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Nobody messes with bomb disposal - Sgt. Surebe and Captain Wherein. So I did my interview with Sgt. Surebe in his office; sitting at the desk that would be mine.
He was blond and baby-face, from the south some-place maybe Carolinas, soft-spoken, precise in his language, chubby, medium-height, late thirties, and the reputation of all reps in Greece; for various supposed capers, as well as the best looking wife, she-Greek an Athens local, and half his age. "Why did they kick you out upstairs ?" "You know how they are" is all I can remember saying, intimating they were all-nuts up-there, and you know how they are, except Reada and Youkey of course. I got the job, or a trial period shall we say; and the Claw was unhappy, and I was feeling swell that someone wanted me. Now you have to be perfect Youkey told me after I settled in with Surebe. "I didn't know he could type," he reported Mr. Willer as saying.
Bomb Disposal was contained in just one of seven buildings and I was the only one who lived on the premises, since all the rest of the nine enlisted men and one officer lived off-post with their wives and were married, well except for one, a playboy who drove a sports car wearing leather gloves. Entering a long hall with Terrazzo floors, immediately on the left the post office, then my room, and further down the hall the large toilet with showers, another quarters room used by the Charge of Quarters to sleep, the movie theater straight on in back and last. To the right of the theater and same-size was the bomb disposal work area, with large-windows and a jeep, a troop-carrier; and a deuce and half truck, with hardened steel-casing.
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