“If some enemy agent were to go through the contents of this wastebasket, as enemy agents have been known to do, what would he find?” “Stencils, sir!” “And if he were to count the numerals and letters, would he notice anything unusual?” “Sir! All of them would be clean except for the numeral twos which would be missing or covered with paint, sir!” Lieutenant Ethridge says nothing for a few minutes, allowing his message to sink in. In reality no one knows what the fuck he is talking about. The atmosphere becomes tinderlike until finally, Sergeant Shaftoe makes a desperate stab. He turns away
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