Mission accomplished，\" Staff Sergeant Har-
Ion Johnson muttered as he absentmindedly
gazed out the window of the truck and watched
the Bavarian scenery.
\"How s that， Sarge?\" Private First Class Jed
Turner inquired， chomping on three sticks of
chewing gum as he spoke， his Alabama drawl
pulling on the words. Turner s eyes remained
fixed on the narrow， dirt road.
\"I said we accomplished our mission，\" John-
son repeated dryly. \"We delivered three adding
machines and four typewriters for repair at
Ansbach and picked up about a ton of TA-Fifty
field gear for the troopies. Some mission，
e huh !\"
\"Least nobody s shooting at us，\" Turner re-
plied with a shrug.
\"Yeah，\" Johnson growled.
:e Harlon Johnson almost wished someone was
shooting at them. Twelve years before， fresh out
of high school， Harlon had joined the army，
eager to go to Vietnam and earn himself a chest
full of medals. But American forces were being
purled out of Southeast Asia by the time John-
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