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Show See Here, Private Hargrove! Kffh C2 tu Marion Hararovc t? i L TIIK SI'OKV SO KAK: l'rlvale M.irlon tt.irroe, Ute ot tho ettttorUl Hill ot Ihf l'hrlolte IN, O News, has been liuliu'lfJ. tutu the army, rUttt-d at a CiH'k and has tpeul a lars share o( his "l'-re" moments on KP duty. He h.ti t.tWen time out. however, to advise pros peotive doushuoys to "paint the town red" before Induction aud oni'e In tiie army to "keep an open mind" ai the "first three weeks are. the hardest." His conUnt assignment to Kl Is the despair de-spair ct his sergeant who believes liar-Sroo liar-Sroo will never learn to be a crai-k soldier, tils last experience was a rifle Inspection In which he fared badly. Now he beclns a new episode concerning advancement ad-vancement In rank. CHAVTKR IV Selectee Joseph G. Gantt late of Liberty, South Carolina, came out for reveille this morning with a grin you could have used for a foot rule. He held both his arms against the front of his shirt In a queerly strained posture and blushed happily happi-ly every time someone looked at him. 'The heat's got the boy," I told Gene Shumate. "Looks like the best ones always go first." "That ain't the heat," said Cookie. "He seems to have a cramp In his arms." We looked at Citinen-Soldier Gantt's arms again. Then, fox the first time, we noticed two shining stripes on each sleeve. Citiren-Sol-dier Gantt was a corporal nowl "Heavens to Betsy," we shouted in unison for his benefit "Is that punk a corporal?" Corporal Gantt acknowledged the tribute by Joyfully Joyful-ly changing his color to a holiday "Heavens to Betsy," we shouted in unison for his benefit. "Is that ptmk a corporal?" red. The grin widened until his ears hung perilously on the brink of his lips- It took him half the morning morn-ing to sober bis spirits to working condi ti cms. Corporal Gantt has been In the Army exactly four months. He had been an acting corporal for three weeks before he got his stripes. Heaven grant him strength for the ordeal ahead. The term "buck private" was explained ex-plained to us this afternoon. It refers re-fers to the Old Army Game, "passing "pass-ing the buck." The sergeant is first called on the carpet for a mistake in his platoon. The sergeant seeks out the corporal and gives him a dressing-down. The corporal passes the buck by scalding the ears of the private. The private doesn't even have a mule to kick, so he can't pass the buck any farther. He keeps It That makes him a buck private. The Army, I find, has many subtle . ways to trap the unwary into volunteering vol-unteering for work. First there was the sergeant over at the Reception Center who came through the recreation recre-ation hall one afternoon calling for "Private Smith." Four men answered. an-swered. All four were put to work picking up cigarette stubs. On the call, "Anybody in here know how to handle a truck?" don't speak up. The last three were seen later pushing a hand truck up the battery street to haul rifle racks. Corporal Henry Ussery is to date the most dangerous conscriptor.'This week he came into the squadroom to ask if anyone was good at shorthand. short-hand. Three citizen-soldiers admitted admit-ted that they were. "Report to the kitchen," the corporal cor-poral laughed. "The mess sergeant says he's shorthanded on dishwashers." dishwash-ers." a "One of the most solemn and responsible re-sponsible trusts of a soldier," Sergeant Ser-geant "Curly" Taylor said today, "is his guard duty." Sergeant Taylor, Tay-lor, who has been in the Army for nineteen years and probably knows more about guard duty than any man in Fort Bragg, is teaching us about guard duty now. The soldier is called to this duty about once a month. For a twenty-four-hour period, he is on two hours, and off four hours, and he "walks his post in a military manner," guarding the peace and possessions and safety of a part of the post. He is responsible only to a corporal of the guard, a sergeant of the guard, an officer of the day, and his commanding officer. - The guard, or sentry, is known chiefly to the reading and movie-going movie-going public by ' two expressions, "Halt, who goes there?" and "Corporal "Cor-poral of the guard! Post number three!" The former, Sergeant Taylor Tay-lor said with his best poker-face, has given the Army considerable worry at times. According to the sergeant, the guard Is Instructed to give the "luilt" order three times and then shoot. Over-enthusiastic rookies from the back counties, he said, had been known to go like this: "Halt halt halt! Ka rOW!" (You can believe It or leave It; I never question what the sergeant says.) There was one rookie guard, he said, who halted him, questioned him and allowed him to pass. After Aft-er he had gone several steps, the sentry again shouted, "Unit!" Ser-gennt Ser-gennt Taylor came back and wanted want-ed to knowpolitely, of course how come. "My orders." said the guard, "say to holler 'Halt' three times and then shoot. You're just on your second halt now!" The other popular expression Is the corne a-running call that goes up the line to the guardhouse when a guard takes a prisoner or "meets any case not covered by Instruction" Instruc-tion" (General Order No. 9). If the guard Is on the seventh post he sings out, "Corporal of the guard! Post number seven!" The guard on the sixth post picks up the cry and it goes down the line like that j There's the story about the officer of the day who questioned a new sentry, sen-try, as officers of the day frequently do in order to test the sentries. "Suppose." the OD asked, "that you shouted "halt" three times and I kept going, what would you do?" The guard was apparently stumped by the question. Finally he answered, "Sir, I'd call the corporal of the guard." The officer of the day gloated. "Aha!" he said. "So you'd call the corporaf of the guard, would you? And just why would you call the corporal of the guard?" This time the answer was prompt and decisive and correct. "To haul away your dead body, sir!" Heroes are born, not made. There's one Job here that Is noth- lng but goldbricking in Itself. That's the latrine orderly detail. You go to work after lunch and spend the rest of the afternoon watching the fire In the water heater and feeding It regularly reg-ularly every two hours. The next morning you sweep and mop the washroom and spend the rest of the time until lunch watching the fire again. All in all. you lead a lazy, carefree existence. There was a slip-up somewhere yesterday. I was latrine orderly instead of a KP. It was probably the mess sergeant's idea. The boys started out after lunch for an afternoon of drilling in the warm Carolina sunshine and learning learn-ing to drive trucks across ditches. An hour later, I decided to lake a casual look at the boiler. When I opened the fumace-room door, blast of strong brownish smoke struck me to the ground. I lay there for several minutes, tapping my forehead thoughtfully, while more smoke poured out When it still hadn't slackened after aft-er five minutes, I crawled under the layer of smoke to the boiler. There the sickening vapor was, pouring nonchalantly through clinks in the door. "Don't come telling me about it," said Sergeant "Ma" Davidson. "Take out the pipes and clean them. All of them." I had to see the top sergeant to get my instructions. When I returned re-turned to Sergeant Davidson I was happy again. "Ma," I told him, "the top kick says for you to supervise the job." .The sergeant was furious with rage and frustration. I grabbed a screwdriver screw-driver and he grabbed Private Downer, Dow-ner, who had a black mark by his name for not wearing his identification identifica-tion tag. The three of us started work. First put out the fire in the boiler. Shake it down, throw ashes on it. It still burns. Shake it down more, throw sand on it. Still burns. Close the bottom door, shake it down more, throw ashes and sand on it. Curse it. After too long, it dies. The man who devised the system for connecting an indoor boiler and an outdoor chimney should be parched with his own pipes and stuffed with oily soot. Unscrew a pipe, lift it gently, 'coax it from its socket. Easy does it. Careful there. When you have it almost out, inhale for your sigh of relief. Crash! The whole network of pipes bounces off the floor scattering scat-tering ashes and soot over half the battery area. After half an hour of scrubbing and wiping the interior regions of all the pipes, they're ready to go up again. All but one of'them are in place and the last one is ready to be fitted. Careful there! Easy, now! Watch out! Catch it! CRASH! The boys come in from the drill field at 4:30 and head for the showers. show-ers. There is no hot water. "Get a load of that Hargrove," they fume, in an unnecessarily nasty manner. "He gets a Job where all he has to do is throw a shovel of coal on the fire every two hours. And then when we come in, there ain't no hot water. There ain't even no fire. Throw the bum out" --, I grinned weakly as I reported to the supply sergeant for work. "You must be, that nice Sergeant Thomas W. Israel I've heard so many nice things about." "No, little man," he said. "I'm the nice Sergeant Israel you've been running your loud mouth about I'm the nice sergeant who always gives you the wrong clothing Bizes mid hides your laundry und does ull those awful things you've been telling tell-ing about nie." "So help me, sergeant," I protested. pro-tested. "I never named thee but to praise. Somebody's been trying to poison your mind against me." "I am also the nice sergeant," he said, "who Is going to let you earn your seventy cents today. Take olT your fatigue blouse, my man, nnd prepare to sweat. Today we make progress. We are going to unpack rifles. " It seems to me Unit when the manufacturer prepares to pack a box of Army rules, his cruel streak conies out at Its worst From the look of the ritles, he has his three, year-old daughter prepare a compound com-pound of molasses, pitch, and uu'd motor oil the gooier the better. He slings each gun into the resulting mess, sloshes it around for a while, and then lays It neatly Into the box. You use a swab about the sine of a tablecloth to wipe the grease from the rifle. When you're hulfwuy through the first rifle, you have to use the gun to wipe the grease from the cloth. When you have finished, you need a large coal shovel to wipe the grease ofT yourself. There Is nothing so conducive to Itching as the lnubility to scratch. Just when the molasses-pilch-axle grease mixture covers your hand to the point where you can't see the outlines of the fingers, that left nos tril starts tingling. At nrst 11 itenrs only a little and you decide to suffer suf-fer It So you don't wipe your hands on the seat of your trousers. Instead In-stead you pick up another rifle and your hand sinks to the elbow in the goo which wraps It. This Is the stage where your nose gets peevish and impatient and decides to Itch In earnest. Finally, you decide to give In. You wipe your hands an operation which tikes a good three or four minutes for satisfactory results. You lift your hand to scratch your nose, only to find that your nose Isn't Itching any more. I was doing fairly well this morning, morn-ing, even when you take the Itch into consideration, until the mess sergeant happened to stroll by. "Hello, little man." he sings gaily, with a horrible gleam In his eyes. "You've not been around to see me for a long time. Aren't mad, are you?" I look at my hands, at the rifle, at the old shoe, and at the mess sergeant ser-geant I hold my tongue. Health is wealth. "We miss you terribly In the kitchen," kitch-en," he coos, "even when you go griping around that my food Is the worst in the Army. I Just saw the first sergeant and I asked him to let you be a KP Just as soon as he can spare you. Oh, we're going to do wonders to that kitchenware, you and I." He pats me on the forehead with ominous tenderness and departs. J. !U1UUIUJ1,UI C JSP! The sergeant yelled out of the window win-dow at me, so I dropped my broom and went upstairs. Five paces away, he turns for a parting shot. "Blabbermouth!" he snorts. I suppose he's good to bis mother, though. The sergeant yelled out the window win-dow at me, so I dropped my broom in the battery street and went upstairs. up-stairs. He was sitting on the foot locker, thoughtfully rubbing his chin with the handle of his mess-kit knife. "Ralph Oxford got called up to the battery commander's office this morning," he said, "and do you know what the Old Man gave him?" "I've got a pretty good idea," I said. "If he gave him what he gave me when I got called up, it has four letters, starts with an h and ends with an 1." The sergeant closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. "Oxford isn't a sore thumb to the platoon like you are," he groaned. "Oxford got a bright red stripe to wear around his sleeve." "Oxford's no fireman," I told him. "You're dern right he ain't," said the sergeant. "Starting with today, Oxford and Zuber and Roff and Maciejewski and Pappas and Mihal-akakos Mihal-akakos are acting corporals!" I knew there must be a moral to all this, so I waited for him to go on. ' "Now, why couldn't you have been one of those six boys?" he asked. - (TO BE CONTINUED) |