I feel like a kid who's just spent some time at a secret fort in the woods.
To be out with this many guys is weird, like being at a reunion with cousins I don't know much. Some of us are sitting in the part of the clearing that is lit by the sun, others are out on OP. Simpleton and Prophet are by themselves in one of the trenches smoking.
“Hey, dig it,” Clemson says. “As of today I am a double-digit midget, ninety-nine days to go.”
“Six months, two days,” Pantsload says. He looks at me and I gotta answer.
“One ninety-eight.”
“Your next step is figuring when your replacement gets drafted. Mine gets drafted this week, the way I see it.”
“Maybe the war will be over by then.”
“Maybe chickens have lips.”
“That's no way for a hero to talk,” Clemson says.
“Hero?”
“Tell ‘em the story, Pa
