Sand in the Wind Read Online Free Page B
Author: Robert Roth
can’t fuck it, I don’t miss it. But I’ll tell you right now, if you don’t get your goddamn paw off my head, you’ll be beating-off left-handed for the rest of your life.”
Harmon snickered as he sat down. “What’s been going on since I left?”
“Nothing much. We’ve still got the same fucked-up captain, the same fucked-up gunny, and the word is we’re gonna get a new lieutenant; and chances are he’ll be just as fucked-up as the rest of them.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. How was Japan?”
“Great. If I hadn’t run outa coins, I woulda went AWOL and stayed another week.”
“Yeah, I was gonna go there on my second R and R — went to Australia on my first — but I’m getting so short now I don’t wanna waste the money. Anything I don’t spend on whores, I’ll spend on a car when I get back to the world.”
“I know what you mean. The first day I was there I went ape-shit trying to fuck everything in sight — blew about two hundred dollars. But I finally found one I dug, so I stayed with her the rest of the time. Did a lot of sightseeing.”
“Catch the siff?”
“Don’t know yet. We’ll see in a couple of days.” Harmon rose to his feet. “I’m gonna ditch this pack and crash for a while. Don’t let anybody wake me up.”
“Yeah. . . . Hey listen, if you don’t have lines tonight, I know where we can hear some records and drink a few beers.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you later.”
The sergeant started to put his rifle back together when he saw two pairs of new boots walking towards the steps. Not looking up, he thought, ‘Here comes some more boot motherfuckers wantin’ a chance to get their heads blown off.’
The two new men stopped in front of him and Graham asked, “Do you know where we can find Sergeant Hunky?”
“Sergeant Hunky, my ass, you dumb cocksueker.” Graham took a step backward and started to speak. Before he could get a word out, the sergeant asked through a set of tightly clenched teeth, “Who told you to say that, that sonofabitch Martin?”
“The company gunnery sergeant, sir,” Graham stammered.
“That’s Martin, stupid. Let me tell you something right off the bat, pal. Anytime you do something that bastard tells you, you got a damn good chance of getting your ass blown away; and around here your chances of going home in a box are pretty good regardless.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Since when do you say ‘sir’ to a sergeant? You’re not in boot camp any more. My name is Kovacs, Sergeant Kovacs. . . . You both grunts, riflemen?”
Chalice nodded his head and Graham answered, “Yes, sir.”
“You aren’t too bright, are you? What’s your name?”
“Private Graham.”
“And yours?”
“Lance Corporal Chalice.”
“Chalice, you’ll be in Alpha Squad. Find Corporal Harmon, but don’t wake him up if he’s asleep. Graham, you’ll be in Bravo. Sugar Bear’s your squad leader. He’s around somewhere. You can drop your gear in the hootch. It belongs to our platoon. I guess that wino told you you’re in Second Platoon.”
Chalice and Graham walked up the steps and into the hootch. A narrow aisle ran down its center. The rest of the room was taken up by two rows of cots covered with packs, rifles, and other equipment. As Graham stopped to take his pack off, he said, “That guy’s a real bastard. I’m staying away from him.”
Chalice kept walking towards the far end of the hootch where Harmon was sitting. “I’m in your squad.”
“Glad to have you. Make room on one of the racks to drop your shit.” Chalice hesitated, saying, “I don’t want anybody to get pissed off because I’ve got my gear on their rack. Where can I get my own?”
An amused look ran across Harmon’s face. “Nobody sleeps on these racks. We’ve got to sleep in the bunkers where we stand watch. . . . How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“How’d you keep out of the service so long?”
“I was in
Harmon snickered as he sat down. “What’s been going on since I left?”
“Nothing much. We’ve still got the same fucked-up captain, the same fucked-up gunny, and the word is we’re gonna get a new lieutenant; and chances are he’ll be just as fucked-up as the rest of them.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. How was Japan?”
“Great. If I hadn’t run outa coins, I woulda went AWOL and stayed another week.”
“Yeah, I was gonna go there on my second R and R — went to Australia on my first — but I’m getting so short now I don’t wanna waste the money. Anything I don’t spend on whores, I’ll spend on a car when I get back to the world.”
“I know what you mean. The first day I was there I went ape-shit trying to fuck everything in sight — blew about two hundred dollars. But I finally found one I dug, so I stayed with her the rest of the time. Did a lot of sightseeing.”
“Catch the siff?”
“Don’t know yet. We’ll see in a couple of days.” Harmon rose to his feet. “I’m gonna ditch this pack and crash for a while. Don’t let anybody wake me up.”
“Yeah. . . . Hey listen, if you don’t have lines tonight, I know where we can hear some records and drink a few beers.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you later.”
The sergeant started to put his rifle back together when he saw two pairs of new boots walking towards the steps. Not looking up, he thought, ‘Here comes some more boot motherfuckers wantin’ a chance to get their heads blown off.’
The two new men stopped in front of him and Graham asked, “Do you know where we can find Sergeant Hunky?”
“Sergeant Hunky, my ass, you dumb cocksueker.” Graham took a step backward and started to speak. Before he could get a word out, the sergeant asked through a set of tightly clenched teeth, “Who told you to say that, that sonofabitch Martin?”
“The company gunnery sergeant, sir,” Graham stammered.
“That’s Martin, stupid. Let me tell you something right off the bat, pal. Anytime you do something that bastard tells you, you got a damn good chance of getting your ass blown away; and around here your chances of going home in a box are pretty good regardless.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Since when do you say ‘sir’ to a sergeant? You’re not in boot camp any more. My name is Kovacs, Sergeant Kovacs. . . . You both grunts, riflemen?”
Chalice nodded his head and Graham answered, “Yes, sir.”
“You aren’t too bright, are you? What’s your name?”
“Private Graham.”
“And yours?”
“Lance Corporal Chalice.”
“Chalice, you’ll be in Alpha Squad. Find Corporal Harmon, but don’t wake him up if he’s asleep. Graham, you’ll be in Bravo. Sugar Bear’s your squad leader. He’s around somewhere. You can drop your gear in the hootch. It belongs to our platoon. I guess that wino told you you’re in Second Platoon.”
Chalice and Graham walked up the steps and into the hootch. A narrow aisle ran down its center. The rest of the room was taken up by two rows of cots covered with packs, rifles, and other equipment. As Graham stopped to take his pack off, he said, “That guy’s a real bastard. I’m staying away from him.”
Chalice kept walking towards the far end of the hootch where Harmon was sitting. “I’m in your squad.”
“Glad to have you. Make room on one of the racks to drop your shit.” Chalice hesitated, saying, “I don’t want anybody to get pissed off because I’ve got my gear on their rack. Where can I get my own?”
An amused look ran across Harmon’s face. “Nobody sleeps on these racks. We’ve got to sleep in the bunkers where we stand watch. . . . How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“How’d you keep out of the service so long?”
“I was in