“You’re a great boy, Ettore,” Mac said. “But I’m afraid you’re a militarist.”
“I’ll be a colonel before the war’s over,” Ettore said.
“If they don’t kill you.”
“They won’t kill me.” He touched the stars at his collar with his thumb and forefinger. “See me do that? We always touch our stars if anybody mentions getting killed.”
“Let’s go, Sim,” said Saunders standing up.
“All right.”
“So long,” I said. “I have to go too.” It was a quarter to six by the clock inside the bar. “Ciaou, Ettore.”
“Ciaou, Fred,” said Ettore. “That’s pretty fine you’re going to get the silver medal.”
“I don’t know I’ll get it.”
“You’ll get it all right, Fred. I heard you were going to get it all right.”
“Well, so long,” I said. “Keep out of trouble, Ettore.”
“Don’t worry about me. I don’t drink and I don’t run around. I’m no boozer and whorehound. I know what’s good for me.”
“So long,” I said. “I’m glad you’re going to be promoted captain.”
“I don’t have to wait to be promoted. I’m going to be a captain for merit of war. You know. Three stars with the crossed swords and crown above. That’s me.”
“Good luck.”
“Good luck. When you going back to the front?”
“Pretty soon.”
“Well, I’ll see you around.”
“So long.”
“So long. Don’t take any bad nickels.”
I walked on down a back Street that led to a cross-cut to the hospital.
