"Gustav Hasvord. The Short-Timers " - читать интересную книгу автора

them what they are. The lesser services like to joke about how every Marine
platoon goes into battle accompanied by a platoon of Marine Corps
photographers. That's affirmative. Marines fight harder because Marines have
bigger legends to live up to."
Captain January slaps a large package on the floor by his desk. "And
this is the final product of all our industry. My wife likes to show an
interest in my work. She asked me for a souvenir. I'm sending her a gook."
Rafter Man's expression is so funny that I have to look away to avoid
laughing out loud. "Sir?"
"Yes, Sergeant?"
"Where's the Top?"
"The First shirt went to Da Nang for some in-country R & R. You can see
him after you come back from Hue." Captain January looks at his wristwatch.
"Seventeen hundred. Chow time."


On the way to chow Rafter Man and I meet Chili Vendor and Daytona Dave
and Mr. Payback at the ISO enlisted men's hootch. I give Rafter Man a
utility jacket with 101st Airborne patches all over it. My own Army jacket
has First Air Cavalry insignia. I select two salty sets of Army collar
chevrons and we pin them on. Now we're Spec-5's-Army sergeants. Chili Vendor
and Daytona Dave and Mr. Payback are all buck sergeants from the Ninth
Infantry Division.
We go to chow down in the Army mess hall. The Army eats real food.
Cake, roast beef, ice cream, chocolate milk-all the bennies. Our own mess
hall serves Kool-Aid and shit-on-a-shingle-chipped beef on toast-with peanut
butter and jelly sandwiches for dessert.
"When's the Top due back?"
Chili Vendor says, "Oh, maybe tomorrow. January on your program again?"
I nod. "That fucking lifer. He's crazy. He's just plain fucking crazy.
He gets crazier every time I see him. Now he's mailing a gook stiff home to
his wife."
Daytona says, "There it is. But then the Top is a lifer, too."
"But the Top is decent. I mean, maybe the Crotch is his home, and he
makes us do a good job, but he don't harass us with Mickey Mouse shit. He
cuts the snuffies some slack when he can. The Top's not a lifer; he's a
career Marine. Lifers are a breed. A lifer is anybody who abuses authority
he doesn't deserve to have. There are plenty of civilian lifers."
The Army mess sergeant with the big cigar spot-checks I.D.'s.
The Army mess sergeant with the big cigar takes the shiny mess trays
out of our hands and throws us out of his mess hall.
We retreat to the Marine mess hall where we eat shit-on-a-shingle and
drink lukewarm Kool-Aid and we talk about how the Army could have at least
souvenired us some leftovers since that's all the Marine Corps ever gets
anyway.


After chow we play tag back to our hootch. Laughing and breathing hard,
we take a moment to pull down the green plastic ponchos nailed on the
outside of the hootch. During the night the ponchos will keep light in and