MEALWATCH, PT. 3

10:00 PM EST. I'm on patrol on the brittle edge of the Eastern Front. I blow into cupped hands to bring back the feeling, then shake them out. I'd just lit a cigarette when the call came over my radio. "Eagle Base to Buzzard, reports are in the Vic Ferrari has just fled the battlefield and will soon be eating Dinner-7." I clipp my radio back to my belt. It's gonna be a long night...

JC