From page 1

     Sitting in his bed at the Naval Hospital in San Diego, Ben Anderson reached over for his heavily lensed spectacles and put them on to inspect his wounds, of which there were many.  Looking up and down the isle he watched as the doctor and his student intern stopped by each patient giving them a smile and a chat about how their condition and recovery appeared.

     "Good morning, how is it going today?" asked the Lieutenant Commander finally making it over to Anderson.

     "I'm here and alive sir," responded Anderson.

     "That you are. Let's take a look at the fingers first."

    Anderson reached out with his right hand.  Finally uncovered from all the bandages, half of each of his three fingers starting with the smallest was gone.  The rest of his body from his left leg on up to his ribs was peppered with holes where the shrapnel had entered and he had abrasions on the upper right hand side of his head.

     "Now that we have the bandages off, we need to soak them once a day to keep the infection down," said the doctor. "Feel like a bath?"

     "Oh, you know it," said Anderson looking over his iodine covered body and then up at the intern. "Had yours today? Maybe we could sit together in the tub and rub each other's sore spots."

     "Maybe we could do that," replied the attractive intern as she wrote down some notes. "I'll ask my husband tonight, o.k.?"

     "Naw, that's o.k.," smiled Anderson.  "I have enough sore spots already."

From page 66

     As he rolled down the riverbed he felt something cold wrapping around his neck.  Then with a sudden jerk his body stopped as his legs flowed forward and the steel noose around his neck tightened.  With his legs dangling sideways in the water Ben's fingers struggled to release the gripping chain about his neck as it grew tighter and tighter.  His eyes could only see the murky haze in front of him as his head began to take on a sense of numbness.  Digging his fingers between his neck and the chain he stretched his arms out full-length sideways trying desperately to release the chain's existence and managed to pull outward with what dying energy he had left.  The warm blood from his body rushed pass his neck and flowed back to his head as the chain loosened its maddening grip enabling him to slip his head past the noose, but Ben lost his sense to keep from inhaling and the cold water rushed to his lungs shocking him so that he nearly passed out.

From page 130

     The longest days in the entire boot camp were the days of the fourth week.  Troop 575 had duty in the galley preparing food and cleaning up the kitchen and dining area after the other troops.  The day started a half an hour earlier than usual and ended a half hour later.  This was called "Hell Week".  Although there wasn't ever too much time to talk, when the men did they exchanged bits and pieces of their lives with each other and for the first time in Ben's life he felt he was part of a group of men on equal standing.

     It happened one day that as Ben was picking up food trays after one of the men from another troop that he said "Hey boy, you finished?"

     The Black young man looked up at him from the table and said, "Jane and Tarzan live in the jungle with Boy.  Boy is white.  So do I look white to you?"

     "No," replied Ben solemnly realizing what he had said without even thinking.

     "Then why do you call me 'boy'?" the man asked still sitting.

     "Because I'm a fool," said Ben, "and I apologize for showing it, and for offending you."

     "We're all fools if you ask me," laughed the Black man, "but equal ones. Yes, I'm finished."

From page 137

     A short five minutes later Marine Captain Gile walked into the Marine Officer Quarters of Barracks K and headed directly upstairs to Marine Lieutenant Kip Grinds' quarters where he found him stretched back in a comfortable chair cleaning his derringer.

     "He's here," said Gile pulling the orders out of his pocket and snapping them with his finger. "My very own piece of shit swabby."

     ............."I don't know how you pulled off this shit Gile.  getting a man from boot camp all the way here. Naval Operations has to have a paper trail on this guy." Grinds picked up the false paper orders next to Gile's feet to look at them.

     "Well, let's just say the original Anderson got booted out of boot camp on a medical, at least that what the records will show." Taking the forged orders once again out of his pocket, Gile grinned as he looked at them. "As far as the Navy is concerned there is no Benjamin Anderson....at least not this one."

     "And if someone should question it?" asked Grinds always pursuing a question above the inevitable.

     "Listen, you're the one asking too many questions. Believe me, I'll handle it." Gile stood up, and just before heading out the door of Grind's quarters he turned his head back, "By next year you'll be a rich man Grinds," and then as he closed the door behind him, "and Anderson will be a dead one."

From page 247

    "Commander," came the voice of the commander's yeoman entering the command post headquarters, "we just got back information on that Anderson. Here it is."

     "Airman Recruit Benjamin Anderson was discharged from Boot Camp Headquarters in San Diego on August 23rd, 1968 and discharged from the United States Navy on a medical for diabetes, records show.  Checking with immediate family ASAP to inquire on his whereabouts.  Any person posing as Benjamin Anderson is to be picked up and held for questioning pending identification," read the yeoman.

     "Gosh sir, who do you think this man is?"