Mission accomplished，" Staff Sergeant Har-<br > Ion Johnson muttered as he absentmindedly<br > gazed out the window of the truck and watched<br > the Bavarian scenery.<br > "How s that， Sarge?" Private First Class Jed<br > Turner inquired， chomping on three sticks of<br > chewing gum as he spoke， his Alabama drawl<br > pulling on the words. Turner s eyes remained<br > fixed on the narrow， dirt road.<br > "I said we accomplished our mission，" John-<br > son repeated dryly. "We delivered three adding<br > machines and four typewriters for repair at<br > Ansbach and picked up about a ton of TA-Fifty<br > field gear for the troopies. Some mission，<br >e huh !"<br > "Least nobody s shooting at us，" Turner re-<br > plied with a shrug.<br > "Yeah，" Johnson growled.<br >:e Harlon Johnson almost wished someone was<br > shooting at them. Twelve years before， fresh out<br > of high school， Harlon had joined the army，<br > eager to go to Vietnam and earn himself a chest<br > full of medals. But American forces were being<br > purled out of Southeast Asia by the time John-<br >