Not even going to try and work out the math that equals “six long years” of Wally’s service. But the melodrama meter remains off the charts with his litany of rituals. Wally can’t be blamed for clinging to his survival habits, since nobody in his life bothered to give him a proper “welcome home”. No wonder he’s still at war in his mind.
“Come on! We can’t stay here! We might almost kill another kid!”
The reader cannot see what danger, if any, causes Sgt. Wally to order his men to retreat. But he sure is in a hurry to get outta there.
Rachel, who either is genuinely trying to help Wally over his anxiety or is deliberately trying to make him freak out again, has a “really neat” suggestion. I hope she’s taking him somewhere private; Wally looks like he’s about to blow chunks.
I gotta tread carefully here. I was born at a good time (on the same day Alaska became the 49th state, if you must know). I was too young for Nam-era military service, and was neither compelled or desirous to serve (unlike my late Dad and my two older brothers). So I can’t even suppose what it’s like to be a soldier, but I have the utmost respect and gratitude for everyone who has worn a uniform in our nation’s armed forces.
With that said: here we go again with Wally’s issues. Incredibly, that one visit with the shrink wasn’t enough to straighten him out. Wally’s having flashbacks because he “almost killed a kid”? All his flashbacks seem to involve engagement; does he have no trauma related to being held captive for years? None of this adds up for me, as in typical fashion, TB tries to spin drama from sketchy characters and their poorly imagined backstories.
No sooner do they arrive at the County Fair then the flashbacks ensue (what, no photo-album corners?) Wally starts looking around for Charlie, or Ahmed or Osama or whatever enemy haunts his nightmares. Enjoy the rides and the games of chance, kids; but as Epicus Doomus pointed out yesterday: I strongly advise you to avoid the clown-head water balloon race.
Son of Stuck Funky 
