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This was a madhouse, the best-job being the burning of paper and documents outside, overlooked actually by my window across the two-lane black-top drive and the hill dropping-behind a high chain-link fence. There was a steel-drum on a turnable spit, like hog-roasting I thought; toss semi-secret documents into the fire on sun-roasting afternoons, turn the papers, so they are all burned; nothing-left to the enemy. Near quitting time, we E4s and below had to mop down the high-polished terrazzo floors, clean the sinks and toilets, and general dust-about; even the privilege of cleaning the Commander of forces, a real full-bird colonel, if he was out of the office. Much instruction here, the way he likes it. Peon-work and humiliating.
Every man coming in or going out of Greece came here to the mountain-top headquarters for in-and-out processing. A pack of American cigarettes cost twenty-five cents at the PX, while that same pack sold for a dollar or more on the Athens/Piraeus black-market. Cigarettes were purchased at this discount, with a ration-card, I think six-cartons a month. One ration-card each for cigarettes, liquor and gas was worth a bit of loose change. Let the bidding begin.
"Do you smoke ?" This was in the office out-loud; asked Reada of the baby-faced fresh enlisted man just into Greece. "Do you drink ?" "No !" "I will give you ten dollars for your ration card." "Fifteen!", might-shout Sarge In-between !" The others may have come into it and hence a bidding war for all three ration-cards, if he should be a Mormon. Even playboy by-night Youkey had a few-cards more than he-should.
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