CAMP WAS LIKE HOME. Where you ALWAYS
wanted to be. Because when you were out on
patrol is when you got your ass shot off. Or saw someone else get
it shot off. The beers and smokes and latrines of camp were better than
any home-cooking incentive to go AWOL. I sometimes think that's how
they satisfied you with your year, a second-order zero-sum of: at
least I'm not on patrol that's good enough to wait 300 days.
Damn. We were demoralized beyond belief.
