“The hell with my bad hand,” the Colonel said. “Since when was it so bad.”
“It’s bad,” the girl said. “Badder, or worse, than you will ever know. Please tell me about combat without being too brutal.”
“An easy assignment,” the Colonel said. “I’ll skip the times. The weather is cloudy and the place is 986342. What’s the situation? We are smoking the enemy with artillery and mortar. S-3 advises that S-6 wants Red to button up by 1700. S-6 wants you to button up and use plenty of artillery. White reports that they are in fair shape. S-6 informs that A company will swing around and tie in with B.
“B Company was stopped first by enemy action and stayed there of their own accord. S-6 isn’t doing so good. This is unofficial. He wants more artillery but there isn’t any more artillery.
“You wanted combat for what? I don’t know really why. Or really know why. Who wants true combat? But here it is, Daughter, on the telephone and later I will put in the sounds and smells and anecdotes about who was killed when and where if you want them.”
“I only want what you will tell me.”
“I’ll tell you how it was,” the Colonel said, “and General Walter Bedell Smith doesn’t know how it was yet. Though, probably, I am wrong, as I have been so many times.”
“I’m glad we don’t have to know him or the nylon-smooth man,” the girl said.
“We won’t have to know them this side of hell,” the
