Picnic Panic


 At the 1 of May, an International Labor Day, my friends and me have decided that, it would be a wonderful to make a picnic in a war zone. War was raging on in the distance, so we had no worries about sudden clash with the “rockies”. We set up two blocks and made fire under them, placed a metal panel that flew off the vehicle, few days past. Michael brought some spam and greens, while Roger fetched us some beer, smuggled it in front of a General Davis who was in patrol.

– I’m gonna end up with the shitiest job after this, and I mean, litteraly a shit, man. – he commented it with a wide smile.

Nearby hill  provided a good shade and sheller from interested eyes of a ranking officers, so we made camp there. Michael smashed the meat over metal, where the scent of it, drew eyes and sniffs of the regular soldiers to the sky in the base. I thought of their faces with a girly giggle, but the Roger shushed me in panic, hiding our presence from them.

Fire grew week, so the Michael automatically went for the bottle, forgetting that inside was a strong spirit. He threw the whole bottle in fire and gave it a wind, slowly bending down and blowing on it, when the plastic broke and its content spilled over flames. Fiery tongues licked his face with a passion, then it rose high, signaling a black smoke to base that something is going on there. We pulled him out of the flames and kicked sandy dirt in his face to shut the fire. He rolled left and right screaming his mother’s milk, when a fire brigade parked on the top of the hill. Michael stood up, his eyebrows burnt off, hair falling from his head like ash, stinking violently on scorched plastic.

We had a long laugh, rolling in the dirt like happy pigs, while his expression was catching breath. His red face and disoriented eyes roamed around the soldiers helping him rise and stand still, when General Davis came in pissed. He slapped him so hard, that his side changed color, then he repeated that onto us. I wasn’t bothered with a slap, as much as that yelling he gave with a broken voice. My heart was racing, fueling the panic thoughts of the punishment, lack of pay, new duties that nobody wanted, isolation. We just nodded and agreed to everything he said to us, then we went to our base to await for the punishment.

What we didn’t know at the time, it was, that the “rocky” scouts were searching for our base, and the smoke gave them our location. Now, I’m laughing at our little get away, and write this from a cave most of my platoon managed to hide in. Damn be the “rockies”.




5 thoughts on “Picnic Panic

  1. Pingback: Headless King | Dronstad

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