high voice, “You got a knife!” His companion would respond in a low voice, “So what? I told you, I didn’t come to play.”
The soldiers of the 369th had no knowledge of King other than that he was battle-tested, but many knew Willis Broadwater, the man who had been beaten by Bull Robinson before King and Professor interceded. Willis was one of the premier drummers in the regimental band and good friends with Sergeant Jim Europe, the regimental bandleader who shared the tent with Big Ed. Tempers were running hot; there were many voices raised in support of vengeance. All the next day, there were rumblings that the 369th would march on the Sixth Infantry Transport Division, but cooler heads prevailed. It was decided that any vengeance be planned after the impending fight, if it was necessary. Sergeant Europe held several meetings in Big Ed’s tent with other regimental sergeants from the 369th and they decided to make sure that the fight would be well attended by their soldiers.
At three o’clock on the day of the fight, Big Ed showed up at King and Professor’s tent with a newly oiled and cleaned Lewis machine gun wrapped up in a blanket. “Just in case,” was all he said.
The warehouse where the fight was designated to take place was a large, high-ceilinged room made out of corrugated tin and was set on a cement foundation. Seats were arranged by stacking crates in rising steps against the four walls. The ring was a rectangle of bare, unpolished cement. The fight was scheduled to start at six. At five o’clock King walked in with Big Ed and the remaining four members of his squad. The place was jam-packed with soldiers. There were at least four hundred soldiers seated, shoulder to shoulder, on the crates around the fighting area. A silence fell over the crowd as King entered. It was the silence of anticipation as all heads turned and watched. It was eerie because an unsupervised group of enlisted men are always roisterous and noisy and yet in the whole vast, echoing tin box, there was only the sound of King and his friends walking to the far edge of the ring where there a table and three chairs were set up. It was several seconds before conversation began anew. Professor surreptitiously directed squad members to various positions throughout the warehouse. Big Ed took up position at the table as one of King’s seconds.
At five-thirty Bull Robinson appeared with his entourage. There was no cheering or noise for his arrival either. In the silence there was an expectation that was electric. The psyche of four hundred men licked its collective lips. There was muted discussion among Bull’s party and a person was chosen to approach the scratch line, which had been drawn bisecting the fighting area. Professor went to meet Bull’s emissary. Another brief discussion ensued and Professor walked back to the table to talk with King and Big Ed.
“What do they want?” Big Ed asked.
“They want us to announce that there are no rules, no rounds will be called, that the scratch line will only be used at the beginning of the fight, and that we have requested ‘to the death.’ ”
“Fine with me,” agreed King.
As Professor approached the scratch line, Bull’s second called out, “This is hand-to-hand, kicking permitted. No weapons allowed. Each fighter will step to the scratch line and let himself be checked by his opponent’s second.”
Professor called in the same manner, “There are no rules. If a man is down the fight continues. No rounds will be called. To the death, unless stopped by seconds. A towel thrown into the ring will serve as surrender.”
King stepped to the line bare-chested; all he had taken off was his shirt. He had filled out considerably since joining the army and he now possessed the muscular bulk to go with his six-foot-two-inch height. He didn’t wear special clothes. He wore his regular army fatigues and GI boots. King had a slight smile on his face as he was patted down. Bull
The soldiers of the 369th had no knowledge of King other than that he was battle-tested, but many knew Willis Broadwater, the man who had been beaten by Bull Robinson before King and Professor interceded. Willis was one of the premier drummers in the regimental band and good friends with Sergeant Jim Europe, the regimental bandleader who shared the tent with Big Ed. Tempers were running hot; there were many voices raised in support of vengeance. All the next day, there were rumblings that the 369th would march on the Sixth Infantry Transport Division, but cooler heads prevailed. It was decided that any vengeance be planned after the impending fight, if it was necessary. Sergeant Europe held several meetings in Big Ed’s tent with other regimental sergeants from the 369th and they decided to make sure that the fight would be well attended by their soldiers.
At three o’clock on the day of the fight, Big Ed showed up at King and Professor’s tent with a newly oiled and cleaned Lewis machine gun wrapped up in a blanket. “Just in case,” was all he said.
The warehouse where the fight was designated to take place was a large, high-ceilinged room made out of corrugated tin and was set on a cement foundation. Seats were arranged by stacking crates in rising steps against the four walls. The ring was a rectangle of bare, unpolished cement. The fight was scheduled to start at six. At five o’clock King walked in with Big Ed and the remaining four members of his squad. The place was jam-packed with soldiers. There were at least four hundred soldiers seated, shoulder to shoulder, on the crates around the fighting area. A silence fell over the crowd as King entered. It was the silence of anticipation as all heads turned and watched. It was eerie because an unsupervised group of enlisted men are always roisterous and noisy and yet in the whole vast, echoing tin box, there was only the sound of King and his friends walking to the far edge of the ring where there a table and three chairs were set up. It was several seconds before conversation began anew. Professor surreptitiously directed squad members to various positions throughout the warehouse. Big Ed took up position at the table as one of King’s seconds.
At five-thirty Bull Robinson appeared with his entourage. There was no cheering or noise for his arrival either. In the silence there was an expectation that was electric. The psyche of four hundred men licked its collective lips. There was muted discussion among Bull’s party and a person was chosen to approach the scratch line, which had been drawn bisecting the fighting area. Professor went to meet Bull’s emissary. Another brief discussion ensued and Professor walked back to the table to talk with King and Big Ed.
“What do they want?” Big Ed asked.
“They want us to announce that there are no rules, no rounds will be called, that the scratch line will only be used at the beginning of the fight, and that we have requested ‘to the death.’ ”
“Fine with me,” agreed King.
As Professor approached the scratch line, Bull’s second called out, “This is hand-to-hand, kicking permitted. No weapons allowed. Each fighter will step to the scratch line and let himself be checked by his opponent’s second.”
Professor called in the same manner, “There are no rules. If a man is down the fight continues. No rounds will be called. To the death, unless stopped by seconds. A towel thrown into the ring will serve as surrender.”
King stepped to the line bare-chested; all he had taken off was his shirt. He had filled out considerably since joining the army and he now possessed the muscular bulk to go with his six-foot-two-inch height. He didn’t wear special clothes. He wore his regular army fatigues and GI boots. King had a slight smile on his face as he was patted down. Bull
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