A Night on Guard Duty

approximately 840 words

A Night on Guard Duty
         A true story of the 109th Medical Battalion
         Iowa Army National Guard

         

         Bill swatted at the mosquitoes the size of Hueys that buzzed around his head. They said Minnesota was the Land of a Thousand Lakes, and apparently all them were breeding grounds for the pesky things. He longed for a cigarette, but in the darkness the glow would reveal his position. 

         His buddy Dave had suggested they split up.  Dave said he’d man the guard post down the hill, while Bill squatted uphill in the woods, hiding in thornbushes, in case Dave needed backup. 

         Bill squinted in the gloomy night.  Through the thick brush of the northern Minnesota forest, he could see Dave lounging in moonlight, his back against a tree.  He lit a cig, and his face glowed in the ruddy light from the match. Bill’s mouth twitched and his throat longed for a Kool. 

         Still, it was better to be hiding here than exposed down there on the path to their company’s encampment.  Dave would have to confront the challenge from the B soldiers, the “enemy” in this stupid war game.  If they ever even showed up in this pointless waste of time. 

         The thought of confrontation made Bill’s mouth harden.  Sleeping on the ground in an effing tent was bad enough, but dealing with strangers sneaking around just made it worse.  He was secretly glad when Dave suggested Bill hide in the thornbushes.  Bill hated dealing with people.

         Dealing with Dave, though, that was different.  Everyone liked Dave, even Bill.  Bill never quite understood what Dave saw in him, but he and Dave had become best friends, at least while in their Guard unit.  In the real world, Bill was a graduate student in mathematics and Dave was a junior executive at the same university. In the real world, their paths never crossed. But in the 109th they were inseparable.

         A distant boom of artillery thundered.  That would be the 194th Artillery from Algona practicing.  A flare lit the night sky.  Bill peered at it, trying to judge the distance. It looked like it had originated from maybe a quarter mile or so away.  The evening breeze carried the faint smell of gunpowder. 

         Bill squirmed. If they came down the path he and Dave guarded, they were suppoised to stop them. Better Dave be in charge of that than Bill. Dave was good at dealing with people.

         It wasn’t like they were in danger, or anything.  It was just a dumbass war game the brass had dreamed up for them to play at while they were at their two-week annual training at Camp Ripley.  It had absolutely zip to do with their jobs in the 109th Medical Battalion.  Dave wrote the unit’s newsletter, The Syringe, and technically worked for Bill, who was senior NCO with clerical division. 

         Bill shifted cramped muscles and tried to find a comfortable position. 

         The crunch of boots on the path jerked his attention down the hill.

         Dave jumped to his feet and held his M16 at the ready.  It wasn’t like the blasted thing was loaded.  They’d even gotten explicit directions to never point their weapons at anyone.  Still, Dave managed to look like Rambo, standing there all alert in the path.

         Sure enough, a couple guys in jungle fatigues emerged from the darkness and swaggered toward him.  They wore red ribbons on their chests that marked them as the “enemy.”

         One of them spoke in a bantering tone, “Well, what do we have here?”

         The other one sneered, “Looks like we got ourselves a prize, don’t it?  What you doin’ out here all by yourself, soldier?”

         Dave gave them a cheery smile.  “By myself? What makes you think that?”

         The first one answered, “Don’t see nobody else around. How 'bout you, Cliff?”

         The other one, Cliff, said, “Looks to me like we got ourselves a prize.  You’re outnumbered, doofus.  You gotta surrender.”

         Dave just smiled, then called out, “Bill, you and the other guys got these two covered?”

         Bill was alone, but these two creeps wouldn’t know that.  He shouted back, “We’ve got your back, Dave.”

         The two “enemies” whirled their heads around, apparently looking for Dave's reinforcements. Then they grinned and put their weapons on the ground.  Cliff’s voice turned admiring. “You done good, son.  Who suggested you set up an ambush?”

         Instead of answering, Dave said, “Take off those ribbons and give them to me.” He held out his hand and snapped his fingers.  “They prove that you’re our casualties.”

         They both took off their red ribbons and gave them to Dave. Then they replaced them with the blue ones that marked them as evaluators from Brigade HQ.  “You boys done good.  What unit you in?”

         “The 109th.”

         This time the voice showed shock. “The damn fool medics? From Iowa City? You gotta be kiddin’.”  He spat out the city's name like it was Sodom and Gomorrah.

         Dave didn’t flinch. “Maybe we’re not combat troops, and maybe we’re from Iowa City, but we’re smart. Just ask Bill.”

         Bill shouted, “You tell ‘em, Dave.”

         Everyone liked Dave. 

         Except maybe these guys.