There was more. A jeep drove up and dumped out Private Doe’s barracks bags. He had to take off his boots, put on regular shoes, wear his pants down like a regular infantryman (“straight legs,” as the paratroopers called them). He picked up his bags and, followed by the sub-machine-gunners, marched sadly away, the drum continuing to roll, a picture of bleak loneliness. This was repeated nine times. After that, the 506th had little problem with men returning late from a furlough.
