One day

Wednesday, 02 September, Year 12 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu

"Feed me! God fucking damn it all..."
"We're out."
"We're..."
"Out."
"We're gonna die here."
"As good a place as any, sargeant."
"Yes, sir."
"Out of band ? Or just... everything ?"
"Band, sir. There's grenades. Anti-tank. And some thrower fuel too, sir!"
"Get ready. We're moving."
"Sir ?"
"Look, there's the line. Between that molehill and the treeline. See it ?"
"That minefield down there ?!"
"Yep, looks just like where they'd have some cake laid up."
"Either of you two particularly decided on this spot, right here ?"
"No sir."
"Then get going."

"Yups, capn's got a right prime spot picked down there, can't beef 'im for it. All it's missing's my mother in law."
"He has a point, though. We've been laying fire from right here since before dawn. They'll start calling in artillery soon, if nothing else."
"Plenty else."
"Charge ?"
"For sure, motorized, the whole show. Otherwise they'd have been shelling it by now."
"That's a point."
"They say blow-up's the best way to go. Gone before you know it."
"If it's anti-tank. If it's infantry..."
"Those are illegal. Geneva Contention."
"Yeah. Right."

"Order! Move out!"
"Sir ? Encrypted line."
"Give here." "Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Yes, sir!" "Boys... we're moving right into the fifth."
"The fifth... what ?! Regiment ?"
"What the hell's that ?!"
"The fifth shithole."
"Fifth army. They broke through. Gutted all the batteries across and down South. More prisoners than they could truck."
"Holy cow..."
"Y...yiiiip-eee!"
"That's why no shelling all day then."
"It's a complete collapse on the whole wing, at least thirty mile gap. And it started... here."
"You don't say."
"Colonel was tearing up. He said this call getting picked up made his day. Everyone's getting medals for this."
"Too bad there's only the nine of us left, huh."
"Don't worry Branches, they'll give you a twofer, special."
"Get going. No rush, nice and steady does it. Six apart, and no stepping on any hairs now, you hear me ?"
"Yes, sir!"

"Tank."
"What the fuck..."
"Confirmed. Jumbo seven. Locked and ready sir."
"If we fire they return. There's just no fucking way..."
"Full complement, six platoons. They might even have half of that."
"There's no way..."
"At least we take out a jay."
"Fuck that."
"Why's it cold, corporal ?"
"I don't know, sir."
"You got a reading ?"
"It's cold, sir."
"Maybe it just didn't fucking move."
"All day long ?! No fucking way, with the shit they're in ?"
"Maybe they left it behind."
"That'd be a show."
"Bronx, Branches, that way. Mick. Alpie. Stacker. Other way. Check it out."
"Moving out."

"Holy cow."
"Tank mosly fulla gas, too. This baby's ready to go."
"You actually capable of driving this thing ? No bullshit."
"Sir yes sir. Fully qualified, grade 2W+."
"Alright, everyone climb up. We're getting back in style."
"All for the best, my feet are killing me."
"Make sure that drapery stays on. I mean it, eyes on it at all times."
"Yes sir."
"Last fucking thing we need is being blown up by our own, now."
"Yes, sir."

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte
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2 Responses

  1. [...] a day starts at about 4:30 in the AM for me -- that's right, 430 hours, like we're at war or something -- but even earlier for the chicks. They have to load up the car and things, you see, [...]

  2. [...] still fucking exists past Thu, 17 Dec 2015, and "Aurelien" wasn't buried in the trenches right in front of it, so what fucking gives [...]

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