Part 13: George Brett's Bat
Wednesday, February 15, 1984
Fort Riley, Kansas
1735 Central Time
Second Lieutenant Don Kingsley looked at the crowded intake hall. "Christ! What a fustercluck."
Carlo Maggione looked around. "I think that every 2LT in the U.S. Army is here."
A staff sergeant from the Kansas Guard walked up to them with a clipboard. "Good morning, sirs. May I see your orders?"
Both lieutenants handed the sergeant mimeographed copies. The sergeant said, "New York Guard, eh? From Buffalo?"
"I think not," Kingsley said.
"It's true, he thinks not," Maggione said. "We're from the City - Seventy-first Infantry."
"Okay, Lieutenants. This is what we're going to do," the sergeant said. "We're going to get everyone sorted out sooner or later. Some of you are going to a National Guard camp in Nebraska, because we have more gold bars than we can handle. Then you'll be reassigned to new units."
"What? We're not going back to our old battalion?" Kingsley said. "That sucks."
"Watch your mouth, Lieutenant; we don't talk that way here in Kansas."
"Sorry, Sergeant," Kingsley said. "Old habits die hard."
"It's okay, I suppose. You can't help it coming from the Big Apple. Why don't you two sit down? There's a table with coffee and donuts over there, thanks to the Salvation Army. We'll call your name and give you modified orders."
Kingsley sat down. "Kansas, my God. We're in Kansas instead of Campbell."
"Or in New York City," Maggione said. "It could be worse. We could still be under Boulanger."
"Boulanger knows what he was doing," Kingsley said, "even if he is a know-it-all son of a bitch. I find it's ironic he's a company commander. The Colonel had him pegged as the S-2."
Maggione said, "War does strange things. Did you talk to Joanna, Don?"
"We spent some time together," Kingsley said, quietly. "Damn this war."
Maggione said, "Do you think you'll have time to get her out?"
"Where would she go? And your parents?"
"I know someone who would know," Maggione said. "I'll call him tonight."
"Boulanger?"
"Boulanger."
"What? Do you think that he's got some sort of fallout shelter hidden in his back pocket?"
"If there's anyone in the Battalion who has thought out the problem, it would be him," Maggione said.
"MAGGIONE, CARLOS! KINGSLEY, DONALD!"
"Here!" they both chorused.
"This way, please."
When they got to the S-1 assistant's desk, Kingsley knew he was not going to like what they told him. Behind the stack of 201 files, orders, and a battered Royal typewriter was a monument to pro baseball. Specifically, to one team. Specifically, to one baseball player, ranging from bobblehead dolls to a poster pinned up on the wall.
"Now, which one of you are Yankee fans?" said WO2 Kryzewski
Maggione said, "Mets!"
"Guilty," Kingsley said. "At least I watch the games on Channel 11."
"Did you see the Pine Tar game?"
"We were at annual training at Fort Drum, Mr. Kryzewski," Maggione said.
"July 24, 1983," the warrant officer said. "Royals behind 4 to 3. George Brett comes to the plate, hits a two run homer, Royals ahead 5 to 4. Out comes Billy Martin, says Brett has too much pine tar on his bat. The umpires disallow the run. Over an inch of pine tar."
Kingsley said, "The rules are the rules, Mr. Kryzewski. We don't make them. We just do what we have to to win the game. And the game was replayed, and the Royals won."
"It's just Yankee arrogance," the Kansan said. "Well, I'll tell you what I'm going to do, since you understand that rules are rules. We're shipping you both to Camp Perry in Nebraska to complete your IOBC."
"Why not here?"
"Because I'm up to my ass in lieutenants. Sirs. And we have a war to get ready for. Here are your orders. The bus leaves in an hour. Have a good trip."
They walked away. "Can you believe he's still pissed off over a baseball game?"
"It could be worse," Maggione said. "We could be at Fort Meade, dealing with pissed off Orioles fans."