 Major Polk refers to his long hike through the jungle with guide Joe as being like. . .
There were more Joes on Venus than you could shake a ray-gun at. Perhaps there was method in Colonel Walsh's madness—murder-madness—when he ordered Major Polk to scan the planet for a guy named Joe. For example, he could have chosen a Second Looie for the job on Venus. We were somewhere in Area Two on Earth, takeoff point for any operations in Space II. The rest was gravy, and Colonel Walsh wasn't going to let me get by with gravy. If Walsh really wanted to know the reasons for the revolt, I could give them to him in one word: Walsh. It had been going on for six months now and we'd lost at least a thousand men from Space II. He'd goofed off on a pile of uranium that could've, and almost did, blow the barracks sky-high that night. The trip to Venus came off without a hitch. And I thought about Colonel Leonard Walsh and how he was supposed to be quelling that revolt. Big plants and small ones, some blooming with flowers I'd never seen before, and some as bare as cactus. His features, his muscles, everything seemed to have been stretched like a rubber band. "The guys back in Space II are searching high and low for you," I told him. My orders said I was to report to Captain Bransten immediately upon arrival. We'd probably walked for about ten minutes when he dropped my bags and said, "There it is."
 The time a friend took him on a journey through the city on his birthday.
 The time a friend took him on a journey through the city on his birthday.  The time Walsh fell asleep on the job and almost destroyed the barracks.  His time in boot camp.  The relentless way in which Venusians constantly ask for more cigarettes.