I completed 13 weeks of basic training at Camp Wallace, Texas, July 4, 1943. The last three days were spent doing squad and platoon tactics 25 miles from camp. It was hot and dry. The water wagon finally arrived, and canvas lister bags filled for the evening meal. Squads were to come one at a time to fill canteens. My squad was next in line. Someone hollered “Let’s go!” and a rush was on. I held my squad in check. In the stampede, the lister bags were knocked over plus several GIs. A lieutenant fired his pistol and ordered everyone back. A second supply of water finally arrived and distributed in an orderly manner. I’m glad to have rationed my canteen of water as those last two swallows hit the spot. The 25-mile march to camp was brutal. Upon return the captain said “Go clean up and report to the mess hall for free beer and fried chicken.” It was his best order of the day.