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07:28, 19th March 2024 (GMT+0)

14 June 2000.

Posted by Niewiele DupekFor group 0
Niewiele Dupek
GM, 59 posts
Thu 13 Dec 2012
at 16:32
  • msg #1

14 June 2000

14 June 2000

10km W of Chojnice, Poland

Company Area, B Co, 1-40 Amd

It was about 4:30 in the afternoon; the hottest part of the day. The four men sat around the small folding table playing cards. There were long, wooden tables, with bench seats all around them in the twenty-man tent currently serving as Bravo Company's E-Club. However this was a card game for money, and so in order to 'encourage a more gentlemanly attitude', according to Watkins (which Foster said was fancy talk for 'no cheating'), the men played cards on the fold-away.

Beside them at the closest wooden table, two men were fooling with a radio/tape deck they had just purchased from the PX. Of course, the 'Post eXchange' was really just another 20-man tent up across the 5m space for soldiers to walk through, but it had what they needed...sometimes.

"Dude, you're wrecking it" said one of the men. He was lower ranking enlisted, and he had his BDU top off to beat the sweltering summer heat. Only the fact that he was part of the tight-knit group did the others know him as Pv2 Cody Smith.

"Cut the shit" the other man said. "I'm just cutting the box, not the radio. Calm down."

"Stevens, if you and your boyfriend can't keep it down, you can get the fuck out!" one of the men said from the table. It was Pfc Foster, a tall street tough from Boston. He was a communications expert by trade, but right now, he was working on three of a kind.

"Ok" Stevens said sheepishly as he sat next to Smith. A 'Club Kid' from Tampa, Florida, he hadn't been part of the group long, and he knew his place. He was only here because his friend Smitty invited him. Both were from warm places and had similar suburban upbringing. Their friendship was only natural.

"Foster, you're such a dick" Sergeant Dan Watkins said, a black Army-issue Stetson on his head. He wasn't a Cav trooper, but won it from one years ago playing Spades. After what he heard had happened to its previous owner, the hat was better off with him anyway.

"Yeah you are what you eat" Roger Watkins said, sitting next to his older brother Dan. Both Watkins brothers were in Bradleys: the older a track commander and the younger was a dismount increment leader, although due to some paperwork BS they served in different companies.

"Fuck you country cowboy horse dick sucking motherfuckers!" the northerner Foster said quickly in one breath. His big smile showed he was used to taking shit from the Watkins brothers.

"Ouch, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Dan asked, not looking up from his cards.

"I kiss his mother with this mouth" Roger said, closing his eyes and making ridiculous 'kissy' faces with his lips.

"Gentlemen, I hate to take away from the highly intellectual conversation" the fourth man sitting at the table said, "But it's time to open the pot." Chris Brown was a Specialist and was originally from Kansas. He kept telling everybody, but everyone told him they didn't care.

"Brown, open your mouth, I've got to piss" Mike Foster said, studying his cards.

Chris Brown put his cards down in front of him at the table and looked long and hard at Foster, who was smirking as he held his cards.

"Remind me why I keep coming in here?" Brown said, looking at the Watkins brothers.

"Free beer" Dan Watkins said, looking over his cards.

"Oh yeah" Brown said, going back to his cards. "Free beer."

"Brown" Foster mocked with a snort. "Shit...fucking lying-ass motherfucker."

"What now?" Brown said, slamming his cards face down on the table again.

"Can't trust some motherfucker named Brown when he's white as the fucking snow" Foster mocked. He switched the cards around in his hand.

"Hey asshole" Chris lectured, who just wanted to play some damn cards once without listening to Foster's bull. "Better to be named Brown and be white than to be named White and be brown, right?"

"Amen to that" Dan Watkins said. His brother nodded in agreement.

"Could you two fellas turn that down a bit?" Foster asked Smith and Stevens respectfully in a falsetto voice. He turned to the older Watkins and gave him a questioning look. "Better?"

"Much" Dan Watkins said, smirking.

 The two young soldiers got the radio working and a tape of Pantera's Five Minutes Alone was playing at high volume.

"Right away" Pvt Stevens answered Pfc Foster.

"Son, you touch that volume knob, I'll cut your dick off" Dan Watkins said looking at Stevens. Jeff Stevens gulped. It wasn't the way he said it, it was the large Jim Bowie knife hanging from his belt that made the young Private suddenly much less intimated by Foster.

"Sorry bud" the older Watkins appologized to the man from Boston. "I love this song."

"Oh shit" Brown muttered, looking at the far end of the tent. A flap had opened up, and six black soldiers came in to the E Club. Dan Watkins stood up and went to the bar.

"Bar's closed, fellas" Foster said, looking at the men but not getting up.

The biggest black soldier, a man with 'Williams' on his BDU top, had a big afro and an intent look in his eyes.

"What?!" Spc Williams said, looking at Foster. "Light's on, music's playin'...looks open to me."

"Shit...dog, if you call that, that, that noise music" said a thin black soldier with 'Taylor' on his BDU top. He looked at Stevens and Smith in an attempt to make sure they knew they were being insulted. "Which I don't."

Dan Watkins came out from behind the bar, with his right hand behind his back. He stood next to the white soldiers, coming no closer to the six men who had just come in. Chris Brown tensed, expecting what was about to happen was going to be another painful bar-room brawl.

"Hey!" Watkins shouted at the six black men. "He said the bar's closed!"

"Yo! Who the fuck..." a young, tall, hotheaded tall thin black soldier said, stepping forward towards Watkins, like he was going to do something. His skin was lighter than Taylor's, but he was just as slender.

Williams turned around, and planted an open hand on the man's chest. The man stopped him in mid sentence, and he looked at Williams for an explanation.

"Hold up, Brother Taylor" Williams said, looking at the young Private. He turned back slowly towards the white soldiers with dramatic effect. He looked at all of them individually in turn, then back to Dan Watkins, still standing with his hand behind his back.

Williams smiled, and held up his hands with his fingers outstretched like he was palming a pair of basketballs. After a few seconds, he put them down, and dropped his smile as quickly as it came on.

"You fellas enjoy your card game" Williams said. He stared long and hard at the standing Watkins. After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, he motioned for the others to follow him. Turning, he headed back out the tent the same way they came in. The other 5 men followed him, and the altercation was over as quickly as it started.

"Ah, Christ, don't tell you me you were about to shoot 'em?" Brown whined. "I'm too short for this shit."

"You betcha" Dan Watkins said, and he pulled his right hand from his back. It was empty, and his hand was formed into a 'gun'...two fingers straight, thumb pointed skyward like a child without a toy who still wanted to play 'Cowboys and Indians' with his friends.

The other five men started laughing hysterically, and even Dan began to chuckle with them as they went into fits of laughter.

***

"How the fuck you gonna let them punk you like dat, dog?" Pvt Taylor asked Spc Williams as the six men got back to their tent. One of the men switched on Tupac, who started railing against the Illuminati.

Williams knew Watkins and knew the rumors of what he did to those East German soldiers when the Division was in Germany. Telling the others about it would make him lose face, so he chose a different route.

"Hear that, Brother Taylor?" Spc Williams asked, pointing a muscled arm at the radio. "Brother Tupac's laying it down. Crackers got the whole world at their fingertips."

"All I know, somethin's gotta give" Pfc Johnson said, laying down on his cot. He was older than Williams and had a shaved head. He shook his head as he thought about that White Bread that called himself Watkins. "That honky motherfucker's gotta go."

"Oh, he'll go" Williams said, staring at the others. "And when he does, I'll be there."

"All I know is, Uncle Tom muthafukas like that silly dark-skinned bitch ain't helpin' nuffin" Taylor said, nodding towards the end of the tent. Marcus Robinson lay in his cot reading Mein Kampf. Marcus neither said nothing nor looked at the other black men. He did wrinkle his nose, and his Army-issue glasses moved on his face as he did so.

"Who?" Williams said, turning his big head to look where Taylor indicated. "Brother Marcus? He's cool. Cat's from Chi town like me. You got a problem with Chi-town, Taylor?"

Taylor, obviously caught off guard, changed the subject, and the men started talking about something else.

***

"Emilio, what the fuck are you lookin' at, Holmes?" Spc Garcia asked Emilio Ramirez.

"A bunch of Gatos Negros just walked back from the E Club" Ramirez said. He was standing close to the flap of the tent keeping a lookout while his friend Amoldo Garcia smoked weed. "I wonder if it's open."

"Fuck that" Garcia offered, packing his bong. He lit it with a wooden match, and  took a huge hit.

"Yo! Give me some of that shit" Ramirez said, moving away from the tent flap towards where Garcia's bunk was a few cots down from the tent's 'door'.

"You greasers get as much of that shit while you still can" Pfc Torres said, reading a book. "Division's moving out in a week."

Born in the United States, Fernando Torres's parents were from Brasil. Even though the white and black soldiers thought he was just the same as Ramirez and Garcia, considered himself better than the other soldiers of Hispanic decent he shared a tent with. "Division's moving out in a week."

"How you know that Blanco?" Garcia asked.

"Well I work in Headquarters you idiots" Torres snorted. "If anybody would know it would be me."

"Full of shit, yo" Ramirez confirmed.

"Naw, man, he's on the level, Vato" Garcia said, squinting as he argued with Ramirez. "He knew we were leaving Germany. I just thought that bitch was psychic or some shit."

Emilio considered this while Amoldo giggled to himself at his own joke. Realizing that this might be his last chance to get high, he took the bag of weed he just bought a few minutes earlier from Garcia and put it in his BDU pants pocket.

"Fuck THAT, I'm taking this shit with me!" Ramirez confirmed.

"Not if you don't pay me for it first, puto!" Garcia said, squinting but not laughing.

***
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:37, Mon 21 Jan 2013.
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