Baxter and I were sitting on my cot, backs against the Bradley’s skirt plate, eating MREs for breakfast and talking about Sgt. Lustig. He was the tough platoon sergeant who didn’t talk much and always meant exactly what he said. He was the one with “ACHTUNG BABY” stenciled on his tank’s gun tube. His platoon was always out front, the first to receive contact.

“He’s like fucking Satan,” said Baxter. “He don’t hesitate to blow these motherfuckers away. That’s why I told him, ‘If you were going to Hell to fight the devil, Sgt. Lustig, I’d go with you.”

“What did Lustig say?”

“He said, ‘Thank you, Pvt. Baxter, I appreciate that.’”


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