"What is that?"
"When you win the war."
"Win it? But we're not going to win it, Mr. Terran."
"Things can't be that bad," I consoled the General giving him my best you're-down-in-the-dumps-now-but-wait-till-later smile. "Maybe the enemy has you on the run just now, but you'll emerge victorious—you'll win—in the end." Of course, I would have told the same thing to General Multacni's opposite number in the opposing camp. I'm no authority on Halcyonian military matters, but under the circumstances it seemed the correct thing to say.
General Multacni stood up. "I must consider this interview at an end, Mr. Terran," he said frostily. "And I advise you to keep such subversive thoughts to yourself in the future. I'm a broad-minded Halcyonian, but—" And the General let his voice trail off ominously.
I figured he had battle fatigue, boss. Nobody could talk like that in his right mind, not even a general on a planet which is engaging in warfare almost constantly. Anyhow, I had to find out. Wandering through the military reservation on my way back to Rmpl, I chanced upon a non-commissioned officer's club. Here was the place to find out once and for all! I would speak to the NCO's who probably had families and probably were in danger of shipping out to the warfronts at any time.
I went inside and I spoke. Maybe I made too much like a soap box orator, I don't know. I don't know. I told them they would need insurance during the war, and after the war. I told them our policies would give them solace in these trying times, mitigating some of their worries during the necessary horrors of their struggle for existence. When finished, there wasn't a sound in the whole vast room. Boss, I thought we had them. I brought out a pad of policies and was ready to start scribbling names.
Then the military police came in and arrested me.
You know the rest. How I was taken to the subdivision stockades, given a medical exam (for some reason, a small slice of flesh was taken from my rump. I won't miss it, but I couldn't sit down for two days), told that I was being held under the provisions of article seven of some kind of code of military justice. Me, subversive. When all I want to do is sell insurance policies. Boss, please get me the heck off this nutty planet.
Tragically,
Sammy Trumple