Saturday, January 20, 1945
Stand by for a change of address. A few other fellows and myself are going to be transferred to Station Hospital at Camp Hood. I’m not exactly overjoyed, if you know what I mean. What I hear about that place shouldn’t happen to Hitler—oh that’s just what is rumored, but I’m inclined to believe some of it. We’ll see. At least you can’t stay there long.—I think.
We had an inspection yesterday and again I had to show off how well I walked. I mean limped. When asked if it ever hurt, I replied definitely in the affirmative. I wonder if they believe me. It really doesn’t hurt but I thought I’d say it just for the hell of it.
Last nite we had a carnival and I won a magazine, throwing darts and a collar clasp in quoits.
I’m going to town today, and tomorrow another fellow and I are going on a motor-car ride and dinner at a home. Last big splurge before leaving.