Attitude

"I want red wine and steak, not this 'garbage.' And the conditions here are too crude. This bed doesn't even have a blanket—how is anyone supposed to sleep on it?" A Portuguese officer named Igor hollered in the room.

The food Igor called "garbage" was actually the East African Army's standardized meal. Two extra cans had been prepared for this senior Allied officer: beef brisket stew with potatoes and mangoes. He had also been given two bottles of beer and a pack of cigarettes. Even ordinary East African soldiers did not often receive such treatment.

"Quit howling, Igor. This is already pretty good. I refuse to believe you've never eaten anything worse than this. The flavor may be strange, but the food itself isn't bad," said Igor's roommate, British Lieutenant Michel.

"Besides, even if you scream yourself hoarse, the East Africans outside won't meet your demands. You should be grateful they haven't dragged us out to do hard labor."

Hearing Michel's words, Igor impatiently sat back down at the table, though he still complained, "Look at this place. It's so dark and cramped, and they've put two people in one room. It's simply unimaginable. There isn't even basic bedding."

"It's December, and the weather is hot as an oven. What more do you want? This kind of 'cellar' is cooler to live in. Besides, it's already good enough that East Africa didn't put you in a communal barracks—though East Africa probably doesn't even have communal barracks. The other soldier prisoners might well have nothing but the ground for a bed and the sky for a blanket," Michel retorted exaggeratedly.

Although summer in the Southern Hemisphere was winter in the Northern Hemisphere, southern Mozambique lay close to the subtropics, so it was not actually that hot. Igor was simply complaining for