 You're seeing more than a half-back going for a touchdown, a south bar burning a strike over the inside corner, a carp scooter nailing the basket for mid-course. You're seeing more than a cannonball serve and a neat light bar to the jaw. You're looking at the spirit of America. This is the way we like it, fast and hard-hitting and clean, instinctively American's love fair play. It's built up from childhood. Give the other guy an even break. Play the game on the level. Don't hit a man when he's down. There's a 15-yard penalty for clipping. The fighter who is below the belt gets tossed out of the range. We like it fast and hard-hitting. And we like it clean. When you're stuck from the gridiron to no man's land, the rule book is ferried and forgot. Here, there are no penalties except the one for losing. It's not measured in yards, it's measured in light and death. War is the law of the jungle, kill or be killed. There are no half-measures, no alibi runs. You've got to twist your instinct inside out to play this game because it's played to win. Anyway, the goal is destruction, pure and simple. Your mind must be tuned to a new pit to go after your enemy all out. No holds far, to hurt, to cripple, to kill. There's the war. Now, that will not for a pot of gold earned in the taking of the Rose Bowl, but for survival. Your stock and trade is the weapon you're armed with. It's your bodyguard and your battering ram. It's your best friend. A Tommy gun, a hundred and five. A mortar, machine gun. Clean, use it properly. It won't let you down. But there are other weapons. It's a long way from this, the symbol of civilized force, the peacetime art of self-defense, to this. But the bludgeon isn't used today as it was thousands of years ago. You won't find it in a squared circle, but you will on the battlefield, handy in a close fight when only one of you's coming out alive. Brass knuckles outlawed in the ring, but legitimate in war. Thought of shotguns, pride of the underworld, reinstated for the duration. Black jacks, simple and hard-hitting. French knives, not a pleasant-looking instrument, but effective, same drawer. Not pretty, but deadly. Yes, there are other weapons. Your enemies use them and so will you. You have two purposes. One is to kill, and the other is to avoid being killed. To that end, you use every method and every weapon you can, but place space in your memory. Use the one that fits the job. With a rifle, you can tattoo a German at 500 yards. You can drill a jab at a quarter of a mile. Killer in safe, which is right, but he's forgotten that full clip in his rifle, which is wrong. How's the time for the bayonet? The time for a bullet. When you've got your enemy trapped in a dugout, don't rush in after them. That's what they're waiting for. Throw us in a grenade and let them divide it. Remember this, no army ever won a battle without getting his hands dirty and blood. You can't get a rat out of a rat hole by shooting at the hole. You storm and take a position by sheer physical force, or you don't take it. You'll be in plenty of tight places before this is over all of it. Then your life depends on razor sharp reaction. There's no time for a second guess. Title, how to let them not be safe without improving his look. When you're alive from the lives of those where you depend on self and silence, you do what has to be done. If your instinct says give him a decent stand, remember he wouldn't give you one. The rules of a lifetime may whisper, you can't get a man when he's back turned, but you're deaf to the rules because in war, there are no rules. Make a mistake and you're a deaf mistake. A good soldier is a live soldier and this is a good way to stay alive. The past wouldn't kill. You forget the concept of clean cut fighting. There's no such thing as clean cut war. Sometimes the neat right cross to the jaw go right. But there are hundred times when a neat right thumb in the eye is more dependable. This is proof. They ask for it. We can take it and we can take it out. Something besides taking a football. Good soldier is a smart soldier. He must know how to fight. You want to fight with. His reflexes must be split second fast. When they are, this can happen. Good soldier uses the right weapon the right time. When he doesn't, he can look mighty cool. A rifle can kill at a thousand yards. It doesn't take a nose dive until a good soldier when they take advantage of it. This is called locking the stable door after the horse is sold. The prize brings to a bar room roll. But this is what it's going to be like. Alley stuff. Everything goes and there's no referees. And these are the boys who are going up again. A gang of bandit. With as much sense as fair play as a scorpion. Will fight them with their own poison. Bloodins and black jacks. Knives and daggers. Fist and feet. Bullet and bayonet. We'll use the right weapons at the right time in the right way. We'll hit them above the belt and below the belt. We didn't ask for this war, but we know how to fight it and win it.