Orders Is Orders by L. Ron Hubbard

and replaced them.
    “It’s terrible. Terrible!” said the reverend.
    “What?” said Goldy.
    “I’ve seen two of my trucks! I shall write to the State Department about this!”
    “Probably,” said Goldy.
    “Undoubtedly,” wept the reverend. “They were stolen by Chinese and now the Japanese
     have them, and though I fail to understand how this came about, it is certain that
     I shall make every effort to collect indemnity from the Japanese army.” He gave way
     under the strength of his emotion and polished his glasses again. When he had carefully
     replaced them and had stroked their long black ribbon out straight, he continued.
     “I shall call the attention of the State Department to this in the strongest terms.”
    “I’m callin’ your attention,” said Goldy, “to Toughey’s leg—in terms strong enough
     to scorch your ears. You haven’t looked at it all day.”
    “Aw, I’m all right,” said Toughey.
    The reverend was about to take Toughey’s word for it when he caught the full force
     of Goldy’s glare. Hastily he pulled up the blanket and inspected Toughey’s leg for
     possible infection which he did not find.
    “It seems to be mending nicely,” said the reverend. “That is,” he added recalling
     professional prudence, “there is no evidence that it is not mending.”
    “Did you set it straight?” said Goldy.
    “Oh, yes. It is a very simple fracture and would not have compounded without the shrapnel
     wound. The break is confined to the tibia, leaving the femur untouched. The extensor
     tendon is unaffected and the internal malleolus is intact. The astragalus is bruised
     slightly but seems to have been spared harm by the shoe. Thus I doubt that the articulation
     will be hampered upon healing.”
    “It’s all Greek to me,” said Goldy.
    “I beg your pardon,” replied the reverend. “But most medical terms are derived from
     Latin.”
    “Is that so,” said Goldy without any great interest. “I get it that you’re puttin’
     us wise to the fact that he’ll be toesmithing with the best of ’em.”
    “Eh?” said the reverend.
    She looked at him in surprise and then decided to let it pass.
    “I have just heard,” said the reverend, “that Shunkien’s walls have been taken. I
     have also employed my time in trying to convince the Japanese colonel that he is doing
     us a grave injustice by refusing to allow us to return to the coast. I might say that
     I brought the strongest pressure to bear but he seemed impatient.”
    “You better talk to the sarge before you go hangin’ out the wash to the Japanese.”
    “But I thought if I personally could be allowed—”
    “So you’re tryin’ to shin the chains ,” said Toughey with bitterness. “You better get wise to yourself. The sarge is in
     command around here and you better talk to him. If he says you can slip cable and full-speed out of here, okay. As long as you got into this outfit, he’s responsible
     for you.”
    “You mean James?” gaped the reverend.
    “I mean Gunnery Sergeant Mitchell,” said Toughey hoarsely.
    “You mean I am to get his permission to leave? Even if the Japanese say that I can?”
    “I mean just that,” said Toughey with a regulation growl. “And I ain’t got no delusions
     about him lettin’ you go. What if the skipper found out we was the cause of castin’
     you adrift in this country and maybe lettin’ you get bumped off? There’d be hell to
     pay. If the sarge knew you was plannin’ to run out on him, you’d think a buzz saw
     was somethin’ to eat for indigestion.”
    The reverend removed his glasses and scrubbed off the fog. “To think he would place
     his own father in such a predicament! But I did my best. I tried to raise him to be
     a credit to his church. And these are the thanks I get. These are the thanks! He exposes
     me to imprisonment, perhaps death. . . .”
    “I bet you raised him,” said Goldy with heavy sarcasm.
    “To the best of my ability,” wept