| OCR Text |
Show RC3 m See Here, PS? imj Private Hargrove! ty Marion Hargrove hf Opi SERVICE. ST'. J U THE STORY SO FAR: Private Marion Hargrove, former feature editor of a Norta Carolina newspaper, has been inducted in-ducted Into the army and is near the end of his basic training at Fort Bragg. Be has been classiaed as a cook and in CHAPTER XV "Ahem," I said. He stopped humming hum-ming a little tune with which he had engaged himself, and he looked at me with kindly curiosity. "Ahem," I repeated. "Are you the waiter with the water for my daughter?" He turned on a tight, polite little smile. "The water, monsieur, will be forthcoming. I have sent my friend Charles for the water." The Redhead looked up, openly curious. "Your friend Charles, I take it, is the younger of the two and more capable of carrying a glass of water?" The waiter shrugged his shoulders. "He is a timid man, madame. Why should I go for the water when he will get it for me? I am tired." "You are a man of some astuteness," astute-ness," I ventured. "In the Army you would be a sergeant within two months." "Perhaps I shall, monsieur. A i month, two months, who knows? You are at Dix?" "I am at Bragg," I told him. "I I am at the Field Artillery Replace-1 Replace-1 ment Center, largest artillery train- ing station in the world, Brigadier General Edwin P. Parker, Jr., commanding." com-manding." "I have a friend at the Field Artillery Ar-tillery Replacement Center," he said. "He is in the Twelfth Battalion. Bat-talion. You must look him up. I , write his name for you on my card. You will give him the regards of Eduardo Enriquez?" "The day I return," I promised him, "I shall look him up." The timid Charles . approached with the water, which Eduardo poured for the Redhead. "This is I too joyful an occasion for water, I madame," he said. "A Martini?" "Does Eduardo Enriquez personally person-ally endorse the Martini?" the Redhead Red-head asked. "Eduardo Enriquez has been drinking them in the kitchen himself all evening," he beamed. "I thought," said the Redhead, "that something more than music had soothed that savage breast." -S- j The Japanese attack on Pearl , Harbor this afternoon came as stun- ning news to the men at Fort Bragg. There had been a rumor, one day a I couple of months ago, that Germany j had declared war on the United States to beat us to the draw, and add, , on his failure to master some ot the fundamentals of army life have re-suited re-suited in considerable extra KP duty. Thus he is thoroughly familiar with the Company kitchen and its workings. He has also learned the finer points of ' The major, a former criminologist and schoolteacher in Birmingham, was a lean and mischievous-looking infantry officer with a gift of gab and a camaraderie with the enlisted men: He sauntered into the Service Club, noised it about that he was going to talk, and hooked up the public address microphone. "Here it comes," said an unhappy acting corporal. "Here comes the higher brass, to tell us the worst." The major cleared his throat and looked over the crowd which gathered gath-ered about him. "I know 'that this is your Service Club," he said, "and I'm a staff officer barging in oh you. Before I was an officer, I was an enlisted man. And, as an enlisted man, I've done more KP than any man in this room." A little of the tension passed and the major lapsed into one of his conveniently absent - minded rambles. ram-bles. "In fact, I went on KP every tune they inspected my rifle. Couldn't keep the thing clean." I He paused. "The main thing that has us worrying this afternoon is the very same thing we're being trained to protect. It's what they call the American Way and they spell it with capitals. "I have my own ideas about the American Way. I think the American Ameri-can Way is shown in you boys whose parents paid school taxes so that you could know what it was to cut hooky. It's shown in the men who pay two dollars to see a wrestling match, not to watch the wrestlers but to boo the referee. It's the good old go-to-hell American spirit and you can't find it anywhere but here. "You and I both, when we were called into the Army, brought our homes with us. We've been thinking less about war than about getting back home after a while back to our girls and our wives and our civilian jobs. "Well, we know now where we stand and we don't have to worry about whether we're in for a long stretch or a short vacation. That should be cleared up now. We know that we've got only one job now and we haven't time to worry about the one at home. "You're worrying because you're not prepared soldiers, you're not ready to fight yet. When the time comes for you to go, you'll be ready. You'll have your fundamental training train-ing before you leave the Replacement Replace-ment Center. "Spending your duty hours at work and your leisure hours at worry that's no good. That's what the enemy wants for you." "I guess that's all; boys." " He turned to leave the microphone, micro-phone, but returned as if he had suddenly sud-denly remembered something. "The regular variety show will go on tonight at eight o'clock," he said. -Pl- They come and they go from the Replacement Center more quickly now, or perhaps it merely seems that they do. The training cycles have not been cut down much, but the turnover of men seems greater. Perhaps it's just that we notice the arrivals and departures more, now that war has given them grimness. We call the train the one that brings in recruits and takes out soldiersthe sol-diersthe Shanghai Express. The term probably was used first by some disgruntled soldier who put into it the bitterness of a difficult transition from civilian to soldier. Now the term is used with a certain tender fondness by the permanent personnel of the Center, we who watch the men come and go. The melancholy moan of a train whistle is heard in the distance of the night and a sergeant clicks his teeth wistfully. "Here she comes, boys," he says. "Here comes the Shanghai Express." The sound of the whistle identifies all that touches the heart of a soldier. There was a group of new men coming in this morning, down at the railroad siding. Their new uniforms hung strangely upon them, conspicu- "goldbricking." He is editor of a section ofthe camp paper. As we pick up the story, Hargrove is entertaining "the Redhead" at dinner. She is having trouble trou-ble getting the waiter to bring her a glass of water and Hargrove speaks: ous and uncertain and uncomfortablenew uncomfort-ablenew uniforms on new soldiers. They were frightened and ill at ease, these men. A week ago they had been civilians and the prospect of the Army had probably hung over some of them like a Damoclean sword. They had been told, by well-meaning well-meaning friends, that the Army wouldn't be so bad once they got used to it. The Army will make you or break you, they had been told. The Army really isn't as bad as it's painted, they had heard. All of this, in a diabolically suggestive way, had opened conjectures to terrify the most indomitable. This morning, they still hadn't had time to get over their fears. They still had no idea of what Army life was going to be like. Most of all and first of all, they wondered. "What sort of place is this we're coming into?" : Their spirits were still at their j lowest point past, present, or future. The Replacement Center band, led by wizened little Master Sergeant Knowles, was there to greet them with a welcome that might dispel from them the feeling that they were cattle being shipped into the fort on consignment. First there were the conventional but stirring military marches, the "Caisson Song" and all the rest. And then there was a sly and corny rendition of the "Tiger Rag," a friendly musical wink that said, "Take it easy, brother." Just as their arrival marks an emotional ebb, their departure is the flood tide. The men who came in a few weeks ago, green and terrified, terri-fied, leave now as soldiers. The corporal cor-poral whom they dreaded then is now just a jerk who's bucking for sergeant. Although they are glad that they have been- trained with other men on the same level here, the training center which was first a vast and awful place is now just a training center, all right in its way for rookies. They themselves have outgrown their kindergarten. The band is at the railroad siding, this time to see them oft with a flourish. They pay more attention to the band this time. They know the "Caisson Song." They know their own Replacement Center Marching Song, composed by one of their number, a quiet little ex-music teacher named Harvey Bosell. They hum the tune as they go aboard. They see the commanding general standing on the side lines with his aide. He is no longer an ogre out of Washington who might, for all they know, have the power of life and death over them to administer it at a whim. He is the commanding general, a good soldier and a good fellow, and it was damned white of him to come down to see them off. They board the train and they sit waiting for it to take them to their permanent Army post and their part in the war. As a special favor and for old time's sake, the band swings slowly into the song that is. the voice of their nostalgia, "The Sidewalks of New York," Yankee or Rebel, Min-nesotan Min-nesotan or Navadan, they love that song. You can see their facesl tightening a little, and a gentle melancholy look come into their eyes as the trombone trom-bone Wails beneath the current ol the music. Their melancholy is melancholy mel-ancholy with a shrug now. Home and whatever else was dearest to them a few months ago are still gear, but a soldier has to push them into the background when there's a war to be fought. With the music still playing, the train pulls slowly out and Sergeant Knowles waves it goodby with his baton. An old sergeant, kept in the Replacement Re-placement Center to train the men whose fathers fought with him a generation ago, stands on the side and watches them with a firm, proud look. "Give 'em hell, boys," he shouts behind them. "Give 'em hell!" THE END . Ill I j "As an enlisted man, I've done j tnore KP than any man in this I room," said the major. 1 since it was merely a rumor, there was no confirmation or denial over ! the radio all day long. That sup- ; posed news back then had been ! J taken with a philosophic shrug and- the thought, "Well, it's what we've i been expecting." j j This today caused a different war I 'eehng. It was not what we had j been expecting. . To the soldiers j. i be, whose only attention to the 1 oewspapers is a quick glance at the beadlines, it was startling and dreadful. The men who heard the news announcement an-nouncement over the radio this afternoon aft-ernoon at the Service Club were, for be most part, new to the Army, with less than a month of training i behind them. Their first feeling of outrage gave way to the awful fear i that they would be 'sent away, green 1 and untrained and helpless, within a week. ; The rumor mill began operation ""mediately. New York and Fort "agg will be' bombed within the J"onth, the rumors said. Probably, J that time, all of us will be in J Hawaii or Russia or Persia or Af-1 Af-1 flca' Green and untrained and help-r help-r lesS- This business of teaching a J "ian for thirteen weeks in a replace- Kent center will be dispensed with, y ow that war is upon us. You're a 'Whan one day and a rookie member mem-ber of a seasoned fighting outfit the next. xeept for a few for whom the 'a held a terrible fascination the men thought first of communicating 'th their families, their friends, , ir sweethearts. They immediate-, immediate-, Went for writing materials and for j two public telephones of the club. gst all 0 the 64,000 men of Fort i traSS were trying to reach their ! mes through the eight trunk lines ; m ran out of the pitifully over- urWed little telephone exchange Fayetteville. iw is" Ethel Walker who was act" s senior hostess for the Re-. Re-. j rcernent Center's Service Club, j Planned an entertainment pro-f pro-f a,m for the evening, but-when she t : till !! Ut at the tension in the so-: so-: u' aU she despaired. She tele-: tele-: her boss, Major Herston M. ,,?r' the special services officer. V i S no use trvinS t0 Put n e show tonight," she said. "Shall 5 I cancel it? And m T turn off y radio?" taid".!,''5 3 good Prgram. keeP 'V l(s major. "And by all means ' fin! radio on- Just han8 n; J 1 there in fa r-minutes." 0 ' |
