'I am sure Surgeon Alistair and Veterinary Rufus will back me up if I say that our Jennet, men have renamed her Janet, is regularly seen by both of them, and medically douched on weekly bases for VD prevention. Additionally, the jennet's presence is informally legalized by attributing her to Division Commanding General's benevolent wife who once ran into this little cute jennet stranded in the fields, and asked her loving husband to use his prerogative and influence to give the lovely Jennet a comfortable secure shelter!
Conclusion: If Vet Rufus believes that H-345 by being bizarre has rendered himself unfit, I believe most fighting men should be considered unfit, too.'
At this time, the agonized Rufus angrily interjected:
-- Whatever and however, I, as the battalion veterinary authority, consider H-345 unfit for combat. I have already reported the case to Army Veterinary Department for final decision. Since, I do not wish to jeopardize the safety of men and horses, my previous instruction regarding H-345, i.e., confining him to the stable, shall be presently annulled until further notice.
The meeting concluded.
After Col. McCoy's meeting with regiment commander, McCoy became the talk of the town. At lunchtime, his colleagues gathered at the mess hall entrance, waiting for him to show up. McCoy leading, colleagues one by one followed him to the counters. Some insisted to pay. Holding tight their trays, all hurried to sit next or as close as possible to McCoy, so that they could hear whatever he said. They were all ears. Their looks, inquisitive. Field Grade Officers' Dining Room had never been so packed up. Silence, observed. When someone posed a question, no clattering was heard. No one dared swallowing his food in case he might miss a point. Everybody tried to register a mental picture of the out-of-bounds scene.
Having finished, all, smiling broadly, once again shook hands with McCoy and thanked him for the happy hour.
(To be continued)