The tents were outside now, ready to be unloaded from a couple of army trucks that had shown up at daybreak. Another truck had brought in Sibley stoves, all of them needing to be set up.

Finally the major stood and looked over at us. “I know what you boys would like to do,” he said. “But Pops and I haven’t come to a conclusion yet. There are a number of things to consider. Meanwhile, I want everyone to hit the sack for a couple of hours of sleep. No arguing.”

When we reassembled, yawning but hopeful, we found Pops posting a three-page list of chores that still needed doing, mostly in the barracks and the shower house. The list went from putting lightbulbs in all the ceiling fixtures to setting up eighty double bunks. “Pick a job,” he said. “Do it. Check it off. Pick another.”

Someone asked, “Do you and the major think we really can finish?”

Pops answered, “He’s in writing a memo to the army, explaining why we won’t be needing those squad tents after all.”

Saw blades and drill bits got hot with use as we made our final push through the weekend. Mostly we stopped just long enough to gobble down some grub. Sometimes someone would stretch out on the floor, pillow his head on a jacket, and catch a few minutes of shut-eye, but nobody asked to quit. Finally, on Sunday evening, we reached the last item on Pops’s list, which was to do a final sweepup in all the buildings.

I carried a carton of wood scraps to the trash bin for burning the next morning, and on my way back, I admired the sight of lighted windows in building after building. Figures moved back and forth under bulbs that hung from rafters.

I counted the structures: infirmary, down on one end of the central field; the shop; the garage . . . four, five, six . . . and on the opposite side, the mess hall and the two long barracks buildings and headquarters office, the rec hall . . . twelve.

We’d done all that. All that!

I saw other guys carrying out loads of trash, and every one of them stopped and looked.

Supper, which we didn’t get to till going on 2030 hours, was stew, and as far as I could tell, it was none the worse for being cooked an extra couple of hours.

We took our time eating, and even after the coffeepot was empty, still nobody got up. Gradually the chatter died away, though, and everyone looked to the major.

He cleared his throat before saying, “I told you the other night that you should be proud of what you’ve done here. That was true then, but it’s even more true now. You came up against what seemed like an impossible challenge, and you met it. Maybe in the long run, knowing you did that is what will count the most.”