Operation
Weeping Willow

E’VE been following the
press reports on “Exercise
Sweetbriar”” with some diligence

but still find ourself somewhat con-
fused. According to all the stories

we've read the Canadian soldiers
who are taking part in “Exercise
Sweetbriar” simply love to trudge
around at 60 below zero lugging
heavy military equipment. Every-
one, it seems, is simply ga-ga over
the fur-lined pyjamas the army
has dished out and one entire
regiment can hardly wait for the
opportunity to die with its under-
wear on.

The war propaganda which em-
anates from “Exercise Sweet-
briar’ makes ice and snow seem
so attractive that the average
: reader must be wondering why

_ Sunday school picnics are held
during summer heat waves in-
Stead of in mid-February when
everybody could have a good time
catching pneumonia,

Fortunately, we haven't had to
depend on the reports emanating
from “Exercise Sweetbriar” to
learn the real truth about what
it’s like to fight the cold war in
cold weather. What conditions are
really like is revealed in the fol-
lowing despatch from Corporal J.
K, Snagsby, who is taking part in
the Canadian army’s' “Exercise
Weeping Willow.”

e
By CORPORAL J. K. SNAGSBY

BRRR, Alaska — |Special) —

When I awakened this morning
_the temperature was a fresh, vig-
orous 60 below, the kind of weath-
_@r that would appeal to any red-
blooded Eskimo. I glanced over
-at where Private Brussel Sprout
lay in his bed-rol] and made a
‘mental note to speak to him about

taking more than his share of —

ice cubes that the army supplies
us with in an effort to keep every
soldier cozy. : ;

“Sprout!” I yelled.
“Yes, Corporal.”

“Get the blow torches going,
Sprout, and melt the platoon out
of their bed-rolls.”

I lay back then and watched
Sprout as he slowly removed his

pyjamas with an ice pick. Some-

times I can’t help wondering if
Private Sprout is really en-
_ thusiastic about Exercise ‘Weeping
Willow. Only the other day I heard
_ him complaining that he’d stumb-
_ led across a polar bear suffering
from frostbite, an obvious gripe
_ Over the fact that the nights get
Chilly up here,

_ I watched the men as they pre-
pared to dress for the day. For
_ Some reason or other there was a

deep bluish tinge to their skin
and I made a mental note to speak
© urge the platoon not to get
careless about Five O'clock Sha-
_ dow. Wearing apparel was put on
in the following order: fur-lined
b.v|d.’s, fleece mukluks, fur-lined

‘Breakfast was a jolly affair. We

had cold hot chocolate, cold hot.

beans, cold warm toast and a
told war speech from Colonel Lan-
celot Boggs who is suffering from
.cold in the head.

“Men,” said Boggs, talking ©

through his mukluk, “you are a
fine body of men! Just remember
_ that! And I want you to know that

in case of death by frostbite the
Man who is so honored will still

be a fine body! That's all! Now go.

find the enemy!”
_ Private Brussel Sprout, our of-

By MEL COLBY

ficial scout, reported a few min-
utes later that he had located the
enemy; he pointed to an Amer-
ican major who was sitting in a
heated swivel chair studying a
map of the Pentagon.

“Sprout, you fool,” I told him,
“that isn’t the enemy; that’s an
American officer.”

“Well,” argued Sprout, “he’s the
only one around that looks like
-he’s mad at anybody. What’s he
doing up here anyway?”

I tried to be patient, “He’s tak-
ing notes on the weather,” I ex-
plained. “The American brass
wants to know how cold it has to
get before a Canadian ‘soldier is
unable to fight.”

“Why doesn’t he find out how

cold it has to get before an Amer-
ican soldier is unable to fight?”
was Sprout’s next boorish ques-
tion.

“Because,” I explained, “those
Americans don’t see any sense in
everybody getting killed or dying
of frostbite, so the top brass ag-
reed unanimously to let us have
the honor.”

. ‘I don’t want the honor,” says
Private Sprout.

‘Don’t be petty, Sprout,’ I
urged.

“T’m cold,” he says, “I’d like to
go home.” - : :

“It’s not really cold, Sprout; ‘it’s
only your imagination.” :

“Is that your imagination that’s
shivering, too?” asks the unpat-
riotie Sprout. “Look, Corporal
Snagsby, let’s both go home.”

“Communist!” I snarled and
went to borrow an ice pick to chip
off my top mukluk.

e

Discovery of
the Phoof Bomb

EACHING the office of J. K.

Snagsby, the famous nuclear
scientist, wasn’t easy. One had to
wade through a series of outer of-
fices marked: _

Atom Bomb: Handy 80,000 Size.

Atom Bomb: Women and Chiil-
dren Specialty. :

Hydrogen Bomb: One City Size.

Hydrogen Bomb: Three City
Size.

Snagsby was busily engaged in
pulling the wings off butterflies
when we walked into his office and
didn’t even bother to look up when
we spoke. “Have them specially
imported from South America,”
he told us happily. “My only hob-
by; an innocent pleasure, but one
which allows me to relax when
my mind is not on the Bomb.”

We nodded assent and glanced
at the chair he motioned us to;
its seat was spiked with sharp,
rusty nails, but we had already
been informed of Snagsby’s eccen-
tricities and had taken the pre-
caution to line our trousers with
an assortment of landlords’ hearts,
a safeguard guaranteed to give
protection against the most pen-
etrating objects.

“Well, my boy,” he asked, his
hand caressing a grinning human
skull he kept on his desk as a
paper weight, “what’s on your
mind?”

“It’s about the new bomb you’re

' clined to
when I stumbled across the for-_

The Snagsbys report
on the cold war

“I just can’t believe all those men we saw outside the Unemployment Insurance building were Russians.”

working on, Professor Snagsby;
the one that is claimed to outmode
all other bombs. What is it call-
ed?” ;

“The Phoof Bomb, my boy, the
Phoof Bomb,” answered Snagsby,
idly cracking his knuckles. |

“How does it compare, profess-
or, to the atom bomb?”

“No comparison, my boy. The
atom bomb is now just a fire-
cracker, a squib, a petty thing
with only a range of 150,000 vic.
tims. Bah!”

“What led you to the discovery
of the Phoof Bomb, professor?”

“Well, my boy, actually it was
accidental. You see, I was experi-
menting on a poison gas that
would affect only those citizens in-
subversive thinking

mula for the Phoof Bomb. Natur-
ally, I can’t reveal it. State secret,
you know.” ‘ t

“Of course, professor. Tell me,
did working on the Phoof Bomb
ever cause Als pe you know,
did it bother ydur conscience, cre-
ate sleepless nights?”

“My boy, you'll never: know,
With the future of humanity at
stake how could it be otherwise?
One night I had to count fourteen

‘sheep before dropping off into a
loud snore.” * Cah =

“We're glad to hear that, pro-
fessor, because it is said you are

a cold, steel-willed man.”

“Not a bit of it, my boy. I’m as
sentimental as the next person.
Why,, when my mother died 2

lump welled up in my throat and
caused me acute discomfort for
at least thirty seconds.”

There was a disturbance at this
point as Professor Snagsby’s sec-
retary rushed in. “I’ve got horrible
news, professor,” she sobbed,
“Word has just come in, that your
three children were trapped be-
tween two senators on a street
Car and crushed to death!”

“Drat those inconsiderate ras-
cals!” Snagsby exclaimed. “Now
T'll have to take time off from my
experiments on the Phoof Bomb
to attend the funeral. Bah!”

_ When Snagsby managed to get
_ his grief under control we pursued

our questioning. “Tell us, profess-
or, how does the Phoot Bomb

compare with the hydrogen
bomb?”

“My boy,” he answered with a
happy smile, “I’m delighted that
you asked the question. In com-
parison to the new Phoof the hyd-
rogen is vastly overrated; it was
the result of the brains of a few
half-baked scientists whose im-

 agination could not go beyond the

point of building a weapon which

can only fry a city in a matter of
Seconds. Bah!”

“But surely, professor,” we pro-
tested, “frying a city in a matter
of seconds must have some
value!” Ss

‘Snagsby hesitated. “Well,” he
finally admitted; “7 suppose the
fat from the bodies could be rend-
ered down and put on the market
in the form of Soap, but the use
of the hydrogen bomb would mean

ae awful lot of pain and suffer-
ng.”

“Do you mean that the Phoof
Bomb would contribute to the wel-

_fare of humanity, eradicate pain

and sulfering?”

“My boy,” said Snagsby, giving
us a withering look, “of course it —
would. The Phoof: Bomb is a de-
fense weapon, one which is guar-
anteed to end all war.”

“But how about the Phoof in
comparison to the atom, profess-
or? Is there no danger of raido-
active poisoning?”

“Of course not, my boy, that’s
one of the blessings of the Phoof.

When the Phoof is dropped every-
body just disintegrates!”

But, professor, you said that
the Proof Bomb would end all
wars.”

“My boy, you are dense. Take
the atom, When it is dropped it .
merely destroys several tens of
thousands of people; but there are
Still lots left to drop more atoms
on. Take the hydrogen, when it
is dropped it merely destroys an
entire city; but there are still

other cities left. Now take the
Phoof .. .”

“Yes, Professor?”

“When the Phoof is dropped
there's merely a loud PHOOF'!
and the whole world goes up in
Smoke. There isn’t anyone left to
bomb! Clever, isn’t it, my boy?”

We left Professor Snagsby and
walked directly to the psychiatric
clinic where we were fitted for a
Straitjacket, That's : why we're

typing this column with our left
foot, .

PACIFIC TRIBUNE—MARCH 17, 1950—PAGE 4

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