Silhouette of a Soldier (October, 1969))2nd Day of a Soldier))

Silhouette of a Soldier
(October, 1969)

Part Two, to; “Last Moment of Light”


1
Reveille

(It is always the sound of the bugle that awakens one in the morning, called reveille, in the Army, the sound to make formation that begins the day, a signal that it is time to get out of bed, summoned to duty. And all one sees in the morning, as one prepares for the second day of duty is shapes and outlines of military personnel in a camp; or so it was for me.)

Silhouettes, that is all they were to me when I first glanced out the window, 2nd day in the Army, soldiers rushing to get into a standing position in what was called a formation, under the autumn sky; the darkness of morning was lifting, an intense darkness it was, a haunting dark blue sky, extra ordinarily cold for a North Carolina morning, it seemed.
I had noticed in the distance, throughout the day, across a field, a club resided, ‘Enlisted Men’s Club,’ to be exact, so I was told, a bar in essence, or so it would be called in my old neighborhood, in St. Paul, Minnesota (called: ‘Donkeyland,’ by the police for its hardheaded drunks, that lived and died at two corner bars).


2
The EM Club


I was particularly thrilled to have discovered it so close by the group of basic training barracks (mine in particular); whereat, when our two Drill Sergeants, our escorts throughout the day were done with us, disembarking for the evening, but beforehand, let us know they’d return at 10:00 PM, to insure lights were turned off, (which was to them, the very ‘last moment of light,’ to be seen within our barracks, lest we wanted to be disciplined))it was really a curfew in essence)): in any case, disembarking for the evening, this would allow me to make acquaintance with the establishment, the EM club. In outcome, I felt a little at home now, likened to finding you are nearby a church, something familiar, if indeed I was a priest.
As I was saying, or about to say, at 10:00 PM, would be the last moment of light to be seen within our barracks, and we stopped work at 7:00 PM, a very full day; I had woke up at 4:00 AM, not much sleep, I was stiff and cold and only half awake, in the morning, and now, in the evening, exhausted, I had my Army green fatigues on, and moved grimly without speaking to anyone, now after duty hours, after having a quick dinner at the mess hall, moved quickly over the field to where the EM club was, it was 8:15 PM, when I arrived there, par excellence in my quick study of the matter, most all the new soldiers had no idea the club existed. Plus, they were too busy trying to be good soldiers, and I was the second oldest person in the platoon (I learned, the younger the easier one can be led).

As I walked across the field, I told myself, “You’ve never been in an EM club before.” How true this was, but I knew bars well, was drinking in them since I was 16-years old, fighting in them, drinking in them, and getting sick in a few, most are the same, smelly, dingy, and alive or dead, plus, I told myself, “You will know in a short time.” Hence, in a few minutes I was walking through the door of he club, yellow flares went off in my head, I acted like I belong there, I always did when I walked into a bar, a strange bar for sure, I was at the time, just turning twenty-two years old.
The insides of the club were small, and formless, nothing special; mostly square, with figures moving about, to and fro, a crackle of conversations, going on everywhere, seemingly sadly suppressed, abnormal for a bar one could say, not lively at all. I was use to deliciously insane bars I suppose, but nonetheless, I was gulping down my first cold Army beer in no time flat.
Everyone seemed to be wrapped in ghostly Army Green, this was to be, I knew the, an unearthly patch of the world, hereon, and forevermore, save, I remained in the Army. (In years to follow, I’d find bars off bases to cater to, rather than the on base Army Clubs.)
I leaned on the bar, drank down a second glass of cold mouthwatering beer, and stared at nothingness.


3
The Corporal


My elbows now on the bar, I got staring at and out the window, the mist had created a moisture onto the bar window, formed a fogginess on the glass; everyone seemed like talking shadows all linked together around the bar, I recognized no one, especially no one from my platoon, that is, ‘D’ Company, 4th Platoon as they called it, called us. I thought briefly about Smiley, a Private like me, a year younger than I, and from the South, I think he said, Alabama, he was easy to talk to, liked to drink, a friend to be found I pondered, a worthy friend, most people I accepted as acquaintances, and only a few select would I categorize as friends.

“You’re the one,” I heard a voice say next to me, I turned, a stranger, Corporal sat about seven feet from my stool.
“You­­ speak to me?” I didn’t care if he had twenty strips on, bar folks get a few drinks in them and try to command the world, this was neither the time nor place to play chief, I told myself.
“Yaw,” he said, a clean shaven kid, couldn’t be over 19-years old I told myself, but he had a few more strips than I.
“What you want?” I asked somewhat brusquely.
“You’re the one I asked for the time, yesterday, I work in the mess hall, and you could get in trouble for being here, because new soldiers, or new recruits, are not suppose to come here, you got a place down by the PX, and you can’t go to that until the second week you’ve been here.”
“So are you going to tell, or what?” I asked. He laughed a bit, and then smiled, “It’s your head, not mine, if they chop it off, oh well.” And I bought him a beer. In time we’d get to know each other, and he’d even give me excuses to use incase I came back after 10:00 PM, for he worked with the Colonel, often after duty hours.