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And with that he took my gun and tossed it on my bunk with wool blanket, where a great cloud of dust could be seen rising, dazzling in the sunlight. To not clean it now I was pretty hesitant to do, because I could see now that it was now completely flecked with dust. But if I went ahead and cleaned it, I would be snubbing my barracks mates and they had been right about the General Orders. I also knew that if I went ahead and cleaned it I would never hear the end of it. "He cleaned his rifle for the idiot Joinagain. Lifer. Brown nose." and other expressions of a gross nature. But I thought that this should be pretty interesting if he finds this rifle now cleaned. I went to his office and showed him my rifle, with some trepidation I might add. He looked it all over again and down into the barrel - then he said, "Very good Specialist A. Much better. You are dismissed."
Somehow Joinagain got it into his head that we should play baseball, even if it was too hot most of time, and no-one was interested anyway. So he began the levelling of a rock quarry, not literally but nearly-so, out at the end of the Company Street. It amounted to removing rocks that were on top of more rocks, that were on top of more rocks - yet. After the field was of a smoothness that a ball bouncing-grounder, would zig before it zagged instead of zag before it zigged, he ordered grass-seed be planted in the rocky and dust-deviled streaked dirt. He ordered water be carried out in buckets, and be hand sprinkled. Then the problem was birds. So he had scarecrows constructed but they didn't work.
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