smiled with little satisfaction that One Forty Three was drilling better than the other platoons. And his mind wandered back to Kathy. Then he ran for his tent to find a laugh from L.Q. As he entered, Ski was lying on his sack.
“Hey, Ski. Get off your cot. You know we aren’t supposed to lay on it before taps. Want to get us murdered?”
“He isn’t feeling good.”
“Looks like you got a fever, Ski.”
“Holy Christ, we got to go to the movies tonight.”
“I’ll go see Whitlock.”
“That’s O.K. Don’t go getting the rebel mad, Danny.”
Danny cut up the catwalk and stopped before the D.I.’s tent. “Sir, Private Forrester requests permission to speak with the drill instructor.”
“At ease, Forrester, what is it?”
“Sir, Private Zvonski appears to be sick.” He followed Danny back to the tent. Danny shouted, “Tenshun.”
“That’s all right, son, lay down.” The corporal bent over and felt Ski’s forehead. “You’ve got the Cat Fever, nothing serious. Lay in during the show and if you don’t feel better by reveille, go to sick bay.”
“Thank you, sir.” He left.
“Phew,” Jones sighed, “I thought he was going to boon-dock us for sure. What did you say?”
“I told him if he didn’t let my old buddy take the night off I’d start punching holes in him.”
“Gee, thanks, Danny. I’m your slave.”
The whistle blasted. “Fall out, top coats.”
“Here we go to get our morale built up.”
The four-thirty bugle found Ski’s fever gone and he wobbled to the head. As he advanced to the sink he asked Jones, in the next line, “How was the picture?”
“Great,” L.Q. answered, “great. They marched us clean over to the Base Theater. People were there, even women. Even saw a real Marine in dress blues. I said to myself right there and then that if I got to go into this war, I’m gonna join the Marine Corps.”
“What was the picture about?”
“Called To the Shores of Tripoli, ” L.Q. answered, opening his shaving kit. “Well, this here guy is a horse’s ass like Beller and Whitlock and he joins the Corps because his old man was a Marine.”
“Gee, a picture about Marines.”
“Well, he gets to boot camp and first thing he does is read off his D.I.”
“Just like real life.”
“Yeah. After giving the D.I. the word he beats the hell out of the whole platoon. Nice guy, only nobody likes him. There’s a kid in boot camp who wants to make Sea School but he washes out and he’s heartbroken.”
“No blue uniform for that boy.”
“In the next scene he’s makin’ time with this Navy nurse. He’s a private and she’s a looey.”
“Just like real. Sorry I missed it.”
“Anyhow, he squares himself by saving the life of the D.I.”
“What he want to do that for?”
“Don’t interrupt…the picture ends with the war starting and the whole outfit marching down to the docks to ship out. Bands are playing and people waving flags and everyone singing the Marine’s Hymn, and they board ship and who do you think is waiting for him?”
“The nurse.”
“How did you guess?”
“Just like real life.”
“Hey, you guys, how about getting your ass in gear? We got to shave too,” an irate boot shouted.
L.Q. washed the soap from his face and replaced the razor in the kit. “Tomorrow is my day to put a blade in, don’t let me forget it.”
4:30 Reveille and the cursed record over the loudspeaker. Mad dash to the head. Dark and cold. Shower and shave. 4:50 Roll call. Make up bunks, square away seabags, police up area. By mop, by broom, by police bucket, by squeegee. 5:15 Run to mess hall. Daily game of trying not to be the last to drink from a pitcher of coffee or milk or you have to take it to be refilled. L.Q. always seems to be anchor man on the milk pitcher. Plunge the mess gear into steaming buckets of boiling water and the slow walk back to the tents with a welcome cigarette and the rising sun. Clean up mess gear with steel wool. Dirty
“Hey, Ski. Get off your cot. You know we aren’t supposed to lay on it before taps. Want to get us murdered?”
“He isn’t feeling good.”
“Looks like you got a fever, Ski.”
“Holy Christ, we got to go to the movies tonight.”
“I’ll go see Whitlock.”
“That’s O.K. Don’t go getting the rebel mad, Danny.”
Danny cut up the catwalk and stopped before the D.I.’s tent. “Sir, Private Forrester requests permission to speak with the drill instructor.”
“At ease, Forrester, what is it?”
“Sir, Private Zvonski appears to be sick.” He followed Danny back to the tent. Danny shouted, “Tenshun.”
“That’s all right, son, lay down.” The corporal bent over and felt Ski’s forehead. “You’ve got the Cat Fever, nothing serious. Lay in during the show and if you don’t feel better by reveille, go to sick bay.”
“Thank you, sir.” He left.
“Phew,” Jones sighed, “I thought he was going to boon-dock us for sure. What did you say?”
“I told him if he didn’t let my old buddy take the night off I’d start punching holes in him.”
“Gee, thanks, Danny. I’m your slave.”
The whistle blasted. “Fall out, top coats.”
“Here we go to get our morale built up.”
The four-thirty bugle found Ski’s fever gone and he wobbled to the head. As he advanced to the sink he asked Jones, in the next line, “How was the picture?”
“Great,” L.Q. answered, “great. They marched us clean over to the Base Theater. People were there, even women. Even saw a real Marine in dress blues. I said to myself right there and then that if I got to go into this war, I’m gonna join the Marine Corps.”
“What was the picture about?”
“Called To the Shores of Tripoli, ” L.Q. answered, opening his shaving kit. “Well, this here guy is a horse’s ass like Beller and Whitlock and he joins the Corps because his old man was a Marine.”
“Gee, a picture about Marines.”
“Well, he gets to boot camp and first thing he does is read off his D.I.”
“Just like real life.”
“Yeah. After giving the D.I. the word he beats the hell out of the whole platoon. Nice guy, only nobody likes him. There’s a kid in boot camp who wants to make Sea School but he washes out and he’s heartbroken.”
“No blue uniform for that boy.”
“In the next scene he’s makin’ time with this Navy nurse. He’s a private and she’s a looey.”
“Just like real. Sorry I missed it.”
“Anyhow, he squares himself by saving the life of the D.I.”
“What he want to do that for?”
“Don’t interrupt…the picture ends with the war starting and the whole outfit marching down to the docks to ship out. Bands are playing and people waving flags and everyone singing the Marine’s Hymn, and they board ship and who do you think is waiting for him?”
“The nurse.”
“How did you guess?”
“Just like real life.”
“Hey, you guys, how about getting your ass in gear? We got to shave too,” an irate boot shouted.
L.Q. washed the soap from his face and replaced the razor in the kit. “Tomorrow is my day to put a blade in, don’t let me forget it.”
4:30 Reveille and the cursed record over the loudspeaker. Mad dash to the head. Dark and cold. Shower and shave. 4:50 Roll call. Make up bunks, square away seabags, police up area. By mop, by broom, by police bucket, by squeegee. 5:15 Run to mess hall. Daily game of trying not to be the last to drink from a pitcher of coffee or milk or you have to take it to be refilled. L.Q. always seems to be anchor man on the milk pitcher. Plunge the mess gear into steaming buckets of boiling water and the slow walk back to the tents with a welcome cigarette and the rising sun. Clean up mess gear with steel wool. Dirty
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