Most of them there unwillingly.
Not all.
But they all read a paper called
‘The Stars and Stripes' and you had to get your unit into it, or you were unsuccessful as a commander.
I was mostly unsuccessful.
I tried to like the correspondents and there were some very good ones present at this meeting.
I will not name names because I might omit some fine ones and that would be unjust.
There were good ones that I don't remember.
Then, there were draft dodgers, phonies who claimed they were wounded if a piece of spent metal ever touched them, people who wore the purple heart from jeep accidents, insiders, cowards, liars, thieves and telephone racers.
There were a few deads missing from this briefing.
They had deads too.
A big percentage.
But none of the deads were present as I said. They had women at it though in wonderful uniforms.''
''But how did you ever marry one?''
''By mistake as I explained before.''
''Go on and tell me.''
''There were more maps in the room than Our Lord could read on his best day,'' the Colonel continued. ''There were the Big Picture, the Semi-Big Picture and the Super-Big-Picture.
All these people pretended to understand them, as did the boys with the pointers, a sort of half-assed billiard cue that they used for explanation.''
''Don't say rough words.
I don't know, even, what half-assed means.''
''Shortened, or abbreviated in an inefficient manner,'' the Colonel explained. ''Or deficient as an instrument, or in character.
It's an old word.
You could probably find it in Sanscrit.''
''Please tell me.''
''What for?
Why should I perpetuate ignominy just with my mouth?''
''I'll write it if you want.
I can write truly what I hear or think.
I would make mistakes of course.''
''You are a lucky girl if you can write truly what you hear or think.
But don't you ever write one word of this.''
He resumed, ''The place is full of correspondents dressed according to their taste.
Some are cynical and some are extremely eager.
''To ride herd on them, and to wield the pointers, there is a group of pistol-slappers.
We call a pistol-slapper a non-fighting man, disguised in uniform, or you might even call it costume, who gets an erection every time the weapon slaps against his thighs.
Incidentally, Daughter, the weapon, not the old pistol, the real pistol, has missed more people in combat than probably any weapon in the world.
Don't ever let anyone give you one unless you want to hit people on the head with it in Harry's Bar.''
''I never wanted to hit anyone; except perhaps Andrea.''
''If you ever hit Andrea, hit him with the barrel; not with the butt.
The butt is awfully slow, and it misses and if it lands you get blood on your hands when you put the gun away.
Also please do not ever hit Andrea because he is my friend.
I do not think he would be easy to hit either.''
''No. I do not think so either.
Please tell me some more about the meeting, or the assembly.
I think I could recognize a pistol slapper now.
But I would like to be checked out more thoroughly.''
''Well, the pistol-slappers, in all the pride of their pistol-slappery, were awaiting the arrival of the great General who was to explain the operation.
''The correspondents were muttering, or twittering, and the intelligent ones were glum or passively cheerful.
Everybody sat on folding chairs as for a Chautauqua lecture.
I'm sorry about these local terms; but we are a local people.