The sergeant poked his head through the door at three thirty on the dot without so much as a how-do-you-do. We privates and others down on the food chain moved before he said anything. When your sergeant kicks in the door at three thirty in the a.m., you learn to hop to without any questions. “I need the pillowcase brigade, boys,” he said. Some of us groaned. “Yeah, I hear ya. And I don’t care. We’ve got a B-17 spread out all over the southern end of the base. Get dressed, grab your pillowcases, and get in the truck.” He
The Pillowcase Brigade
