The philosophy of the average soldier is direct and competent. It was after such an exodus that one explained to
his companions during mess:
"What's the use of grouching? That's what war is—saying good-by. Just saying good-by, fellows. Might's well get used to it now."
These partings, nevertheless, weren't all sentiment. Let us value them at one-third regret and two-thirds paper work. The orders demanding them frequently slipped into the regimental area during the quiet hours before the dawn. Anything that awakened you was known as a Trick Order. Trick Orders seldom came singly. For several nights running they would glide in, lights would gleam from orderly roolus until shamed by the sun, and all those concerned would display at reveille acute symptoms of insomnia. There was no evasion when trick orders rustled through the camp. If a battery commander sought a way by preparing a list against unexpected transfers, Paper Work merely sneered, thinking of the devices he had up his sleeve. At three A. 21., it might be, a red-eyed battery clerk would appear at a captain's cot.
"Sorry to disturb you, sir."
A groan.
“Barracks on fire?"
"No, sir. An order's just come to transfer five men."
The captain cries out, sitting up.
"Don't you know this is the first sleep I've had for three nights? Didn't I give you a list just so I could get some sleep?"
"Yes, sir," replies the battery clerk gently, “but this is a very tricky trick order. The men are to be reported at the station fully equipped, at 5:30 this A. M. They'll be equipped, even though the supply sergeant does lead a hunted life for a while. Meantime I've brought the service records for the captain to initial."
