Free Sand in the Wind by Robert Roth Page A

to come up with that diagnosis?” Tony 5 asked.
    “They must have worked overtime,” Forsythe added.
    “— They finally decided the reason I was givin’ them so much trouble was that I didn’t wanna go back to the bush. I guess they figured it was the worst thing they could do to me, so they sent me back here. They said they were doing it because I was a bad influence on the other patients and the growth on my arm was full grown now and it wouldn’t get any bigger.”
    The men sat around nodding their heads until Hamilton asked, “How you gonna get it cut off?”
    “They said I can have it done when I rotate back to the States. To tell the truth, I kinda like it — it’s grown on me.”
    “Yeah, it sure looks that way,” Forsythe commented. “Tell me, did anything interesting happen to you while you were gone?”
    “A lot of things, but you guys probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
    Forsythe looked at Childs with admiration. “I gotta admit it, that was some fancy skating. Anyway you can get out of it, do it. You owe it to yourself.”
    Tony 5 nodded agreement and stood up. “There it is: You owe it to yourself.    .   .   . C’mon, let’s go to the chapel.”
    “Wait a minute,” Childs said. “I gotta get somethin’ outa my pack.” While he was digging in his pack, a pool ball rolled out on the cot. He ignored it, and continued to rummage through his gear.
    Forsythe picked it up. “What’s this?”
    Childs found what he was looking for and put it in his pocket. “Oh, just a souvenir. It had some blood on it, but it rubbed off.” They tossed it around as they walked to the door.
    Hamilton looked back and noticed Chalice still sitting down. “C’mon, aren’t you going to chapel?”
    “Naw, I’m not interested.”
    Forsythe cut in, “You think we are? It’s better than working parties. C’mon.” Chalice got up and followed them out the door.
    The chapel was a converted field barracks. Except for crude benches in place of cots and the presence of an altar, it looked exactly like the platoon hootch. There were empty seats towards the front, but they sat in the last row. Tony 5 was on the aisle with Childs next to him. Forsythe sat next to Childs, and Chalice was between Forsythe and Hamilton. Forsythe began juggling the cue ball from hand to hand. Hamilton reached across Chalice and tried to grab it. He ended up with Forsythe’s wrist instead. They were struggling over it as the chaplain walked in. Well over six feet tall, he was extremely broad and powerful looking. His thin black hair, cut skin close on the sides, was squared off into a crew cut on top. It had obviously been waxed in front to make it stand up. He walked towards the altar smiling and shaking hands with a few of the men on the way. His boots and the holster to his .45 were polished to a mirrored finish.
    Forsythe and Hamilton were still struggling over the cue ball when the chaplain started speaking in a folksy, good-natured voice. “I’m glad to see all of you here today. I notice a lot of new faces so I’ll introduce myself. I’m Captain Hindman, your battalion chaplain.” There was a loud thud as Hamilton got yanked across Chalice’s knees and onto the floor. Forsythe grinned as he held the cue ball between two fingers right in front of Hamilton’s face. Hamilton grabbed for it and missed.
    A dark Marine turned around and scowled, “How about showing a little respect?”
    Hamilton looked up with a big, friendly grin on his face. “Sure, man.” He got up off the floor and sat back down on the bench.
    The chaplain hadn’t noticed what had happened and was starting his sermon. “Men, today I want to talk to you about victory. Not the type of victory your company commanders usually talk about, but a type of victory related to it. I want to tell you about Jesus’ victory over Satan. Jesus had fasted in the wilderness for forty days and forty nights. Imagine that. We complain when the choppers