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Show Flying - 48 CHAPTER IV "Hey, John Henry, how does one hundred and sixty-seven days grab you?" says short-timer O'Connell down the rank to John Henry in work formation on the seventeenth of August nineteen hundred and fifty-eight. "At ease back there.'" says a crisp voice from out front. "Sergeant, can't you keep your men quiet?" There he stands before the third platoon of C company of the Fifty-third Signal Battalion, in starched khakis with knife-edge creases everywhere you can have creases, silver bars flashing in the morning sun, bullet-tipped swagger stick tucked under one arm, black shoes brilliant under a thin coat of Fort Hood dust, very much on top of the situation. "I'm Lieutenant Biggs and I'm your new platoon leader," he says, looking them in the eye. "Sergeant Karafa, prepare the men for inspection in ranks." "You," he says to O'Connell when he reaches him, "you're a specialist fourth class. How long have you been in the army?" "A year and a half," says O'Connell. Biggs looks at him. O'Connell looks back, angry but impotent. "Say that again, soldier," says Biggs. "A year and a half, sir," says O'Connell. |