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"
How
many
times
have
you
been
wounded
,
Ettore
?
"
"
Three
times
bad
.
I
got
three
wound
stripes
.
See
?
"
He
pulled
his
sleeve
around
.
The
stripes
were
parallel
silver
lines
on
a
black
background
sewed
to
the
cloth
of
the
sleeve
about
eight
inches
below
the
shoulder
.
"
You
got
one
too
,
"
Ettore
said
to
me
.
"
Believe
me
they
’
re
fine
to
have
.
I
’
d
rather
have
them
than
medals
.
Believe
me
,
boy
,
when
you
get
three
you
’
ve
got
something
.
You
only
get
one
for
a
wound
that
puts
you
three
months
in
the
hospital
.
"
"
Where
were
you
wounded
,
Ettore
?
"
asked
the
vice
-
consul
.
Ettore
pulled
up
his
sleeve
.
"
Here
,
"
he
showed
the
deep
smooth
red
scar
.
"
Here
on
my
leg
.
I
can
’
t
show
you
that
because
I
got
puttees
on
;
and
in
the
foot
.
There
’
s
dead
bone
in
my
foot
that
stinks
right
now
.
Every
morning
I
take
new
little
pieces
out
and
it
stinks
all
the
time
.
"
"
What
hit
you
?
"
asked
Simmons
.
"
A
hand
-
grenade
.
One
of
those
potato
mashers
.
It
just
blew
the
whole
side
of
my
foot
off
.
You
know
those
potato
mashers
?
"
He
turned
to
me
.
"
Sure
.
"
"
I
saw
the
son
of
a
bitch
throw
it
,
"
Ettore
said
.
"
It
knocked
me
down
and
I
thought
I
was
dead
all
right
but
those
damn
potato
mashers
haven
’
t
got
anything
in
them
.
I
shot
the
son
of
a
bitch
with
my
rifle
.
I
always
carry
a
rifle
so
they
can
’
t
tell
I
’
m
an
officer
.
"
"
How
did
he
look
?
"
asked
Simmons
.
