Birdy

sitting, sir. He seemed to be watching me.’
    I’ll have to be careful here. Whatever happens, I don’t want Weiss charging into the ward. Birdy’d be sure I’m working against him. I back off some.
    ‘How is your jaw coming along, Sergeant? I have your papershere and you seem to have had a rather serious injury there. How long is it before you have another operation scheduled?’
    He’s the psychiatrist this morning, all right He couldn’t care less about me. He’s working up to something.
    ‘It’s fine, sir. Next week I have the final work done. They’ll put on the last layers and finish it off.’
    Weiss leans forward and pulls my folder in front of him. He flips open the cover. It’s my records all right; I see my name.
    ‘Sergeant, would you mind going into more detail about this court-martial you had at Fort Cumberland? What actually happened?’
    ‘I don’t see what that has to do with the patient, sir. It all happened a long time ago.’
    ‘Let me decide that, Sergeant.’
    Son-of-a-bitch!
    ‘Well, sir, if you think it might help, I’ll tell you all I can remember.’
    Some way I have to keep this shit away from Birdy. He’s sitting there smiling at me over his folded hands. I smile back, a Sicilian smile, the Southern smile which says, ‘You and I know all this is so much horseshit, let’s get on with it.’
    He leans back in his chair, exhales a deep sigh, closes his eyes behind his glasses while picking up a yellow pencil from the desk. He starts putting the pencil on its point, sliding his fingers down the pencil, then turning the pencil around so the eraser is on the desk, and sliding down again. He’s sort of subtly jacking off on the pencil. I consider sneaking away; I don’t want to talk about Cumberland. Boy, Birdy, the crap I’m putting up with for you.
    ‘Well, sir, I was in the Pennsylvania State Guard and in December they sent me to Fort Cumberland for induction and reassignment into the regular army.’
    I even have to show those assholes at Cumberland how to hook bayonet scabbards to the webbing equipment. There’s a hunky T-5 in charge, but he sits in the squad room all day long topping up his load. Hell, I’m taking over the barracks, going to make general in six months.
    The third morning, we’re called out and lined up in the company street. It’s so cold that when I spit it freezes before I can smear it with my foot. A second lieutenant and a Sergeant come out from a shed on the other side of the street. The Sergeant calls us to attention and there’s mail call. My feet are freezing, my nose is about to drop off, my fingers are stiff in the gloves. None of us is going to get any mail. Then, the Sergeant calls us to attention again and the lieutenant starts.
    ‘All right, men. After this, you’ll be dismissed to quarters. Chow at twelve hundred. First, Corporal Lumbowski will choose men for details.’
    The hunky T-5 starts walking down the line. He stops every once in a while and points. He comes to me, points and says, ‘Coal.’ Would you believe it, I’m proud I’ve been chosen. The rest are dismissed and about fifteen of us stay.
    Weiss is still lying back with a smile on his face, his eyes closed behind his glasses. I almost expect him to snore but he isn’t asleep at all. I’m wondering how much I can bullshit this without making him open his eyes.
    The T-5 calls us together. He’s a chunky bastard, not tall but square, true hunky type, reminds me of a Cheltenham Polack I pinned in the District finals. Pinned him first period; strong but dumb. The stupid shit cries while I’m pinning him. Tears are running down his red face while I’m tightening a half nelson and jacking up a crotch hold. The T-5 tells the coal detail to report to him at the shed next morning at oh-five-hundred. There are four of us.
    Back in the barracks it looks as if the shit hit the fan. Everybody’s thrown all their gear on the floor and crowded around the stove. I start high-kneeing up and down the barracks, jumping and dodging all the crap on the floor. I hate to think of going into combat with fuck-offs like these.
    Next morning, a PFC flunky wakes me and I get down to the kitchen for chow. I’m the first one there and I even made up my bunk before I left. The kitchen is warm and steamy. I eat while the rest of the detail comes straggling in.
    After that, we stand for ten minutes in the dark on the company street, waiting. I’m wearing two pairs of socks, but my