Attack Page #2

Well told, I am. And, uh...

- when my citation comes through...

- Oh, yes. The, uh, citation.

That'll make up for those times

I let him down. You know what I mean?

Oh, excuse me.

You know, I was thinking, Clyde.

Maybe I'll keep it a secret.

Then when I come home,

I'll walk right up to him,

I'll put my hand out for a shake,

and when he looks down...

- Huh?

- That's one way of doin' it.

That old man'll just about bust!

Yes, he will. And I aim

to get that citation for you.

But you're gonna have to be patient.

- Sure thing, Clyde.

- These things take time.

The right moment comes along,

and I'll slip it through.

- You wanna know something?

- What?

We get back home...

I'm gonna go right on

calling you "Colonel". Huh?

Huh? What do you think?

I think I'd like that fine.

I'm hard put to recall a bona fide

colonel in our corner of the state.

Joe, I've got a plan for getting

Cooney out of the company.

A lost cause.

- Are you gonna listen to me?

- What's to listen?

You know Bartlett has political ambitions.

Cooney's old man owns the machine.

QED, Erskine can do no wrong.

We got him for the duration.

Now you've got that off your chest, listen

to me for a second and shut up, will ya?

- Huh?

- Go ahead.

All right, now. I'll give it

to you plain and simple.

One is, at least a part of Bartlett's political

future depends on his war record, right?

Two:
Bartlett is no fool, right? Huh?

- Yeah, right.

- OK.

Three is, Cooney is completely

unreliable and Bartlett knows it.

His next foul-up could be a big one.

Not 14 men, but something big.

Let's face it, this is for keeps.

- So what is the plan?

- OK...

I'd like to lay it on the line with Bartlett,

suggest that he kick Cooney upstairs.

- Not a chance.

- Why not?

He gets the guy stashed away

in a desk job at Battalion or Division.

Worst he can do is get

his thumb caught in a filing cabinet.

Our worries are over, Bartlett's worries

are over. All we gotta do is fight the war.

Come on, Joe, what do you say?

How about it, huh?

It won't work.

Why not?

It won't work! And he won't go for

this straight-talk routine.

He's a lieutenant colonel,

and you're just a lousy lieutenant.

He'll hit you with

that old, sweet song about

"Son, I was in the National Guard

while you was learning your ABCs."

They're two of a kind.

Huh! I bet Cooney never figured on a war

when he joined that National Guard.

Probably figured it was gonna be

all corn pone and chitlins and...

and the chance to wear his uniform

to the Saturday fox hunt.

OK, I'll go it alone.

Don't go dramatic on me, dogface.

I'll play cards,

if you think it'll do any good.

OK. I tell ya, it's the only way

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