said he hoped we'd be live wires, and then he told us what he
wanted. There was to be a raid the next night and he was looking
for volunteers.

Nobody spoke for a long minute, and then I offered.

I think I spoke more to break the embarrassing silence than
anything else. I think, too, that I was led a little by a kind of
youthful curiosity, and it may be that I wanted to appear brave in
the eyes of these men who so evidently held me more or less in
contempt as a newcomer.

Blofeld accepted me, and one of the other new men offered. He was
taken too.

It turned out that all the older men were married and that they
were not expected to volunteer. At least there was no disgrace
attaching to a refusal.

After Blofeld left, Sergeant Page told us we'd better get down to
"kip" while we could. "Kip" in this case meant closing our eyes and
dozing. I sat humped up in my original position through the night.
There wasn't room to stretch out.

Along toward morning I began to itch, and found I had made the
acquaintance of that gay and festive little soldier's enemy, the
"cootie." The cootie, or the "chat" as he is called by the
officers, is the common body louse. Common is right. I never got
rid of mine until I left the service. Sometimes when I get to
thinking about it, I believe I haven't yet.