Henry: “I’m wearing so many pairs of cotton drawers my thighs don’t know each other anymore.”
Radar: ” ‘…my thighs don’t know each other anymore.’ “
Henry: “Don’t tell him about my thighs, Radar! What’s the matter with you?”
Radar paused, his pencil hovering over the steno pad. He looked up, his eyes wide and innocent behind his thick, round glasses.
“Well, you said to take down everything word for word, Colonel!”
Henry slumped back in his chair, aggressively rubbing his temples beneath his fishing hat. He let out a long, freezing sigh that briefly turned into a white cloud in the icy office air.
“Radar, when a commanding officer says ‘word for word,’ he means the official words. The military words! You don’t put a man’s personal chafing issues into a formal supply requisition form to I-Corps!”
Radar frantically started erasing the line, his elbow flying back and forth so fast he nearly tore a hole straight through the paper. “Right! Yes, sir. Erasing the thighs, Colonel. Consider them completely classified.” He blew the eraser shavings off the desk. “So… what do I tell the Quartermaster?”
Henry pulled his olive-drab parka tighter around his neck and shivered.
“Tell him the 4077th is currently operating in conditions suitable only for penguins, polar bears, and whatever the heck lives in a meat locker. Tell him my surgeons are performing delicate medical procedures with icicles for scalpels. Tell him if we don’t get those space heaters by Tuesday, he’s going to have to ship this entire outfit back stateside as frozen TV dinners.”
Radar nodded, scribbling furiously, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he tried to keep up. ” ‘…frozen TV dinners.’ Got it. Should I specify chicken or beef, sir?”
Henry slowly lowered his hands from his face and stared at his clerk. Utterly, completely defeated.
“Radar.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you know why I drink?”
“Because the water tastes like iodine, sir?”
“No, Radar.” Henry reached into his bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of scotch that had been cleverly hidden inside a hollowed-out pair of winter boots. “It’s because of conversations exactly like this one.”
Henry poured himself a generous splash into a tin cup, not even bothering to offer an excuse.
“Just type up the telegram, son. And see if you can requisition me a one-way ticket to the Bahamas while you’re at it.”
Radar smiled earnestly, flipping his notepad shut. “I’ll put an urgent rush on the heaters, Colonel. But I think the Bahamas are out of our supply jurisdiction.”
“Just send it, Radar!” Henry groaned, taking a sip and immediately wincing as the cold alcohol hit his frozen stomach. “And for the love of Pete… keep my drawers out of it.”
