Hanging on

pair of white pumps in her costume trunk. The heels aren't really that awfully high. I could manage them, even on this dirt floor, and they would add so much to my uniform if I had them."
        Major Kelly looked down at the combat boots on Nurse Pullit's feet. "I see your point," he said.
        "Then I can have them?"
        "Of course."
        "Oh, thank you!" Nurse Pullit squealed. "I'm the happiest nurse in the world!"

----

    6
        
        The third person assigned to the hospital bunker was Private Tooley, the pacifist. Private Tooley was six feet tall, weighed a hundred and eighty-five pounds, and had once lifted weights. His arms were like knotted hemp covered with tar, thick and rippled, lumped with muscle. He could do more work than any three men when a bridge needed to be repaired, and he never once complained about the eighteen-hour days a repair job might sometimes require. No one could understand, then, why Private Tooley was a chickenshit pacifist.
        Sergeant Coombs, as bewildered about Tooley as everyone else, confronted the private in the HQ rec room one night, over a bottle of Jack Daniels. They had both been sitting in the small, board-walled room, sprawled on benches, backs against the wall, drinking and counting the spiders on the ceiling. The air was hot and thick, the night silence even thicker, and eventually they could not ignore each other any longer. At first, their conversation had been gruff, unconnected, meandering. With more liquor, and once they had all the spiders counted, it got spirited.
        "What would you do if someone attacked your grandmother?" Sergeant Coombs wanted to know. "You're a pacifist, so what would you do?"
        "Who would want to attack my grandmother?" Tooley had asked.
        "Let's say it isn't sexual."
        "She isn't rich, either," Tooley said.
        "Seriously, suppose you were there, and someone attacked your grandmother with a gun. Would you shoot him first?"
        "Do I have a gun too?"
        Coombs nodded. "Yes."
        "I wouldn't have a gun."
        "Why not?"
        "I'm a pacifist."
        Coombs had reddened, but he said, "Suppose, just for the sake of this discussion, that you had a gun, a real gun." He took a pull of the whiskey, keeping his eyes on Tooley.
        "How good am I with the gun?" Tooley asked.
        Anticipating a loophole, Coombs said, "You're an excellent shot."
        "Then I'd shoot the gun out of his hand."
        Coombs took another drink, looked at the spiders, kept Ms temper in check, and said, "You're a lousy shot."
        "You just said I was an excellent shot."
        "I take it back."
        "If I was a lousy shot, I wouldn't try to kill him," Tooley said. "I wouldn't dare try."
        "Oh?"
        "Yes. I might hit my grandmother instead."
        Coombs stared at the bottle for a long time. When Tooley was about to touch him to see if he had passed out, the sergeant said, "Suppose you were driving a truck on a cliff road, too fast to stop. A little girl suddenly appears on the road, just around a bend. You either hit the little girl or drive over the cliff and kill yourself. You either crush and mangle this beautiful, blue-eyed, curly-headed little child-or you drive over the cliff. What would you do?"
        "What happened to the man with the gun?" Tooley asked. "What did he do to my grandmother?"
        "Forget him," Coombs said.
        "How can I forget him? What if he kills Grandma while I'm out driving this truck?"
        "Forget the first example," Coombs said. "Let's pretend you're in that truck. What would you do?"
        "I'd blow my horn for the little girl to get out of the way."
        "Your horn doesn't work."
        "I'd wave and yell at her," Tooley said, raising his voice, almost as if the child were in front of him, as if this bench were the seat of a wildly careening truck.
        "She couldn't hear you above the roar of the truck!" Sergeant Coombs said, standing, waving his fists for emphasis.
        "Jesus Christ!" Tooley screamed. "How stupid is this kid? If she sees a truck bearing down on her, isn't she going to run for the bank and get out of the way?"
        Triumphant, still standing, jumping up and down a little in his excitement, Coombs said, "She's too young to walk."
        "Can she crawl?"
        "No!"
        "I'd drive over the cliff!" Tooley shouted. He grabbed the liquor, rocking the