"Yes, sir," a few answered in unison.
"What?"
"Yes, sir," they thundered.
"Again."
"Yes, sM"
Chiun was clapping his hands together in rhythm ñ and smiling delightedly. "Yes, sir," he squealed, marching in his own little circle. "Yes, sir! This is the real army. Yes, sir."
He turned excitedly to Remo. "You were right," he said, his long robes billowing as he stomped in single formation. "One two," Chiun called out. "Hup, tup, Wing Ho."
"Wing Ho?"
"It is an advanced drill used in the Chinese Third Dynasty. No one talks about it now, but the Chinese could never fight as well as a field of butterflies. Still, their marching was unparalleled. Kwo Hun Wing Ho."
The sergeant noticed that his new group of inductees was staring at the aged Oriental, who was marching and chanting the strange words.
"At ease," he called. Chiun continued marching. "I said cut it out, Grampa," the sergeant bellowed.
"I'd leave off the grampa stuff if I were you," Remo advised.
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"Who asked you?"
Remo shrugged. "Just trying to do my bit. If you don't care about hanging onto your arms and legs, then be my guest." He made way for the sergeant to approach Chiun.
"I'll take care of you later, punk," the sergeant said, placing his hands on his hips. "What in the hell do you think you're doing here?" he demanded of Chiun.
"Is this not a training camp?"
"That's just what it is, old man."
"Very well. Remo is here to join your army, and I am his trainer."
"We got no room for nursemaids around here, Papa-san." The sergeant took another step forward so that his beefy head hovered a full two feet over Chiun's, casting a menacing shadow.
"Step back, cow-eater," Chiun warned. "You are obstructing my view."
"Obstrue—look, mister," the sergeant began, poking a stubby finger toward the old man's shoulder.
"Shouldn't have done that," Remo said as the sergeant spiraled skyward and came to rest in the branches of a cottonwood tree.
"Did you see that?" one of the recruits asked.
"Naw. Must be the heat." Remo directed" the group toward another officer. "We need uniforms and supplies, Major," he said.
The major looked surprised. "What happened to your instructor?" he asked.
Remo glanced back to the tree where Sergeant Hayes was just beginning to show small signs of life. "Dunno," Remo said. "I guess he got hung up."
"Well, the supplies are in that building over
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there. I'll have a sergeant meet you and take you to your quarters. Meanwhile, you're in charge. " He patted Remo on the back. "You're going to make a fine soldier," he said, and walked away.
"You!" Chiun sputtered. "How can he say that you will make a fine soldier? Did you know the Third Dynasty War March? Did you engage in deadly combat with the piglet in the tree?"
"No, Little Father," Remo said, leading the group toward the supply building.
"Your army is racist and ungrateful. Never will I teach these worthless things the Wing Ho formation."
"Serves 'em right," Remo said. Another sergeant met them at the supply office and escorted the men to their barracks, where he taught them how to make a bunk. He seemed to believe that an army traveled on its bed, and tight beds good armies made.
"Now, I want these here corners tight, y'hear?" the sergeant drawled, crisply tucking in the last corner of blanket. "That's tight, and I mean so tight a quarter bounces off it." He pronounced the word • "corder." Flipping a coin from his pocket, he demonstrated. The quarter bounced a good three inches upward, after hitting the blanket.
"Now you do it," he said to Remo. With one hand he lifted the sheets and blanket off the bunk so that they lay in a crumbled heap.
"Ah, very interesting," Chiun said. "In your army, you make the bed, then you unmake it. Then you make it again. Very Zen. Also I see now what you do to be designated a fine soldier, Remo. I knew you must be extraordinarily talented in some area, since you do not march or engage in combat.
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Now I see that your worthy event is bedmaking. Highly appropriate, Remo."
"Lay off," Remo said.
"What was that?" the sergeant roared.
"Nothing. And I can hear you, so stop yelling." He began to smooth the bedding over the bunk.
"Oh, wise guy, huh?"
Remo sighed. The scenario was becoming more and more reminiscent of the early days of his two-year stint in the army. Maybe sergeants never changed. The.thought occurred to him that it would take a lot of self-control to make it through even one day of boot camp.
"Tuck in that corner, dogface," the sergeant demanded.
"Dogface?" Chiun brightened at the word. "What an apt description." He tittered, repeating the word dogface over and over, as though it were the most hilarious thing he'd heard all day. "Dogface Remo. Hah. Dogface. Heh, heh."
"And if I want any lip from you, old timer, I'll ask for it."
Chiun's mirth vanished.