The Most Important Thing. David GrossЧитать онлайн книгу.
One evening, Dutch decided to celebrate his first week of Basic Training. Dutch rose quietly. He lifted his mattress, and underneath he stashed an outfit of forbidden civilian clothes. Dutch dressed. Bradley woke staring sleepily at the dark figure of Dutch.
“Dutch, where are you going?” whispered Kentuck, “Are you deserting?” Whatever Dutch had in mind was strictly outlawed.
“I’m going to have a drink at Sadie’s. Want to come along, Gross?” Dutch responded quietly.
“Sadie’s is off limits, Dutch, you know that. You’ll be arrested and get set back. They may send you to Leavenworth,” answered Kentuck. Fort Leavenworth provided shelter for serious rule breakers. The Army built bars on the windows to guard deserters in the Kansas army prison.
“Who cares?” asked Dutch. Dutch didn’t care about anything. Further, the plan avoided getting caught. Dutch strode away stealthily.
Quiet returned to the barracks. Kentuck stared at the ceiling awake and unsettled. Forty snoring privates barred rest. Kentuck questioned himself, “Why do they call me Kentuck? I was the unluckiest guy alive to be from that backward hole. No money, no hope, no education, nothing. I wish that I had never heard of Kentucky. If they would let me, I would forget everything I ever knew about that place.”
The troubled Kentuck lay awake for a long time. Against his will, he remembered his home. Kentuck saw Ma standing beside the breakfast table offering him sugar for his coffee. He almost sobbed. Suddenly, as if to bring the sadness to a crescendo, a crash of thunder broke the silence announcing rain. Kentuck realized the life of a soldier is a lonely life. Finally, sleep relieved the troubled private.
That night, Dutch successfully escaped Fort Bragg for a nightcap. A few hours later, after liquid fortification, Dutch retreated to the barracks and bed. The freezing rain caused a problem for Dutch. The ill-fated Dutch left telltale footprints of mud upon the immaculate floor.
For a few hours, all was quiet in the big World War II hut.
No one noticed the footprints on the floor until the next morning, when McCloskey, with a perennial weed up his ass, barreled into the hut screaming at the top of his lungs. The footprints halted his mad screaming. All of the men froze.
“What idiot went running around last night?” asked the red-faced sergeant, “Nobody is leaving here until I find out.” The sergeant followed the trail of mud that ended dangerously close to the area where Kentuck and Dutch slept. Evidence disappeared as the trail of mud ended, Sergeant McCloskey searched the faces of the privates for a sign of guilt. Each private stood with vacant eyes front. Kentuck’s mind raced. Kentuck knew Dutch would admit to his infraction if asked. The guy didn’t care about his own life, much less his military career. McCloskey glared suspiciously at Dutch and Kentuck. McCloskey approached Dutch when Kentuck spoke.
“Sergeant, there was a guy walking through here last night, he went in the front and out the back. He looked lost. It was dark and his face wasn’t familiar, but I don’t think he was in our company,” lied Kentuck. Kentuck never lied, except when it served a good cause.
McCloskey liked the answer. It wasn’t one of his boys at all. It was probably some asshole from Company D. The dubious McCloskey let it pass. He would speak to the 1st sergeant about the laxness of Company D. It was one of his favorite topics. The fat sergeant walked away quickly, finding another fault in the barracks. Dutch winked at Kentuck. “Dutch, you better be careful or you will get set back,” said Kentuck. “Gross, there are no set backs, there are only opportunities,” replied Dutch with his sardonic grin.
That day the boys received the awesome M-1 rifle, a tool that served as the predominant infantry weapon of World War II. The army insisted that your rifle was your best friend. Kentuck cared for his buddy. Though a poor shot, Kentuck maintained a mighty clean rifle; the cleanest of all of his Basic Training friends. The army insisted upon a clean rifle. A dirty weapon misfired. A misfire might cost a soldier his life. Kentuck grew so familiar with the M-1 that he could disassemble and reassemble the weapon with his eyes closed.
It seemed to take forever for the Army to issue the boys ammunition. It took considerable time to trust a recruit with live ammunition. One recruit was impatient to fire his weapon. As soon as he received live ammunition, he aimed the rifle at his foot and fired. The medics carried the idiot private away. His military career ended as he limped home with a General Discharge.
It seemed an eternity until the boys fired the M-1. First, the troops practiced with “dry fire” without live ammo. Impatiently, all of the young men waited to fire the rifle. Finally, the company marched to the firing range for “wet fire.” Wet firing practice used live ammo. The recruits fired eighty rounds. The Army kept score.
Benny Bell, the company’s finest shot, was a Cincinnati union man. Benny was a big, pudgy fellow, as good-natured as one could imagine. His big face beamed with poor teeth. Benny loved a good story and had plenty of stories to tell. Benny loved his grub displaying the girth to prove it.
Though Dutch drank every chance he got, it didn’t affect his shooting eye. Dutch approached Benny in shooting skill. Benny usually hit eighty bulls-eyes out of eighty. Dutch invariably hit seventy-eight or seventy-nine. They were the best shots in the company by far.
Though Kentuck was a man of vision, he couldn’t see as well as other people. In fact, Kentuck was the worst shot in the company. Some of his fellow soldiers ridiculed him for his poor shooting ability. “Be sure and point Kentuck toward the Russians when the shooting starts!” they would say. Kentuck felt ashamed of this flaw, though in all other aspects of soldiering he performed extremely well. Within two weeks he received a pair of ugly, black-framed, military issue glasses. Though they didn’t do much for his appearance, the glasses improved his skill on the firing range.
Aaron Jerkowitz tormented Kentuck over his shooting. He criticized and bullied many of his fellows. Some people lack common humanity. Kentuck and Jerkowitz shared hatred, that summed their sharing. Kentuck never hated Communism as much as Jerkowitz. They taunted each other until Kentuck seethed with ressentiment. However, fighting during Basic Training meant discipline, neither of them wanted their mutual hatred to hinder their military careers. But with each day and each comment the mutual hatred grew. Kentuck imagined shooting Jerkowitz’s ugly head when he aimed at the target during wet fire. Even with this incentive, the target remained illusive.
Strange how the young privates considered shooting a defining characteristic of a man, but they did. Privates usually didn’t know if a guy was a Christian or had siblings, but they knew how he shot. What is the measure of a man? In Basic Training, physical training, shooting, the shine of his boots, the shave, and the tightness of his bunk created competition under pressure. The ultimate barometer of soldiering measures the ability to perform under pressure. That is the goal of Basic Training.
The identity of the soldier is his unit. When one soldier meets another and asks, “Who ya’ with?” he is asking, “Who are you?” All of the soldiers in a company share a common goal and a common identity. Everyone wears the same clothes, the green “pickle” suit, void of insignia, except for the soldier’s last name and “U.S. Army” sewn to the chest. For the first few days of army life, while the last name is sewn, even that single emblem of individuality is missing. Every soldier eats the same thing. Everyone has the same haircut. Everyone sleeps in the same big hut of World War II design. Everyone is equal, regardless of the wealth or popularity held in his past.
One of the key reasons that soldiers fight is to protect his fellow soldier. Basic Training teaches this lesson early. It is the camaraderie of your squad, platoon, company, battalion, division, and army that fuels the fight in the soldier. As Basic Training neared completion, the boys gained confidence in their ability. Dutch knew that Kentuck felt inadequate because he shot poorly. Dutch knew that Jerkowitz ridiculed Kentuck on his lack of shooting skill. Dutch hated Jerkowitz for hounding others in his company. Dutch devised a vengeful plan.
“Dutch, I’m going to be a good soldier, despite my eyes,” promised Kentuck.
“There is a lot more to a soldier than shooting. Don’t let it bother you, Kentuck. Who cares? Don’t