propose to change our money now?â
From above us we hear a voice: âYou three.â We look up, and I feel nothing but dismay as I recognise the face of the lieutenant colonel leaning over the balcony.
âYessir?â
âYou change your money at the post office on the beach. Follow the road out of town.â
âThank you, sir,â mutters Rogers weakly.
THE post office sits squat and silvery in the small hollow between the beach and the road to Vung Tau.
âGone to Lunch. Back at Two,â Harry reads aloud, peering at the sign on the door.
We sit on the concrete verandah and lean against the door.
âWhatâs the time now?â
âOne fifty-five,â I answered.
âFive minutes. Not long,â says Rogers.
âBest count our dough and weâll give it all in at once, eh?â I offer.
âYeah, probably save time. Thatâs if this post office pooftah turns up on time.â
âThink Iâll have a piss,â observes Rogers, getting up and walking around to the side of the building.
âJesus, have a look at this.â
âWhat?â yells Harry.
âAir conditioning. These bastards have got air conditioning. Well, Iâll be buggered.â Rogers slumps down besides Harry again, muttering. âAir conditioning. Bloody air conditioning.â
âShit,â says Harry, âmust be a rough war down here, eh?â
âI can hear the news flash now,â says Rogers, âarmed forces radio news, da-da. Vung Tau, today. Six post office workers at the Australian Logistics base at Vung Tau died from heat exhaustion when the air conditioning failed in the early hours of this morning. Two more were reported to be in a critical condition after hearing that the ice for the beer hadnât arrived.â
âYou blokes want something?â This remark from a weedy looking corporal with glasses breaks the spell.
âYeah mate,â says Harry, getting to his feet, âis this where we change our money?â
âYouâll have to go to the other end of the hut for that. And the rankâs corporal, not mate, soldier.â
âAw Jesus no,â says Rogers, ânot two in one day.â
âThe other end of the hut you say, eh corporal?â
âThatâs right, soldier.â
âThanks, corporal.â
âPimple-faced bastard,â mutters Harry.
We are almost around the corner when it happens again.
âHey soldier!â
What bloody now? I think.
âWhereâs your web belt?â
âDonât own one, corporal,â I answer.
âDonât you know that ROs state that web belts, black, will be worn when on leave in the Vung Tau area?â
âNo, corporal,â I answer.
âWell, I suggest that you acquaint yourself with routine orders quick smart. And get yourself a web belt.â
âCan I have a word with you, corporal?â asks Harry, walking back towards the weed.
âOh Jesus no,â mutters Rogers with a dismayed look.
Harry speaks quietly with the corporal for about thirty seconds, then he and the corporal come towards me. The corporal extends his hand.
âSorry mate, I didnât know. Have a good leave.â
âEr, thanks, er corporal,â I stammer in amazement.
âWhat the Christ did you say to him?â I ask Harry, while we walk towards the other end of the hut.
âI told him you were a nutcase and that the last time anyone gave you a hard time you tried to strangle him.â
âYou said I was a nutcase? You great prick!â
âIt got you out of the shit, didnât it?â
âI sâpose so,â I answered with resignation.
âDonât hit me, oh please donât hit me,â says Rogers, backing away from me with tears of laughter in his eyes.
âJesus, out of all the bastards in the Task Force, how did I land you two?â I grinned at both of them. They grinned back at me.
Learning to Kill: Stories