie had been standing with his face slightly flushed, making no comment. Now he looked sheepish for an ins'ant before he said: "1 guess I owe you an apology, Mr I Wmkle." (TO BE CONTINUED) "Yes, sir that is, I hope so, sir." "We're satisfied with you in most respects, if that's what you mean. Like the Army?" "I like it, sir." Mr. Winkle knew this to be the stock answer to the question. The Lieutenant seemed to know it, too, and to want a little more information, in-formation, for he rephrased the question. "Happy in it?" Mr. Winkle hesitated. "Answer just the way you feel," the Lieutenant instructed. "Well, I can't say I'm happy, sir. I'm not exactly a fighter, that is, with my fists, so to speak. And being be-ing away from my wife and . . ." "Your regular work? You miss that?" "Yes, sir. But I recognize why I'm here." "You know the new regulations that went into effect the other day. You're over thirty-eight and can get a discharge if you go into a war industry. in-dustry. Why haven't you applied?" Amy had written that she would leave it up to him, and that she would be proud of him no matter what he decided. As yet he hadn't given her a formal answer. Now he prepared it. "I'd like to stay in the Army," he heard himself telling the Lieutenant. Lieuten-ant. "11 you want me." The Lieutenant glanced at him once, with approval. "I'm going to ask you one more question, Winkle. Think it over before you' answer: Are you afraid?" "Don't be ashamed of it," the Lieutenant advised. He smiled. "If you'd told me you weren't afraid, I would have known you weren't speaking the truth. And I don't mean you alone, but all the men including in-cluding myself. It's a normal thing, like being nervous before making a speech. Usually you make a better speech because you're nervous. It's the same way with fighting. Fear makes you more aware, keener, alert a better fighter. No soldier has ever gone into battle without being afraid if he has, there was something the matter with him." "Don't connect my lecture," the Lieutenant went on, "with the fact that I'm recommending you for the Motor Mechanics School. I simply feel that's where you belong, by previous pre-vious experience, and at your age. And you may have to fight there, or be so close to it that it's virtually the same thing. That's all, and good luck to you." It was a moment before Mr. Winkle Win-kle could scramble to his feet and salute. "Good luck to you, sir that is, thank you, sir." Mr. Winkle felt that the Army had something of a soul after all. While he didn't exactly walk on air, which was impossible, anyway, being' an Army mechanic was work he would like better than marching or shooting. shoot-ing. At least it found a round hole for him to fit in more comfortably " than the one he now occupied. Mr. Tinker, on the other hand, when the reclassification notices were posted on the bulletin board and his name was listed with that of Mr. Winkle, was not pleased. "Me!" he complained. "I ain't in the Army to be any nursemaid to a jeep. It ain't right! It ain't right for a minute!" "You better write to the Secretary of War about it," advised one of his squad who was remaining an infantryman. infan-tryman. "You just write to him and he'll fix it up for you." The Messrs. Winkle and Tinker moved in new circles. They changed to barracks at one of the far ends of Camp Squibb, so many miles away that it might have been a different world. Their asso-1 asso-1 ciates were all mechanically Inclined ! individuals. These spoke their language lan-guage better than had their previous ! companions, and over them all was a slightly technical aura. Their office during business hours : was a large, hangar-like building. ' Two lines of engines, mounted on high wooden frames, were placed down its length. On these they worked, in select groups of four, with a Technical Corporal over each I quartet, and a supervising Captain 1 miraculously clad in coveralls like their own. l Mr. Winkle, who could repair anything, any-thing, here really learned about i Army regulations, which presumed ' that he knew nothing about a com-i com-i bustion engine. They also held that 1 there was only one way to do a i specified job, the Army way, and I that anything else might as well I not exist. I "We will now," lectured his Cor-t Cor-t poral instructor, "locate the trouble in this engine, which won't run." To illustrate, he turned on the ignition and pressed the starter with his , hand. The motor turned over, but ! refused to start. The Corporal looked about at his four men, peering at . their nameplates. "Winkle, you t take it." J Mr. Winkle, who had been regarding regard-ing the engine idly, had already no-t no-t ticcd the trouble. "Why," he said, ; "the carburetor's out of adjust- - ment." He swiped briefly but expertly at - the carburetor with his screw driv- - er, snapped on the ignition, pressed the starter, and the motor roared. The Corporal, looking apoplectic, 3 gestured wildly for him to shut it off. s Mr. Winkle obeyed. 1 Indignantly, the Corp.iral put the carburetor out of adjustment again and then addressed Mr. Winkle se- |