I am with the platoon on patrol in Antarctica. Those with foot problems are asked to go on sick call. Nearly all are lame, but march to the aid station in the cold, hard snow. They overwhelm the staff who make complaints against them. I am sad because no one cares, no one understands how we suffer. A kind, middle-aged black medic tells me that Timmy D., whose bad feet should have kept him out of the Army, will go home. But when I speak to Timmy D., he says he has been denied sick call. He has seen no one.