Chapter 23
There is a tide in the affairs of man, which,
taken between a blood test and an induction notice, leads
on to the Army. It's been a big adventure so
far. You've traveled and you've been around and you've seen
things and much has happened to you. But water is
wet whether it's off the shore of this island or
in Lake Michigan and mud is still dirty whether it's
on the banks of a jungle stream or near Claibourne,
Louisiana, and wherever you go you'll always find a placard
on a pine box saying, "Servicemen Admitted at No Charge."
Egan and Whitney are making their preparations and the rest
of the men glance at the three of you every
once in a while and you know that they are
wishing you luck. Sgt. Lindstrom has left the supply man
and is receiving last minute instructions from
mmmthe company commander
and his back is turned toward you, hunched and intent.
Excitement is welling up inside of you and your mind
is recording a temperature and your thoughts are beginning to
wander and you are trying to follow them around. This
is the dark room in which your brain develops negatives
and imagination in verichrome presents a preview
mmmof nameless fears.
Why can't you take your personal bravery for granted and
not have to inquire after its health, but know that
when every moment becomes a crisis it will prove vigorous?
It's not the man in the fight that matters, but
the fight in the man, and even the Japs get
no medals for valor, since bravery is not considered exceptional.
You are curious about how Egan and Whitney feel and
you look at their faces but they are shielded by
deliberate cloakings of forced banter. Whitney is saying, "If it
wasn't for the money, I wouldn't take a job like
this." "Leave everything to Lindstrom," advises Egan. "He has a
difficulty for every solution." The other replies, "Well, I don't
know what I would do without him — but I'd rather!"
You join the conversation. "It takes all kinds of people
to make a world, but I sure wish those Japs
would go somewhere and make a world of their own."
"Yes," agrees Egan. "In spite of the fact that stocks
will go down, I'll be glad when the war's over
and I can go back home again." Whitney snorts, "Home?
What's home, mommy?" "There are just two things I would
do," continues Egan. "First, I'd strip my Garand and lay
it out on the porch to rust, and then I'd
sit and look at a woman till she came apart."
You smile and turn away. Good soldiers, both of them.
You wonder if the Japs aren't assembling similar patrols at
this very instant to penetrate the American beachhead, and if
they, too, aren't standing around waiting for the word to
proceed. Do you think they are kidding among themselves like
Egan and Whit? You doubt it. Somehow, discipline expresses itself
differently with men like these, and it is not the
actual fact of obedience that matters, but the willingness to
obey. Here, discipline arises from a consciousness of common aim
and from a pride before one's fellows and from a
shared understanding of the responsibilities involved. Sure, there's
still the spirit of "do as you're told and complain afterward," and
"take all the blame that can't be otherwise disposed of
and shut up about it." But behind it there is
the wisecrack and the democratic camaraderie of a winning team.
We're free men. They can't shoot us without our consent.
