The Skyland post. [volume] (West Jefferson, N.C.) 193?-1988, 1942-08-13
TENT CITY

which the 33rd division moved
several months ago. From afar
it looks like a tremendous Indian
|village, as thousands of six-man
tents, set at close interval, line
the eastern horizon of the adjoin-
ing army post.
Boys who beefed daily about
life in the trim army barracks
would, one and all, be content to
remain buck privates in the rear
rank for the duration of the war
provided they only could be per-
mitted to move back into those
wonderful" barracks.
Tent life in the army is a life
of dust so thick that it cakes in
a soldiers face and stubbornly
refuses to be washed out, even
with CT soap. It is life of mud,
of soupy red mud that follows a
soldier into his tent, on the range,
and out in the field. He marches
on it, he eats on it, and when out
on an overnight problem, he
sleeps on it.
TOUGH LIFE
Life in army tents is a life of
weekly baths in a nearby creek,
of branch water that must not be
drunk until sufficiently chlorinat-
ed by the proper authorities, of
letters written at night by candle
light, of mosquitoes. chiggers,
grasshoppers, ants, flies, and
snakes. 1t is a life of poorly pre-
pared rations, of inadequate med
ical attention, of inconsistencies,
and of . . work. Work from $50
in the morning until late at night
and often all night long.
It is not life for the squeam-
ish. 1t is a bitter, hard-boiled
life that is moulding our Ameri-
can youngsters into well-trained
fighting men, capable of coping
with any emergency when it
comes their time to 60 into COM
bat.
| Nobody likes the life, but ev-
erybody seems to realize that it
! is necessary. For some tactical
reason, my regiment pitched tents
ion a low spot of ground. Men
with tents on the high sides of the
valley had nothing to worry a.
bout in event of a rainstorm, but
those with tents down in the cen
ter Cor lowest part) were lucky
not to be washed away. Our
tents were lined up according to
companies, and in an alphabetical
order. One morning, following
| a particularly heavy downpour
| a boy in A Company climbed out
| of his bunk and reached down to
the ground for his shoes, but they
were not there. For an hour OF
so he looked around his tent for
them. About three hours later,
he declares, he found them in D
Company, where they had wash
ed the night before.
LITTLE RECREATION
Once a week the USO sends a
sound truck out to each regiment
and presents a five-or-six-month-
old film on a 37mm portable
screen. And once in a while the
regimental band gives a concert
! Beyond this there is little other
recreation for the tent soldier
There IS no room for sports. No
time, either. Uncle Sam is much
too busy teaching his fighting
men those little military tactics
which someday may serve to save
their lives in battle.
Not until a selectee has moved
out into tents and gone on man
euvers does he realize that life
in a combatant area will defin-
itely be no picnic. Then he gets
mad. He gets mad at almost ev-
erybody he can think of, but
mostly he gets mad at the Ger
mans and the japanese and ev-
erybody who had anything at al
| to do with starting this war. He
gets so mad sometimes he hits
| himself in the head.
This is sign, the officers say
that this man is about to develop
into a "good" soldier. A good
soldier must learn to hate his
enemy like a rattlesnake to
take supreme delight in thrust
ing a bayonet through his stom-
ach and looping his head off
like a canteloupe. And while this
may be contrary to everything
civilized man has been taught, the
good American soldier is apt to
answer a questioner as General
Stillwell answered a correspond
ent in Burma: Hell, man .
this is War!"