In From The Jungle

 
     Will saw it first...Motionless in the shadows across the room. “Well, well, what have we got here?"
A figure sat behind a far corner table. His gaze passed through them.
"Must be we got company. Might have been here all along.”
Six Bud empties, a tumbler half full of whiskey, no ice, and butts were spread out across the surface of his table.
A closer look revealed a soldier with his back against the wall and one boot on a chair.  His shoulder-length blond hair and untrimmed beard let them know he'd been out there for some time. 
A floppy jungle hat hung against his back from a string around his neck. His loosely fitting fatigues had no unit patches and been worn too long.
Ken took the lead. “Who you with, soldier?”
The response came without emotion. “Mine" as the soldier lifted the tumbler of whiskey and bottomed it out. 
He then spoke real low, at his own pace. “Jungle west a here," followed by anger. "Told you, my own!
"So how long you been calling your own?”
“Can’t say. Been years, I guess. Wha’s the date?"
Rye let him have it. "It's the twenty-fourth of September.
"Now, glaring at them, “More, give me more!”
Will continued. “Welcome to 1967.”
"Gotta be..." He waived his hand to order more from the Viet barkeep. "Gotta be...somethin' like four”

     

No comments:

Post a Comment