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Show Flying - 200 If I did r e - e n l i s t , I wonder if I could get me a real war with a l l the b e n e f i t s . A Sergeant Armstrong war, with conquered women throwing themselves on the ground before me with their s k i r t s pulled up, begging me to renew their fallen race by mixing with i t the blood of conquerors. Later, baby. I got to save a l i t t l e for the secretaries back hone. I could be a sergeant of paratroops. Sergeant Pierson of the 101st. Stepping proud through every Greyhound station in America. You just stepped on ny paratrooper boots, son. That's a good way to commit suicide, boy. "In exactly one hundred and two days," says O'Connell, "My hitch will be up and I will be a free nan. I shall shake the dust of Fort Hood fron ny feet and walk out that big gate. How does that grab you, l i f e r ? " he says to John Henry. "But tomorrow you got to stand inspection with the rest of us peons just the same," says John Henry picking up his other boot and beginning to work on the heel with rag and brush. Tex was the shortest timer of a l l , back in the third platoon barracks in Fort Hood Texas l a s t August, and none of us knew i t . He had less time to serve than anybody. A real short-timer. Almost a free man. He just resigned, Tex did. For the love of a g i r l he cut open his wrists and bled gently to death, somewhere out of sight beyond the fences. |