Pulley's right hand balled into a fist and struck his knee. "We shoulda killed 'em all! We shoulda wiped 'em out!" "I asked her for a match," Bolgar said dreamily. "Just a lousy match. She stared at me like I was some kind of microbe. Then she wraps her damn cape around her face like she didn't want to let me breathe on her." His growing anger caused his hand to tremble; he cut himself a second time. "So you're gonna kiss her?" Pulley sneered. "Why don't you throttle the gal? Why don't you beat her up? Or haven't you got the guts?" Bolgar turned the anger on him. "Watch yourself, Sergeant!" "Pulling rank?" It was a jeer. "Shut up!" Pulley swung his boots to the bed. "Okay, pal," he chuckled. "Have it your own way. You're asking for the same amount of trouble--whether you kiss her or kill her--" "I'm going to kiss her," Bolgar said vacantly, dabbing at his face with a grimy cloth. "I'm going to wait for her by the mess hall. She comes out of quarters on Barton Street every night around ten o'clock. She cuts across the square, over to Pitcher Street. It's pretty deserted there, that time. I'm gonna jump out and--" "Operation kiss," Bolgar laughed, toying with the medal on his chest. "The last victory of the war...." Bolgar slipped into his coat. The unbleached cloth was shabby and threadbare, but the buttons were still bright and gleaming. The insignia of the 505th Army caught the light in the room brazenly, the iron hand clutching forked lightning. He had medals, too, and they jangled as he buttoned the coat up to its tight collar. At least, he thought, his medals were worn where they belonged. "My!" Pulley said mockingly. "You look pretty, Lieutenant." "Where's my cap?" "On the hook, behind you." Bolgar put the cap on his head, squaring it. He stepped back from the glass to determine its correctness. "Beautiful!" Pulley said. "All right, knock it off! What time is it?" "Twenty of ten. Better get goin'. Your girl friend's waiting." "I'm going," Bolgar said, strapping on his watch. He clanked to the doorway of the barrack, but turned before going out. "This place stinks," he said. "We got to clean it up one of these days." "Sure," Pulley said lazily. He flopped over on the sagging bunk and turned his head to the wall. "Have a good time, Lieutenant." His chuckle ended in a yawn. * * * * * The area was deserted, just as Bolgar knew it would be. He walked quick march towards the mess hall, hoping that he would be unobserved, regretting now the cluster of medals on his uniform. He knew that these tokens of battle were officially frowned upon; but he also knew that there would be added satisfaction in crushing the hard bits of brass and iron against the girl's heaving chest.... He ducked behind a building when he heard footsteps. Two women passed him, speaking in low tones, their skirts rustling in the silence of the night. * * * * *