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It?s Friday night and the witching hour is at hand. I have no wheels and I?m stuck on an army base. I?m sitting at a table in the NCO club surrounded by 5 colleagues. The place is dark. Even during the day, the dive is somber and gloomy.
I finished my basic training not too long ago and am now on 6 month course to become a company clerk, like Radar of MASH fame. Although, I am not likely be posted to a medical unit after I complete my trade course. Maybe I?ll be sent to an infantry battalion as a combat clerk"
I?m drinking, but I?m not drunk. I?m dead tired, but not sleepy.
We are all privates, except for a corporal. He decided to change careers and become an administrative clerk, so he is in our class. He is married and is crying in his beer. “I miss my wife” and so on. He wants to go home for the weekend and invites us to come along with him. He?s the only one with a car. What he really needs is a driver because he knows he is in no condition to drive, yet he?s oblivious to the fact that we?ve all been drinking. I?m the first to oblige. The sergeant has been on my case all week. “Comb your hair!” “Do this!” “Do that!” I badly want to get away from the joint, if only for a couple of days.
Six spit-and-polish(ed) soldiers, (well make that five and one that is so-so, according to my sergeant), climb in a Ford Custom. We should really be turning in for the night. Thr...