writing from
Scars Publications

Audio/Video chapbooks cc&d magazine Down in the Dirt magazine books

 


This appears in a pre-2010 issue
of Down in the Dirt magazine.
Saddle-stitched issues are no longer
printed, but you can requesting it
“re-released” through amazon sale
as a 6" x 9" ISBN# book!
Email us for re-release to order.

Down in the Dirt v055

this writing is in the collection book
Decrepit Remains
(PDF file) download: only $9.95
(b&w pgs): paperback book $18.92
(b&w pgs):hardcover book $32.95
(color pgs): paperback book $75.45
(color pgs): hardcover book $88.45
Decrepit Remains, the 2008 Down in the Dirt collection book
A cold beer, among friends

Benjamin Green

    It looked like it was going to be one of those nights.
The wind was gusting, a harbinger of the Sahara’s infamous sandstorms.
David Lynch knew he would have to pull off the road sooner or later. But he wanted to get as far down the road as he could.
The guys were depending on him.
    The Allies had fought a furious battle here, and Rommel was on the run.
Of course, if the Desert Fox was to be cornered, they would have to keep the pressure on.
And to keep the pressure on, they would need supplies.
    He knew he was exaggerating his own importance, but it was his way of coping with the bitter pill he had to swallow.
Right after Pearl Harbor, he’d been another patriotic male, ready to do his duty.
Unfortunately, his physical discovered an unsuspected heart condition, and he was certified unfit for combat duty.
    He had been crushed, his dreams of combat glory extinguished.
He was certified able to work in the rear echelons, in logistics.
He was serving his country, but it was far from his dream of being with the Big Red One.
    The wind was rising, and visibility was dropping.
He was going by a place where a recent battle had taken place.
He saw the burnt-out hulls of Tiger and Sherman tanks.
Too many Sherman tanks.
He heard that the German eighty-eights played merry Hell with the Shermans.
    On second thought, maybe he was better off driving a truck.
Never mind.
He had to get those supplies to the front line as soon as possible.
The burnt-out vehicles meant he was getting close.
However, the storm was getting worse by the second.
    He was trying to decide whether he should risk it or not, when he saw the man.
He was wearing an olive drab uniform, and might be a fellow American.
He didn’t waste another moment on the decision.
He hit the brakes, and pulled off to the side of the road.
    The truck skidded a moment, and David was afraid he would get stuck in the sand.
Of course, it stopped just short of it.
A minute later, the door flew open, and the man got in.
    There were no identifying marks on his uniform, and his blonde hair was shaved in a bristle cut.


A wound on the side of his head had bled all the way down to his jaw line.
    “You’re bleeding!”
    The man held up a hand.
“It is nothing to worry about.
I cut myself worse while shaving.”
    The first thing David noticed was he spoke with an unfamiliar, clipped accent that he couldn’t place right away.
The other was that the cab of the truck seemed to have gotten colder.
He told himself that it was the wind, but a part of him refused to be comforted.
    He pushed the thought away.
Having another human to ride out the storm was better than nothing.
Even if the other man was a little odd.
    “Lousy night to be out wandering around.”
    The man nodded.
“I am very grateful for you stopping.”
    An uncomfortable silence fell between them.
After another minute, he tried another gambit. “You hungry?”
    The other man perked up.
“What do you have?”
    “What all the grunts in Uncle Sam’s army eats.
C-Rats.”
    The other man blanched.
“That does not sound very appetizing.”
    David shrugged.
“When your choice is that, or starvation, you learn to choke them down.”
    The other man reared back, and laughed.
“That’s the spirit!”
    His laughter was infectious.
Soon, both of them were laughing like a pair of loons.
David pulled out a couple of C-Rations, and they began eating.
It was a mechanical act, with little enjoyment behind it.
    Once they finished eating, David pulled a pack of Lucky Strikes out of the glove compartment.
Both men took one, and he lit them both.
It had a calming effect on him, because he began to open up.
He talked about his family in Akron, and his sweetheart waiting for him.
    The other man always had a comment or two for what he said, but he didn’t offer any information himself.
When David tried pumping him, the man just got an enigmatic smile on his face.
He offered a few tidbits, but they were devoid of specifics.
    The cigarettes were burning low.
David decided to play his last ace, to keep the man going.
From under the seat, he produced two bottles of Budweiser.
The other man’s eyes lit up.
“You have beer!”
    David opened it for him, and handed it to him.
The man inclined the bottle toward him.
“I must be off, but thank you for the beer.”
    David was about to protest.
The storm was blowing in its full fury, and there was no sign of civilization in the area.
However, the man had disappeared already.
Just opened the door, and walked out.
David decided he was some sort of secret commando, and dismissed the incident from his mind.
Instead, he focused on his beer.
    A week later, he was headed down the same road.
A salvage crew had a wrecker that was clearing away the burnt-out tanks.
David didn’t think much of it, until he saw Harry White.
    In his long career, stretching back to the Great War, he’d earned the nickname, ‘Hell-on-earth-Harry’.
Those who worked in the logistical field knew how apt it was.
He looked like a half-shaved ape, with his big, hairy arms, low forehead, and upturned nose.
He was also infamous for using his power to make his subordinates miserable.
    David’s heart sank into his boots when he saw Harry signaling him to pull over.
Except Harry didn’t have his usual mean smile, which portended officially sanctioned bullying.
In fact, his wide eyes, and the fact that he was hopping around seemed to suggest that he was excited.
    Once David got out, he was almost whacked to the ground by Harry’s ham-sized hand.
He pulled up the other man, and said, “hey little buddy.
I got a hot bit of news for you!”
    David felt a moment of hate for the other man at the insinuation of friendship.
Of course, the lure of news was too great.
All of them hungered for every scrap that was thrown to them.
“What is it?”
    “One of the German tank drivers had a bottle of beer in his hand!”
    David stiffened, and then shrugged.
“What’s the big deal about that?”
He had a presentiment of what was coming next.
    “The Kraut was drinking Budweiser!”
He rolled his eyes.
“Have you ever heard of them drinking American beer?”
    Even though David had seen it coming, the news hit him like a sledgehammer blow.
He was unable to say or do anything for a minute.
At last, he nodded.
“That’s really fascinating, Harry.
It really is.”
Then he walked back toward his truck with a stiff-legged gait.
    Harry stared after him, a look of puzzlement on his face.
He had given the other man a hot scoop, and he was acting weird about it.
For his part, David knew he would be in all kinds of trouble next time he saw his boss.
However, he felt an urge to start screaming, and he wasn’t inclined to explain it.



Scars Publications


Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.




Problems with this page? Then deal with it...