Much safer out in War Zone C than in the barracks at night with various stoners, dealers, junkies, and race haters running around.
Those were the times when “low risk criminals” had a choice of going in the army or going to jail. We had some real treasures in the women’s barracks.
We had a guy that had restored two ‘57 Chevies in high school. Carried pictures of them around in his wallet, and would pull them out the way other guys showed off their wives or girl friends.
One was stock, and the other was balanced and blueprinted with nitrous injection and similarly beefed up steering and suspension.
The kid would blow into some Midwest town, pick up some local girl, and cruise the local strip, After a week or so, he would race some local hotshot for pink slips. Then he would skip town before the newly carless discovered that the car was a ringer.
Alas, he eventually blew into a town where his floozy of the week turned out to be the local judges daughter (and an overly mature looking fourteen). Ergot - Marine Corps.
His mom sold both those cars while we were at stumps.