Bus RideThe cross-country bus ride turned boring within the first fifty miles. Private Jimmy B. Mackey would have gone home by train if not for the poker game a couple of nights ago. On the other hand, he’d be boarding an airliner if he’d won the last hand. Now, as a penance for gambling he’d spend four days and nights on a frigging bus to get back to Tennessee. No matter, Jimmy had looked forward to this day every minute of eight miserable weeks of basic infantry training at Fort Ord, California. He’d hated the freezing dawn beach ranges where it was too cold to even pull a trigger on a damned rifle, much less hit the target. Maggie’s Drawers were the norm until the sun came up. Then the field jackets, gloves, scarves, and crap worn in a vain attempt to keep the piercing ocean winds from
