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Show Flying - 188 which have already gone to work on the corpse. The body is well hidden by the long grass and Sergeant Karafa does not call him to account. And what will I feed when I am dead, thinks John Henry with a quick qualm of fear. What will feast on the rotting mass of my corpse? Shall I leave myself to science? A roomful of medical students smoking new pipes to keep from smelling the smell of death will gather about me as the instructor deftly extracts my innermost organs with a shining blade. "The l i v e r , " he will say to them sadly, "notice the liver. How he must have suffered with a liver like that." And they will nod with new-found wisdom, and blue smoke will mingle with the smell of pus. And I will be dead. He waits his turn to drop his handful of garbage in the barrel, and walks back to his tent to sleep. The f i r s t guard shift is from six to eight and John Henry s t i l l has daylight to walk by. His post is the crest of a ridge, covered with shrubs and an occasional stunted oak. In front of him are the mountains, full of creeping aggressors and whatever wild animals infest these parts. Behind him, in a hollow sheltered by the ridge, is the officer's mess of the F i f t y - t h i r d Signal Battalion. The colonel is down there at the table eating roast chicken fresh from the battalion ovens, and with him a neatly starched handful of lesser |