The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [150]
"The facts will be sufficient," Binner drawled in his sad voice.
"Well, we went out on patrol, and since we'd gone to the same place the day before yesterday, I just coudn't see any point to it."
"Was that for you to judge?"
"No, sir, it wasn't, but I could see the men weren't too happy, and when we got out about halfway I just set my squad down in a little draw, and waited an hour, and then I came on back and gave my report."
"And the report was completely false," Binner intoned. "You said you had been to a place to which. . . in which you hadn't even been within a mile of."
In the midst of his anger, Cummings felt a mild contempt at the way Binner had mangled the sentence.
"Yes, sir, that's true," Sergeant Lanning said.
"You got the idea in precisely that manner, it just occurred to you, so to speak?"
Cummings restrained himself from interrupting the questioning to speed it up.
"I don't understand, Major?" Lanning asked.
"How many other times have you dropped the ball on patrol?" Binner asked sadly.
"This was the first time, sir."
"What other sergeants in your company or battalion have been giving false and misleading patrol reports?"
"None, sir, I never heard of any."
The General walked up to him abruptly, and glared at him. "Lanning, do you ever want to go back to the States or do you want to rot over here in a prison camp?"
"Sir," Lanning stammered, "I've been with the outfit for three years, and. . ."
"I don't care if you've been with us for twenty years. What other sergeants have been giving false patrol reports?"
"I don't know any, sir."
"Have you got a sweetheart?"
"I'm married, sir."
"Do you want to see your wife again?"
Lanning reddened. "She left me about a year ago, sir. I got a Dear John."
The General's shoes made a dry scraping sound as he turned away. "Major, you can bring this man up for court-martial tomorrow." He paused in the doorway. "Lanning, I warn you, you'd better tell the truth. I want the name of every noncom in your company who's been doing this."
"There weren't any I know of, sir."
Cummings stalked out and walked across the bivouac, his knees weak with impotent anger. The cheek of Lanning, "There weren't any I know of, sir." The entire front was made up of noncoms like him, and the chances were that three-quarters of the reports they gave were false; probably even the line officers were faking their patrols. And the worst of it was that he could do nothing about it. If he was to bring Lanning up before a general court-martial, the sentence would be reviewed, and it would be common knowledge throughout the South Pacific that his men had become unreliable. Even if Lanning told him who the other noncoms were, he could take no action. The men who would replace them would probably be even worse. But he'd be damned if he'd send Lanning back to his company without any punishment. Let him wither on the stalk. They could wait until the campaign was over to bring him up to trial (if it ever ended) and in the meantime there could be any number of interrogations, any number of promises that he would be tried the next day or the day after. The General walked along, spurred by an angry satisfaction which fed itself. If that didn't break Lanning, there were other ways. But the men were going to learn if he had to rub their noses in the dirt that the line of their least discomfort lay in winning the campaign. They liked their bivouacs, did they? Well, there were methods of fixing that. Tomorrow there could be a general troop movement to one side or another, adjustments of a few hundred yards with new foxholes to be dug, new barbed wire to be laid, new tents to be put up. And if they started laying duckwalks again, and improving their latrines, there could be still another movement. It was the American's capacity for real estate improvement; build yourself a house, grow fat in it, and die.
The discipline had to be tightened all through the division. If men were dicking off on patrols, then there were malingerers in the hospital. He'd have to send a memo down to Portable Surgical to crack down on all the doubtful cases. There was entirely too much coddling going on in the outfit, and there were too many men resisting his authority, thwarting him. Oh, they'd be happier with a new general in command, a butcher who would waste their lives to no purpose. Well, if they didn't perk up, they'd be having their butcher soon. There were always enough military hacks around.