| General Fiction posted March 18, 2024 |
  |
... as they check out our wheels.
Draggin' Main
by Wayne Fowler
The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
“This ain’t war. This is driving around, draggin’ Main,” Private Thomas said, steering to the right.
“I remember draggin’ Main. Only we used 2nd and Third streets. We’d get to 2nd. It was a one-way goin’ south. Take it to McDonald’s at El Cerritos Avenue, circle through the drive-thru… They got to where they made you buy somethin’… Look at that woman at ten o’clock.” Sergeant Allman’s eyes darted, taking in as much as possible.
“Not sure that’s a woman Sarge. An’ she ain’t walkin’ right, holdin’ her arms like that.
“Why’s she even walkin’ this direction? Nothin’ behind us but the base. ‘Bout everything else between us and the base is rubble.”
“Don’t get near her. Turn right at the next and work to get behind her.”
“NOT THIS ONE,” the sergeant yelled to his driver, Private Glen Thomas. “That Fiat. I don’t like it. Back us outta here. NOW, Thomas!”
Boom! The blast picked up the front of the Humvee, flipping it onto its roof.
“This is bullshit,” Thomas said as he reached back into the vehicle in search of his weapon. “Bullshit. It’s whack-a-mole; and we’re the moles.”
Sergeant Allman was attempting to raise base command on his radio. Giving up, he used his cell phone. While punching numbers, he yelled at Thomas, “360!” Thomas knew to be alert to threats from every quadrant and accepted the unnecessary command to shut up and pay attention.
“Okay, let’s move. We’re ducks here.” Sergeant Allman turned back to the direction they’d come.”
“More like moles,” Thomas whined. “Base is closer that way,” he said, pointing to his left.
“I wanna check out that woman.”
Thomas grimaced, but walked abreast of his sergeant about ten yards apart, not having to be reminded of his training.
Bunched troops make for attractive targets, the enemy calculating that luck would assist their marksmanship.
“There she is, Sarge.”
Allman had already spotted her, her hands still not swinging as she walked, but hanging straight down along her sides almost two hundred yards away.
“Don’t look natural,” Thomas said unnecessarily. “Want me to pop her?”
Allman considered Thomas’s suggestion, knowing that he qualified as a sharpshooter and could easily manage the shot offhand.
“Two clicks crosswind,” Thomas said as his way of confirming his ability.
Allman looked to the citizenry about them. There weren’t very many, but those he saw were all frozen in place, watching them.
“We smoke an innocent and we buy the farm,” Allman said, meaning that they would be guilty of a war crime, should the woman not be strapped with explosives as they expected.
“They sending someone else to go get the Colonel, or are we getting another set a’ wheels?” Thomas asked.
“Right now, how ‘bout you worry about payin’ attention.” Allman didn’t know the answer to the question but preferred to avoid saying I don’t know – ever. Their Commanding Officer, Col. Hammond, would be landing at the airport soon. He liked for his ride to pick him up on the tarmac. He also preferred Allman to be his escort.
Thomas let out a string of curse words, heavily dosed with the Lord’s name, despite knowing that Allman discouraged such within his hearing.
“360!” Allman bellowed, his way of stifling the language.
“She’s in range of the guard shack, Sarge. They’re not givin’ her any orders.”
Sergeant Allman saw the same thing. The two guards whose job was to stop any and all threats to the base and its troops should have commanded that she stop and turn around. They knew enough of the language. He remembered who was on duty as they passed through mere moments past – Corporal Ingersoll and a new replacement, someone Allman had never seen before. Allman knew that Ingersoll had already been admonished more than once about spending too much time on his cell phone.
“That newbie don’t know his…”
“Drop her!” Sergeant Allman ordered as he assumed guard responsibility of their surroundings. He didn’t need to see the shot.
Ke-rack. The shot wasn’t loud, but it was effective.
“Double time,” Allman ordered as he began running toward the downed woman, hoping the private alerted Ingersoll, and that they recognized himself and Thomas as friendlies. Too many troops were killed by fear and adrenaline.
It was a woman, not a man dressed in a woman’s attire. But she was not strapped up with explosives. She was, though, carrying a Russian-made hand grenade that appeared to be of the 70s or 80s vintage.
“If martyr men get seventy virgins, do the women get 70 men?” Private Thomas asked as Allman briefly checked the woman’s body for more than the grenade laying nearby.
“Nice shot,” Allman said, reluctant to commend a man for shooting a civilian to death, but knowing that the private needed assurance that he’d done the right thing. Also, it was a good shot, taking off most of the left side of her head. A shot to her torso, center mass, might have triggered explosives, had she been carrying them.
No civilians approached them, Allman and Thomas staying with the corpse. The civilians, about twenty men of varying ages, wandered toward them, but remained about eighty yards distant. Communication with the guards confirmed that an ambulance was on its way.
“A wrecker and two Humvees,” Thomas said, informing Allman of the small parade of vehicles leaving the base compound.
“360,” Allman commanded, ordering Thomas to pay more attention to the civilians than to the base.
“Your Jeep, Sarge,” a private said, exiting the vehicle. Everyone knew that the Humvee was not a Jeep, but the Second World War term stuck. “Just like dragging Main,” The driver said, smiling as he surrendered the vehicle.
Once on their way to the airport, thinking he would get under Allman’s skin, a favorite pastime among the troops, Thomas attempted to goad him – “So, it’s okay to pop heathens?”
Without even glancing at Thomas, Allman replied, ignoring the taunt. “She’s not an unbeliever anymore. She knows the truth.”
After a moment, Thomas repeated the remark, “Just like draggin’ Main. We slow down to check out the babes while they check out our wheels.” His tone belied his studying the civilian population along their route. “This ain’t war.”
It was a few minutes more that Thomas looked to his sergeant, “She knows the truth, huh?”
War writing prompt entry
“This ain’t war. This is driving around, draggin’ Main,” Private Thomas said, steering to the right.
“I remember draggin’ Main. Only we used 2nd and Third streets. We’d get to 2nd. It was a one-way goin’ south. Take it to McDonald’s at El Cerritos Avenue, circle through the drive-thru… They got to where they made you buy somethin’… Look at that woman at ten o’clock.” Sergeant Allman’s eyes darted, taking in as much as possible.
“Not sure that’s a woman Sarge. An’ she ain’t walkin’ right, holdin’ her arms like that.
“Why’s she even walkin’ this direction? Nothin’ behind us but the base. ‘Bout everything else between us and the base is rubble.”
“Don’t get near her. Turn right at the next and work to get behind her.”
“NOT THIS ONE,” the sergeant yelled to his driver, Private Glen Thomas. “That Fiat. I don’t like it. Back us outta here. NOW, Thomas!”
Boom! The blast picked up the front of the Humvee, flipping it onto its roof.
“This is bullshit,” Thomas said as he reached back into the vehicle in search of his weapon. “Bullshit. It’s whack-a-mole; and we’re the moles.”
Sergeant Allman was attempting to raise base command on his radio. Giving up, he used his cell phone. While punching numbers, he yelled at Thomas, “360!” Thomas knew to be alert to threats from every quadrant and accepted the unnecessary command to shut up and pay attention.
“Okay, let’s move. We’re ducks here.” Sergeant Allman turned back to the direction they’d come.”
“More like moles,” Thomas whined. “Base is closer that way,” he said, pointing to his left.
“I wanna check out that woman.”
Thomas grimaced, but walked abreast of his sergeant about ten yards apart, not having to be reminded of his training.
Bunched troops make for attractive targets, the enemy calculating that luck would assist their marksmanship.
“There she is, Sarge.”
Allman had already spotted her, her hands still not swinging as she walked, but hanging straight down along her sides almost two hundred yards away.
“Don’t look natural,” Thomas said unnecessarily. “Want me to pop her?”
Allman considered Thomas’s suggestion, knowing that he qualified as a sharpshooter and could easily manage the shot offhand.
“Two clicks crosswind,” Thomas said as his way of confirming his ability.
Allman looked to the citizenry about them. There weren’t very many, but those he saw were all frozen in place, watching them.
“We smoke an innocent and we buy the farm,” Allman said, meaning that they would be guilty of a war crime, should the woman not be strapped with explosives as they expected.
“They sending someone else to go get the Colonel, or are we getting another set a’ wheels?” Thomas asked.
“Right now, how ‘bout you worry about payin’ attention.” Allman didn’t know the answer to the question but preferred to avoid saying I don’t know – ever. Their Commanding Officer, Col. Hammond, would be landing at the airport soon. He liked for his ride to pick him up on the tarmac. He also preferred Allman to be his escort.
Thomas let out a string of curse words, heavily dosed with the Lord’s name, despite knowing that Allman discouraged such within his hearing.
“360!” Allman bellowed, his way of stifling the language.
“She’s in range of the guard shack, Sarge. They’re not givin’ her any orders.”
Sergeant Allman saw the same thing. The two guards whose job was to stop any and all threats to the base and its troops should have commanded that she stop and turn around. They knew enough of the language. He remembered who was on duty as they passed through mere moments past – Corporal Ingersoll and a new replacement, someone Allman had never seen before. Allman knew that Ingersoll had already been admonished more than once about spending too much time on his cell phone.
“That newbie don’t know his…”
“Drop her!” Sergeant Allman ordered as he assumed guard responsibility of their surroundings. He didn’t need to see the shot.
Ke-rack. The shot wasn’t loud, but it was effective.
“Double time,” Allman ordered as he began running toward the downed woman, hoping the private alerted Ingersoll, and that they recognized himself and Thomas as friendlies. Too many troops were killed by fear and adrenaline.
It was a woman, not a man dressed in a woman’s attire. But she was not strapped up with explosives. She was, though, carrying a Russian-made hand grenade that appeared to be of the 70s or 80s vintage.
“If martyr men get seventy virgins, do the women get 70 men?” Private Thomas asked as Allman briefly checked the woman’s body for more than the grenade laying nearby.
“Nice shot,” Allman said, reluctant to commend a man for shooting a civilian to death, but knowing that the private needed assurance that he’d done the right thing. Also, it was a good shot, taking off most of the left side of her head. A shot to her torso, center mass, might have triggered explosives, had she been carrying them.
No civilians approached them, Allman and Thomas staying with the corpse. The civilians, about twenty men of varying ages, wandered toward them, but remained about eighty yards distant. Communication with the guards confirmed that an ambulance was on its way.
“A wrecker and two Humvees,” Thomas said, informing Allman of the small parade of vehicles leaving the base compound.
“360,” Allman commanded, ordering Thomas to pay more attention to the civilians than to the base.
“Your Jeep, Sarge,” a private said, exiting the vehicle. Everyone knew that the Humvee was not a Jeep, but the Second World War term stuck. “Just like dragging Main,” The driver said, smiling as he surrendered the vehicle.
Once on their way to the airport, thinking he would get under Allman’s skin, a favorite pastime among the troops, Thomas attempted to goad him – “So, it’s okay to pop heathens?”
Without even glancing at Thomas, Allman replied, ignoring the taunt. “She’s not an unbeliever anymore. She knows the truth.”
After a moment, Thomas repeated the remark, “Just like draggin’ Main. We slow down to check out the babes while they check out our wheels.” His tone belied his studying the civilian population along their route. “This ain’t war.”
It was a few minutes more that Thomas looked to his sergeant, “She knows the truth, huh?”
|
Writing Prompt Write a story where a character is in war or is about to be in war. Fiction or non-fiction. |
photo courtesy istockphoto
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. 
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2024. Wayne Fowler All rights reserved.
Wayne Fowler has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
