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12 Warrior It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I enlisted; the recruiter’s snappy uniform pulled me in. Red is for blood, son, and gold is for, well, gold. And even the thought it might be my blood had appeal. I’d sloshed a little out in the bars and poolrooms a time or two and hadn’t missed it much. Maybe he rolled his pant leg up and showed me the scar where the rifle ball went right through him on the battlefield at Austerlitz. Forget it. Men are men, made up of few fragile parts. The uniforms are replaceable. ...

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