for cleaning fifty sets of fatigues and all towels, socks, underwear, and anything else washable. Each day, they would be dismissed from the rest of their flight. For two hours, they would have the laundry room to themselves. They had to wash, dry, and deliver all the laundry. Once in the barracks, they were only expected to deposit the laundry in the room next to Cannon’s office, which they now referred to as the dayroom. Each personal item was stenciled with an initial and four numbers. Each airman was assigned their own identification numbers.
Laundry chief turned out to be the best job to have. Every day at exactly three o’clock in the afternoon, no matter what they were doing or where they were, Em and his crew were dismissed as a foursome to return to their barracks and get this job done. Two hours and twenty minutes of every day was devoted to this task. Em was happy when Jackson Turner was assigned one of the positions on his crew.
After the fifth day of laundry duty, Em and his crew were the envy of the rest of the flight. Everyone soon found that two hours’ break from Sergeant Cannon every day was like summer break from school, but on a daily basis. Em found the two hours in the laundry room was like a reprieve from being in the military. He and Jackson were becoming friends. They had a lot of time to talk while waiting on the laundry. He found out that Jack had lived in Florida his entire life. He also had left a girl back home. Her name was Carolyn Kammerer. Her hair was pitch-black, and her eyes were as green as ivy.
They talked about their girls every day. Jack said that Em seemed a little more serious about the long-distance relationship than he was. They talked about all the other guys in their flight. They talked about the war, but mostly, they talked about what was going on around them. Both of them felt that Cannon was being unfair to Corby. He was relentless in his pursuit of him. Cannon searched him out every time he approached their flight. Em was repeatedly astonished at the way Corby handled these situations. Five days ago, in the dayroom, Cannon had kept him running back and forth to the chow hall for over an hour. Corby’s underwear was drenched in sweat by the time he was permitted to go to bed. Even after lights out that night, Corby did not complain.
In one week, Corby had been rung through the wringer, not only by Cannon but by every other sergeant in the squadron. Daily in the chow hall line, he was screamed at by at least three of the instructors. It was as if Cannon had requested special attention just for Corby. Em told Jack about his and Corby’s friendship. Jack thought it was peculiar that the two of them were friends. He said that the two of them seemed so different; it was difficult to see how they could be so close. He also observed that since they had been here, he had scarcely seen the two of them speak to each other. Em found this incredulous at first, until he realized it was true. He and Corby had spoken, just not longer than a minute or two at a time. Corby spent every one of his free moments with his new friend Larry. Em assumed that was because Larry had inadvertently become Corby’s apprentice chow runner. Somehow, Corby had taken on a new role of looking out for the underdog but, in doing so, had drawn more unwanted attention to Larry; hence, Larry becoming apprentice chow runner number 1.
Jack and Em were both very good with numbers. They found this out about each other while doing the laundry every day. By the end of the first week, they had both learned the ID numbers of over half of the flight. They had even started placing items on the bunks with the corresponding numbers. Every single piece of clothing, including the washcloth, had an ID stenciled on it. He and Jack had made a competition of it, seeing who could take the smallest amount to be dumped in the dayroom to be sorted. The other guys started to thank them for this. The ones with items on their bunks were naturally pleased. The ones whose clothes were in the dayroom appreciated that the pile was much smaller.
By the end of the tenth day, they had memorized everyone’s ID, or at least the last four digits of the number. They played games in the laundry room, seeing who could name as many of the fifty as they could in the smallest amount of time. Next, they would try to put them in numerical order. Soon, everyone’s laundry was placed on his own bunk, every day. Jack and Em figured out that if you took what you were wearing, placed it in the laundry bag, and wore the freshly cleaned ones from the previous day, you never had to bother your clothing drawer. Once your footlocker passed inspection, you only needed to keep the dust off. They tried to explain this to everyone else. Yet they continuously watched the rest of them wasting precious free time pressing clothes. Each item in the clothing drawer had to adhere to a six-inch rule. Towels were to be pressed also, in six-inch squares. The same was true for washcloths, underwear, socks, T-shirts, and handkerchiefs. The only items larger than six inches were the fatigues, but they all had to be pressed also. All four sets in Em’s drawer were stacked in a four-inch pile. His drawer was perfect, and as long as he wore the previous day’s clothes, he should never have to disturb the drawer again. This worked. He had proven it for well over a week now. Yet somehow, the pressing and folding continued each night.
Em began to use this time to write to Irene. He had been writing in the laundry room each day, but he and Jack had been goofing off so much lately he had been less faithful in his writing. He tried to write something every day. Since each day was a carbon copy of the one before, it was getting more difficult. It was easier to write at night. While lying in his bunk, listening to the chaos around him, he wrote about the conversations that took place around him. When he was finally permitted to mail his letter to Irene, he thought that she would think him mad. Tomorrow was day 14, and that meant mail. Two weeks did not sound like such a long time. When it stretched into 336 hours of agonizing repetitiveness, it seemed much longer. Now Em estimated that it was less than twelve hours until he heard from Irene. He still thought about her continuously. He closed his eyes and immediately thought of the white dress. He could see her standing at the train station with her right hand above her brow and her left one resting on her hip. She was smiling. With this picture in his head, he drifted off to sleep.
The next day started in exactly the same way as the previous twelve, though there was a sense of anticipation in the air. Everyone was aware of day 14. Em did not think anyone wanted mail more than he did. He thought of Irene with every breath he took. It felt as though he had been gone for six months. In the past few days, he began to worry about Irene at home. Would she be thinking of him as much as he thought of her? He desperately hoped that her letters would reassure him of her devotion. When would they get mail? Would it be in the morning? Maybe before breakfast, Em thought. He was consumed with only thoughts of mail.
Once again, he found himself dressed and ready to fall out before any of his fellow airmen. He walked toward Corby’s bunk so he could talk with him before he had to leave for chow runner duties. Corby was nowhere to be found. Everything seemed to be in order with his bunk and locker. Maybe he is already outside, Em thought. That would be different. Em chuckled out loud when he thought about a responsible Corby. “Responsibility” was one word you never associated with Corby Cook. Em recalled when they were ten years old. Corby had caught a rabbit, and he wanted to keep it as a pet. He spent an entire day building a pen. He was so proud when he showed it to Em. The rabbit was going to have the finest home a rabbit ever had. He faithfully cared for the rabbit—which he had, of course, named Hoppy—for about two weeks. When Em asked him about it one day, Corby told him he let it go. Em later found out that Corby had let it starve to death inside the pen he had built.
Em picked up his battle pack, slung it over his shoulder, and proceeded to exit the barracks. When he got outside, he was astonished to see Corby already in formation, standing at attention. There were only ten guys outside. Corby was the sharpest-looking one. His boots almost glowed in the early predawn. His fatigues were as if pressed and starched while he was wearing them. He looked like the poster that had enticed them to join the air corps. “Well, I’ll say, Cookie,” Em used Sergeant Cannon’s nickname for Corby, “you sure are looking sharp.”
“Please join ranks and stand at attention,” Corby said this without even looking at Em.
Em felt hurt at first, but as he made his way to his place in formation, he noticed the two sergeants over by the corner of the building. He knew then that Corby was just trying to avoid any confrontations. As soon as they were formed up in ranks, they were marched directly to the chow hall where they were first in line. After a full seven minutes to eat, they were back outside and formed up again. This time, Cannon led them in a new direction. They had not seen very much of their new home, so going in a new direction