CAMP WAS LIKE HOME. Where you ALWAYS wanted to be. Because when you were out on patrol is when you got your ass shot off. Or saw someone else get it shot off. The beers and smokes and latrines of camp were better than any home-cooking incentive to go AWOL. I sometimes think that's how they satisfied you with your year, a second-order zero-sum of: at least I'm not on patrol; that's good enough to wait 300 days.
Damn. We were demoralized beyond belief.