Read MATT HELM: The War Years for Free Online Page B

peas replaced by green beans.  Apparently Mac - or whoever planned the menus - didn't feel we were entitled to anything spectacular by way of our culinary preferences, regardless of our highly regarded talents.  Well, that was okay with me.  As an old ranch hand, I'm a meat and potatoes man most of the time although I do like a freshly prepared fish now and then - preferably one I've caught myself.
     
    As we found a table, there were nods of welcome and even a couple smiles, but nobody jumped up to introduce himself - or herself.  Actually the woman was not bad looking, in a cold, calculating sort of way.  Her red hair was trimmed a little shorter than I liked and her clear, green eyes looked considerably older and more experienced than the rest of her.  There were no freckles that I normally associated with that color of hair and her mouth looked a little odd before I realized she had a hairline scar running from her left ear to the corner of her mouth.  The rest of her was slim and taut in a pair of tight denims and some kind of a woolen blouse or shirt.  Finishing it off was a worn pair of sneakers.
     
    After that brief look due to the surprise of seeing a woman - girl, really; she couldn't be any older than my 23 - in that presumably male group, I turned away with no further masculine interest.  I mean, as a good New Mexican, I lived in the land of blue jeans and squaw dresses, of bare brown legs and thong sandals, but I prefer the impractical, fragile, feminine look of a woman in a dress or skirt and stockings and high heels; and I can see no particular reason for a female to appear publicly in pants unless she's going to ride a horse.  I'll even go so far as to say that the side-saddle and riding skirt made an attractive combination, and I regret that they passed before my time.
     
    Please don't think this means I'm prudish and consider it sinful for women to reveal themselves in trousers.  Quite the contrary.  I object on the grounds that it makes my life very dull.  We all respond to different stimuli, and the fact is that I don't respond at all to pants, no matter whom they may contain or how tight they may be.  Daryl obviously didn't have my hang-ups and continued to stare at her until she glared back challengingly.  With a faint flush of embarrassment, he also turned away and sat down next to me.  "Looks like this might be more fun than I thought," he said in a low voice.  "I wouldn't mind having a piece of that."
     
    I looked over at him.  "Yeah," I said.  "Not bad at all."
     
    I mean, with a certain type of guy, especially in the military or other organizations where men gather in groups, you've got to pretend to be leching after every woman in sight or he'll think you're not normal.  It turned out that my new bunkmate was one of those who, having once started, could discuss the subject indefinitely while we ate and drank a couple of beers.  I'd had a long day and I found it hard to keep from yawning.  Not that sex itself bores me you understand, but talking about it just seems like a pointless form of masturbation.
     
    Presently Vance walked in, which gave me an excuse to break into Daryl's erotic monologue.  I stood up as he saw me and came over to shake hands and welcome me back.  I introduced him to Daryl and they shook hands in that measuring way I was beginning to recognize, the one that says, "can I take this guy?"
     
    I invited him to sit down, but he looked at his watch and said, "It's getting close to eight, we'd better get next door."  He seemed to feel no need to use military time; maybe he'd never been in the military.  I realized I didn't know.  "The master of ceremonies doesn't like to be kept waiting," he  elaborated with a small smile.
     
    "The master of -"
     
    He laughed.  "MC," he said, "Mac.  It is a joke."
     
    "I'm not up on all the jokes yet," I said.
     
    "This briefing is no joke, however.  Mac is not the joking kind."  The three of us walked out