Blue Madonna by James R. Benn Read Free Book Online Page A

shit!”
    He walked away, and I dusted myself off, glad that the biggest sergeant in the US Army was watching out for me.
    â€œNew guy?” Frankie asked as I approached the tent.
    â€œHow would I know?” I said. “Another goon as far as I’m concerned.”
    â€œYou got that stuff just in time,” Hammer said. “Today’s wash day. Come on.”
    I followed my tent mates to the rear of the camp where a series of tubs and faucets were arrayed in the open air. A hut contained showers, with the mess hall approach: Don’t stop moving. In one end dirty, out the other clean. No talking, no horseplay. Dirty clothes were hand-washed in the sinks and taken back to the tents to dry over the guy wires. Every prisoner had two sets of fatigues, one to change into and one to clean. They weren’t keeping me long enough for two outfits, although I’d need a new set of Class As when all this was over. The chocolate-brown wool shirt was dirty and torn, my shoes scuffed and scraped, and my tailor-made Eisenhower jacket was in need of mending. If I’d known I was headed for a prison camp, I would have dressed for the occasion.
    After washing clothes, we grabbed buckets and mops to clean the plank flooring in our tents. Guards swarmed around us, yelling at men to move at double time, then yelling again if even a drop of water was spilled. This wasn’t about cleanliness; it was about obedience. Which was a good thing to learn if any of these guys were going to be in a rifle squad anytime soon. Lives would depend on it.
    But not every guard understood the reasoning. Some plain enjoyed it. If I ever had anything to say about it—which was doubtful—I’d suggest putting them all in a platoon and sending them up against the Krauts once we hit the beach. Some of those tough guys would be whimpering hulks in no time.
    After the buckets and mops were returned, we had another calisthenics session. The army did love jumping jacks. Some fancy close-order drill, then another roll call, and then back to our tents to take down the laundry, dry or not. Standing outside at attention, we waited for guards to inspect each tent for cleanliness.
    Big Mike stomped into our tent, followed by another guard. I heard the latch on the footlocker open.
    â€œLeave that be,” the other guard said.
    â€œWhy?” Big Mike asked, sounding merely puzzled.
    â€œThose guys are okay,” the other guard said, nodding toward Frankie and Hammer. “No need to roust their stuff. They’re only in for a week or so over a pub fight. Nothing to worry about.”
    â€œSure,” Big Mike said as they exited, ignoring us. “What about the other two?”
    â€œHeaded for hard time,” came the answer. “Forget about them.”
    â€œSee?” Hammer whispered, following me to the chow line. “We got things sewed up here. We can do you a world of good, Boyle.”
    â€œI bet,” I said out of the corner of my mouth. I didn’t doubt it. Hammer knew what he was doing. The guards left his footlocker alone, the clerk was his pal, and he had all the food and smokes he wanted. Only a PFC, he bossed around Frankie, who didn’t seem to mind. Tonight I’d make a deal with him, one too good to pass up.
    Chow was hamburger with watery mashed potatoes and limp string beans. I ate everything and could have gone for seconds, lousy as it was. I was ready to be a free man any time now.
    â€œHey, Murph, take a stroll, will ya?” Hammer said, back in the tent. He tossed him a four-pack of Chesterfields, the kind GIs expect to find in their K-ration meals at the front. Murphy grunted his acceptance and strolled out, indifferent to our plans and conspiracies.
    â€œSo you give our offer any thought?” Frankie asked, stretched out on his bunk, head propped up on one hand. I put my foot up on his blanket and leaned in.
    â€œYeah,” I said. “We can make a