From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [304]
“We have barracks inspection daily,” Major Thompson said, “instead of just on Saturday, and any discrepancy of personal equipment earns a prisoner an immediate demerit. Repeated infractions of any rule gets solitary confinement.
“While here,” Major Thompson said, “every internee is called by the title of ‘Prisoner.’ Men serving time in this Stockade have lost their rights to the title of rank, and to the complimentary title of ‘Soldier.’
“S/Sgt Judson here is the second in command. In the event of my absence his decisions will be final. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” Prew said quickly.
“Then I think thats all,” Major Thompson said. “Any questions, Prisoner?”
“No, Sir,” Prew said quickly.
“Then thats all. Pfc Hanson will take you out to work.”
“Yes, Sir,” Prew said, and snapped out a salute. The butt of the grub hoe handle slammed into the small of his back above the kidney in the same spot with the precision of a clock, the Godlike reprimand of a schoolteacher’s ruler.
“Prisoners do not salute,” Major Thompson said. “Only soldiers have got the right to the mutual compliment of the salute.”
“Yes, Sir,” Prew said thickly through the sickness in his belly.
“Thats all,” Major Thompson said. “Prisoner, about face! Prisoner, forward march!”
At the door Hanson took over and gave him a column right and they were headed for the outside door they had first come in by. Prew’s back hurt sickly all the way down to his knees and his mind was in a delirium of rage. He did not notice where Turnipseed went, or when. Hanson halted him at the tool room, next to the locked weapons room. Another trustee handed him out a 16 pound sledgehammer. Then Hanson stopped him at the weapons room and exchanged his grub hoe handle for a riot gun with the armed sentry who stayed locked inside, before he took him on outside to the 21/2 ton waiting just inside the gate.
“You done pretty fair,” Hanson grinned as they climbed in the thick-dusty back and he signaled the driver. “What was it, only four wasnt it?”
“Just four,” Prew said.
“Hell, thats good,” Hanson grinned. “Ive seen them get as many as ten or twelve, during their first session. Ive even seen a couple of them that clean lost their head and had to actually be carried out finally they got so fuckedup. I think the least I ever seen is two, and that was Jack Malloy who’s a three time loser. You really done exceptional.”
“Thats good,” Prew said grimly, “I was beginning to think for a minute there I’d failed my first examination.”
“Naw,” Hanson grinned. “I was real proud of you. Four is fine. The saluting always gets one, so it was really only three. Even Jack Malloy got one on the salute, a guy just does it by instinct.”
“That makes me feel better,” Prew said, as he watched the gates close behind them and felt the air and saw the Waianae Range up there at Kolekole where they were going.
“You’ll be all right,” Hanson grinned.
The truck had to pass back down toward the Post and around the golf course to hit the Kolekole black top.
“Look at them sons of bitches,” Hanson said bitterly, sitting on the tailgate. “Did you ever play golf?”
“No,” Prew said.
“Me neither,” Hanson said. “The sons of bitches.”
The truck delivered them to the rockpile a hundred yards below the crest of the pass, where Paluso had hiked him up that time and the prisoners had hooted at him. He found himself hoping some other poor jerk got hiked up there so he could hoot at him back. Hanson turned him over to the guard on the road.
“See you later, bud,” he grinned as he climbed up in the cab with the driver.
Prew watched the truck roar away back down the grade. Schofield Barracks was spread out like a map down on the plain below him.
“Over there,” the guard said, “anywhere.” He waved his riot gun. “Just keep that hammer going.”
The rockpile was a halfmoon surface quarry that had been worked back maybe forty yards into the hillside. There were two other guards besides the one on the road, one up on top looking down into the arena below, the other off to the right where the cleft petered out into the thin woods that led back toward the wilderness of Mount Kaala, elev 4030 ft and the highest peak on Oahu. At least over there he would be that near to the free wilderness of the mountain.
Prew moved over toward that side, carrying the sledge. A gray rock-dust-grimed gnome rested its hammer, looking like one of the Mountain People out of Rip V