The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1943-09-24

'Git out Of there or I'll dump you
out"
bunk, where Private Bushemi is
snoring gently. ! roll back, get COM
Portable, and pull the cover over
my head.
"Hargrove!" roars Bishop. "Get
your lazy bones out of bedl It's
five after SIKH"
''Call me at ten after SIX" NUT
ter. Better still just sing out when
my name is called at reveille."
Private Bishop reaches over sud-
denly and rips the blankets from
the bunk. ! rise, cursing him sound
ly. Private Bushemi is still Sleep
ing, with sweet and childish smile
on his face. I lift foot and give
him firm shove in the posterior.
''Git out of there, you blankerty-
blanked dash-dash, shiftless, good
for-nothing bum!" / shout, giving
him two or three more shoves. "Git
out of there or I'll dump you out!"
I reach over and grab the edge
of Bushemi's bunk. I joggle it slight
ly to give the impression that l am
just about to overturn the bunk.
Bushemi bounces out of bed, swing
ing wildly. you're going to get
funny just one morning too often,
and I'm going to beat the eternal
perdition out of both Of you. It's
getting to the point where it amt
funny" Then he begins mumbling
aimlessly under his breath as he
steps into his trousers.
Somehow, we manage to get into
the second shoe just as the whistle
blows to call us outside. We shiv-
er in the dark cold as section lead
ers call the roll, mostly from MEM
DRY. The second section of the first
platoon is always the last to finish
roll call. We stand there listening.
"P-o-g-g-il" "Hyoh!" "Pulver!"
"Here!" and then the piece de re-
sistence: Peacock" Always the
answer comes in the same way-an
unbelievably deep bass, long-drawn-
out and rumbling: "Heeeeeeerel"
The second platoon smokers and tit
tiers, just as it did the day before,
and the top kick shouts. dis
missed!"
Bushemi heads straight back for
his bunk. "Call me at chowtime,
will your"
Bill, a friend of Bushemi's and
mine in Charlotte, drives a street
bus. Before he began his service
as a driver, he served a hitch in
the Army. Like all ex-service men,
he's ready to drop everything and
just shoot the breeze any time the
conversation turns to the Army.
"There was a young first-class
private got on my bus last week, "
he told me, land he sat in the
long seat behind me, so we got
started talking. Well, thought I'd
snow him under, telling him about
the time ! was in the Army. So,
just to start the ball rolling and get
the talk turned to the Army, I asked
him how long he'd been in.
oh, I've been in for well over
eight MONTHS he said, like he was
just starting his thirtieth year Of
service. Then he started wiping his
sleeves so I'd be sure to notice
his private-frst-class stripe.
IT thought I'd let him blow off
about his stripe, so / asked him,
Say, what does that stripe stand
for?'
oh, that, he said, as much as
to say aw-shucks-that-ain' t-nothing.
That just means I'm a sergeant >
lis that right?' ! asked him,
looking sort Of widemouthed at him.
'Yessir,' he said, real casual,
sin the Army only eight months and
I've already been made sergeant. ;
We'll, tell me- ] said, what
grade Of sergeant are you? I've
seen some sergeants have three
stripes and then I've seen them have
as many as six. How come that?'
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