Part 63 (2/2)

Being a corporal suits me. It is the first time I've had men permanently a.s.signed to me, time enough to get acquainted with each one, learn his strong points and weak ones, and how to handle him. They are a fine bunch of men. Only one is a problem, and it's not his fault; it results from the prejudices of the time. His name is F. X. d.i.n.kowski, and he is simultaneously the only Catholic and the only Jew in my squad-and, twins, if you've never heard of either one, ask Athene. By ancestry he comes from one religion, then he was brought up in another-and he has had the tough luck to be placed with country boys who have still a third religion and are not very tolerant.

Plus the additional misfortunes of being a city boy and having a voice that grates (even on me) and is clumsy, and when they pick on him (they do if I'm not right there), it makes him more clumsy. Truthfully he's not soldier material-but I wasn't asked. So he's the ammunition carrier, the best I can do to balance my squad.

They call him ”d.i.n.ky,” which is only mildly disparaging, but he hates it. (I use his full last name-I do with all of them. For ritualistic reasons having to do with the mystique of military organizations at this here-&-now it is best to call a man by his family name.) But let's leave the finest squad in the AEF and bring you up to date on my first family and your ancestors. Just before Uncle Sam sent me on that pleasure cruise, I was given a vacation. I spent it with the Brian Smith family and lived in their house, as they have ”adopted” me for the rest of this war, me being an ”orphan.”

That leave was the happiest time I've had since I was dropped from the Dora Dora. I took Woodie to an amus.e.m.e.nt park, primitive but more fun than some sophisticated pleasures of Secundus. I took him on rides and treated him to games and things that were fun for him, and fun for me because he enjoyed them so-wore him out and he slept all the way home. He behaved himself, and now we are chums. I've decided to let him grow up; there may be hope for him yet.

I had long talks with Gramp, got better acquainted with all the others-especially Mama and Pop. The latter was unexpected. I had met Pop for a few minutes at Camp Funston, then he was to come home on leave the day I had to go back, and I didn't expect to see him. But he got away a few hours early, a bonus an officer can sometimes manage, and we overlapped-and he telephoned to the camp and got me a two-day extension. Why? Tamara and Ira, listen carefully-

To attend the wedding of- Miss Nancy Irene Smith & Mr. Jonathan Sperling Weatheral

Athene, explain to the twins the historic significance of this union. List the famous and important people in that line, dear, not the total genealogies. And Ira and Tamara in our own little family, of course, and Ishtar, and at least five of our children-and I may have missed someone, not having all the genealogical lines in my head.

I was ”best man” to Jonathan, and Pop ”gave the bride away,” and Brian was an ”usher” and Marie was ”ringbearer” and Carol was ”maid of honor,” and George was charged with keeping Woodie from setting fire to the church while Mama took care of d.i.c.kie and Ethet-Athene can explain terms and ritual; I shan't try. But it not only gave me two more days of leave, much of which I spent running errands for Mama (these medieval weddings are complex operations), but it also gave me time with Pop, and now I know him better than I ever did as a son under his roof-and like him very much and heartily approve of him.

Ira, he reminds me of you-brainy, no nonsense, relaxed, tolerant, and warmly friendly.

Bulletin: The bride was pregnant (a proper Howard wedding!-at a time when all all brides are a.s.sumed to be virgins)-pregnant with (if memory serves) ”Jonathan Brian Weatheral.” Is that right, Justin, and who is descended from him? Remind me, Athene. I've met a lot of people over the centuries; I may even have married some descendant of Jonathan Brian at some time. I rather hope so; Nancy and Jonathan are a fine young couple. brides are a.s.sumed to be virgins)-pregnant with (if memory serves) ”Jonathan Brian Weatheral.” Is that right, Justin, and who is descended from him? Remind me, Athene. I've met a lot of people over the centuries; I may even have married some descendant of Jonathan Brian at some time. I rather hope so; Nancy and Jonathan are a fine young couple.

I turned ”my” landaulet over to them for a six-day honeymoon, then Jonathan was to (did) join the Army-but too late to get into combat. Nancy's warrior hero just the same; he tried.

Some fiddling sergeant who couldn't find his a.r.s.e with both hands wants me to round up my squad and do something about a dugout that someone was careless with. So- All my love from Corporal Buddy Boy

Somewhere in France

Dear Mr. Johnson, Please give this a second censoring; some of it will have to be explained to the rest of my adopted family.

I hope that Mrs. Smith received the thank-you note I mailed from Hoboken (and could read it-writing on my knee while bouncing on the C. & A. roadbed does not improve my handwriting). In any case I thank her again for the happiest holiday of my life. And thanks to all all of you. Please tell Woodie that I will no longer spot him a horse. From here on we play even or he can find another sucker-four out of five is too many. of you. Please tell Woodie that I will no longer spot him a horse. From here on we play even or he can find another sucker-four out of five is too many.

Now for the rest-Note signature and address. My rocker did not last to France, then three chevrons dwindled to two. Can you explain to Mrs. Smith and to Carol (those two in particular) that being busted does not disgrace a man forever?-and that I am still Carol's own special soldier if she will let me be-and in fact I am far more of a real soldier; I am at last free of being tagged as ”instructor” and am now leading a squad in a combat outfit. I wish I could tell her where . . but if I stuck my head up over the parapet, I might see some heinies if one of them didn't see me first. I'm not goldbricking a hundred miles back.

I hope you aren't ashamed of me. No, I'm sure you are not; you are too old a soldier to care about rank. I'm in it and that's what counts with you. I know. May I say, sir, that you are and have always been as long as I've known you an inspiration to me?

I won't detail the two negative promotions; in the Army excuses don't count. But I want you to know that neither resulted from anything dishonorable. The first was in the transport and involved a duty-struck masterat-arms and a poker game in an area for which I was responsible. The second came while I was instructing-dummy trenches, dummy no-man's land-and a captain told me to dress up that skirmish line and I said, ”h.e.l.l, Captain, are you trying to save bullets for the Kaiser? Or haven't you heard of machine guns?”

(I suppose I shouldn't have said ”h.e.l.l.” In fact I used another expression more common among soldiers.) So later that day I was a corporal, and my transfer took place when I requested it, again that same day.

So here I am and feeling fine. It is indeed a fact that the closer a man gets to the front, the better his morale is. I've become chummy with cooties, and the mud in France is deeper and stickier than in southern Missouri, and I dream about hot baths and Mrs. Smith's wonderful guest room for sotdiers-but I'm in good health and good spirits, and I send my love to all of you.

Respectfully yours, Corporal Ted Bronson

”Hey down in there! Corporal Bronson. Send him out.”

Lazarus climbed slowly up out the dugout, letting his eyes adjust to darkness. ”Yes, Lieutenant?”

”Wire-cutting job. I want you to volunteer.”

Lazarus said nothing.

”Didn't you hear me?”

”I heard you, sir.”

”Well?”

”You asked for a volunteer, sir.”

”No, I said I wanted you to volunteer.”

”Lieutenant, I volunteered on April sixth last year. That used up my quota for the duration.”

”A latrine lawyer, eh?”

Lazarus again said nothing.

”Sometimes I think you want to live forever.”

Lazarus still said nothing. (You are so right, you sevenpound bliffy-and so do you you, you haven't been over that parapet even once. G.o.d help this platoon when you do.) ”Very well, since you want it the hard way. I order order you to lead this party. Find three more volunteers from your squad. If they don't volunteer you know what to do. Once you pick 'em, tell 'em to get ready-then you haul a.s.s to C.P. and I'll show you the map.” you to lead this party. Find three more volunteers from your squad. If they don't volunteer you know what to do. Once you pick 'em, tell 'em to get ready-then you haul a.s.s to C.P. and I'll show you the map.”

”Yes, sir.”

”And, Bronson, make d.a.m.n sure you do a good job . . because a little bird told me that you're going to lead the way through the holes. Dismissed.”

Lazarus went unhurriedly back down below. So we're going over the top? Big secret. n.o.body knows it but Pers.h.i.+ng and about a hundred thousand Yanks and twice that many Boches and the Imperial High Command. Why do they advertise a ”surprise attack” with three days of ”softening-up” bombardment that does nothing worth mentioning but tells the Boche where to bring up his reserves and gives him time to position them? Forget it, Lazarus, you're not in charge. Put your mind on picking out three who can go out, do it, and come back.

Not Russell, you'll need your automatic rifleman before dawn. Wyatt was out last night. d.i.n.kowski might as well have a cowbell around his neck. Fielding is on the sick list, d.a.m.n it. So it has to be Schultz, Talley, and Cadwallader. Two of them old unkillables and Talley the only repple with too little experience-and a shame Fielding has la grippe or whatever it is; I need him. All right, Schultz, gets Cadwallader; I'll nurse Talley through it.

It was a two-squad dugout; his squad was sacked in on the left, the other squad had a card game going by candlelight on their side. Lazarus called his squad into a huddle, waking Cadwallader and Schultz to do so. Russell and Wyatt stayed in their bunks, as the huddle took place against them. ”The Lieutenant wants us to cut wire and told me to ask for three volunteers.”

Schultz nodded at once, as Lazarus knew he would. ”I'll go.” In Lazarus' opinion his a.s.sistant squad leader should have a section. Schultz was forty, a married volunteer, and trying hard to offset his name, his trace of German accent (second generation)-but doing it steadily, methodically, without flash. No glory hound. Lazarus hoped that not many of the Germans they faced were of Schultz's quality-but he knew they were, especially veterans pulled back from the collapsed Russian front. His only fault in Lazarus' eyes was that he disliked d.i.n.kowski.

”That's one. Don't all speak at once.”

”What's the matter with them? them?” Cadwallader said loudly, jerking a thumb at the other squad. ”Teacher's pets? They haven't done anything for a week.”

Corporal O'Brien answered for his squad: ” 'Tell your troubles to Jesus; the Chaplain's gone over the hill!' Whose deal?”

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