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Alms for the Dying; Collected Short Stories: 1991-1992
Run
Chapter 1 Page 5
Alms for the Dying; Collected Short Stories: 1991-1992
Run
Chapter 1 Page 5
"He said it don't work so well with bullets. But it works okay with the big stuff, you know, mortars, artillery, cannon," Sarge took another drag, the crimson glow of dawn reflected in his eyes. He exhaled as he spoke, "The old guy swears that once, when their trenches were under artillery attack, he heard a round falling into their position. You know the sound a falling artillery round makes, kind of a wailing sound, like those fat opera ladies singing. Well this guy, Peebles was his name, he heard that round fallin' and he just knew it was going to tear him a new asshole, know what I mean?"
Several of the men nodded. The bow of the APC crested a wave, jolting the men inside its armored belly so they swayed in unison.
"So he starts runnin' fit to beat the devil, itself. Just running, and dropping his gear as he went." Sarge smiled, embellishing, "I mean he threw his rifle down, ripped off his pack, unbuckled his web gear, and he probably even stripped off his shoes, I'll bet, running. Just running to get outta the way of that shell.
"That's when he says it happened," finished the sergeant, taking a final pull on the cigarette, then flipping it out into the water. Corporal Taylor watched the butt twist in the air, trailing a dim plume of smoke. It looked like a plane being shot down. The butt sizzled into a passing wave.
"When what happened?" prompted Taylor. He felt like the straight man in one of those old Vaudevillian comedy acts.
Several of the men nodded. The bow of the APC crested a wave, jolting the men inside its armored belly so they swayed in unison.
"So he starts runnin' fit to beat the devil, itself. Just running, and dropping his gear as he went." Sarge smiled, embellishing, "I mean he threw his rifle down, ripped off his pack, unbuckled his web gear, and he probably even stripped off his shoes, I'll bet, running. Just running to get outta the way of that shell.
"That's when he says it happened," finished the sergeant, taking a final pull on the cigarette, then flipping it out into the water. Corporal Taylor watched the butt twist in the air, trailing a dim plume of smoke. It looked like a plane being shot down. The butt sizzled into a passing wave.
"When what happened?" prompted Taylor. He felt like the straight man in one of those old Vaudevillian comedy acts.
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