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Show Flying - 197 not visible to the ordinary soldier. We depend on rumors and rumors about rumors. Nor for that matter does the ordinary soldier give a fuck. When the war starts he leaves home. When the war is over he comes back if he can. He kills with a will when he's told to, and dies when the time comes. Picturesquely. With blood and pathos. With slightly comic courage and true devotion to a cause he cannot always understand. Now and then he throws himself on a live grenade to save the life of his officer. So goes the legend. John Henry polishes on at the same steady pace, one square inch of black leather at a time. Patiently. Bringing out the ultimate brilliance for the delight of inspecting officers who can then sight their faces in the dazzling shine and be happy. Would that I could that easily show them a swift glimpse of their souls. Lined up on the canvas cot behind him is the full panoply of the modern soldier's equipment. The carbine, washed and polished, the merest trace of fine oil on all the working parts. The entrenching tool, essential in these times of swift movement and terrible firepower. Dig deep enough with the little collapsible shovel and you might even survive the tactical atomic bomb. If you know it's coming and it doesn't land too close. Canteen. Cartridge belt. First aid pouch with yards of gauze, a little sulfa powder, a needle loaded with . |