The Odd Angry Shot by William Nagle Read Free Book Online Page B

door.
    â€˜We get cab, we go to my house and have fun. I make you happy.’
    We ride down the main street, past the flags, past the market. How simple, I think, no pretence here. No please where are you taking me tonight or what sort of car do you drive or where did you go to school. Just sex—alien sex without the trappings.
    We sit on the edge of her bed. I feel ungainly. My boots, worn down at the heels, stare at me from the floor. The black shoulder holster illegally worn under my shirt, sweat stains in white salty patches on the leather.
    â€˜I like you,’ she says, ‘one thousand pee short time, you pay now?’
    â€˜I’ve got nothing but time,’ I reply and peel off two thousand five hundred.
    HARRY sits on the sandbags, taking five-round clips from the cotton bandolier.
    â€˜Three months to go.’
    â€˜Three months to go where?’ I ask stupidly. My face is buried in the pillow.
    â€˜Three months and our time’s up. All you have to do is stay alive for the next three months, and home you go.’
    â€˜Anyone want some mail?’ asks Rogers, coming in and sitting on my stretcher.
    â€˜Any for me?’ I ask hopefully.
    â€˜Yeah, one. One for you too, Harry.’
    â€˜Thanks.’
    Tear envelope as per instructions:
    My Darling
Just a short note to let you know…
    I recognise the handwriting. Thanks a million.
    â€˜Not a bad average is it, eh?’
    â€˜What,’ says Harry, ‘don’t tell me she’s finally written?’
    â€˜You wouldn’t credit it, would you. After nine months, one letter,’ I answer.
    I don’t even bother to read any further.
    â€˜Anyone going near the orderly room?’ I ask.
    â€˜In about five minutes. Why?’ says Harry.
    â€˜Do me a favour and pin this on the notice board, will you?’
    â€˜Ain’t love grand?’ laughs Rogers from behind his letter.
    THE dry season has arrived. Nothing rots now. In place of the green mould there is a layer of fine red dust, churned up by the never ceasing traffic. Trucks, APCs, choppers, land rovers and feet. It mixes into a fine paste as it settles on the sweat-stained, faded clothes that we all wear. Red dust is fast becoming the colour of the Task Force coat of arms. Tinea and body odour on a field of red dust rising.
    Most of us have ringworm or ringtinea as it’s more correctly termed. You wash it ten times a day if you can, then you start to sweat and it starts to itch again, so you wash it again and so on and on.
    â€˜Watcha doing?’ I ask.
    â€˜I’m making a present,’ says Rogers.
    â€˜Who for?’
    â€˜The padre.’
    The padre appears now and again, come to spread the good word and save all our souls. Your ticket to Valhalla is a padre, oh Viking warrior.
    â€˜Why?’ I ask, leaning over his shoulder.
    Rogers turns and faces me. ‘Well, the last time he came around, he asked Harry and me why we never came to church, and super-mouth Harry, instead of coming out and saying we thought it was all bullshit…’
    â€˜Where was I?’ I interrupt.
    â€˜You disappeared somewhere. You know you’d do anything to avoid the padre and his bloody free jubes. Why does he always give out jubes? If he really had our welfare at heart, he’d arrive with a case of scotch and a harlot under each arm.’
    â€˜Right,’ I laugh.
    â€˜Too bloody right,’ says Rogers, ‘it’d go a bloody damn sight further than bless you and jubes, I can tell you now.’
    â€˜Anyway, go on.’
    â€˜Well, like I said, instead of coming out and telling him that we don’t give two stuffs for his church, Harry says that we’ve been spending time making something for his chapel.’
    â€˜He’s got a chapel?’ I ask in amazement. ‘Here?’
    â€˜Too right,’ answers Rogers, ‘the engineers built it for him.’
    â€˜I’ll be stuffed. So anyway,