Message-ID: <40983asstr$1045771802@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
Reply-To: "cmsix" <cmsix@cmsixDONTSPAMME.com>
From: "cmsix" <cmsix@cmsixDONTSPAMME.com>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 20 Feb 2003 08:42:12 PST
Subject: {ASSM} {Birthday} Hot Chocolate by cmsix (nosex caution)
Date: Thu, 20 Feb 2003 15:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Happy Birthday Gary

Jesus, am I still alive? Why? I'm so tired of hiding, sleeping and waking up
in this fucking jungle. Damn it's so hot and humid. Well what did I expect?
It was hot and humid when I went to sleep.

Went to sleep? When I became unconscious from fatigue. Is that proper
English? If it isn't I don't give a shit. I really don't give a shit about
much of anything anymore. Looks like all I've got left to live for is hiding
and more hiding and three more chocolate bars. I'd had twelve with me when
we left for the prospective firebase.

That God damned idiot Fredrickson caused this. At least he had the decency
to give me a chance to kill him.

I wasn't supposed to be in combat over here. All they wanted me to do was
operate heavy machinery. Just run a dozer for us Jackson. That's all we want
from you.

I tried to tell Fredrickson that we couldn't do a damn thing up on top of
that muddy bump he called a hill. This was the rainy season. A dozer can't
work in mud. Especially not one of those tiny toys that can be moved by a
Chinook.

He had faith in me; he just knew that I could scratch out enough for a small
firebase. He was sure I could push over a few trees and give them a half
assed clear field of fire.

Just come with us and take a look at it. That's all he wanted. Billings had
told him he'd fly us up there to look at it from the air. Johnson would go
with us to cover the .50 in the door.

I knew better than to go. No one that was short in Viet Nam went on
volunteer missions. Hell, no one that went on volunteer missions lasted
until they got short.

He bribed me then. With candy; chocolate. The son of a bitch knew I had a
hard on for chocolate. Stuck up here so far forward it wasn't that easy to
come by either. I hadn't had a sniff of chocolate in a week. The cocksucker
had stolen a box of twelve bars somewhere and he wanted me to take a little
ride in the Huey for 'em. Like the dumb ass I was I did it.

There was just one little snag. The gooks didn't want us up on that hill,
the possessive little bastards. They let us know too. They were down there
in the weeds and let us come on down and take a good look. They were spread
out too and when they started popping us with small arms Johnson couldn't
really find a target. He didn't have to worry about it for long though. One
of the little bastards put a lucky one through his throat before Billings
could get any altitude at all.

Then Billings got one nearly right up his ass. He could still fly somehow
but I knew from the way blood was pouring out that he wouldn't be flying
long.

Fredrickson was in the left seat but he couldn't even fly a hand job. He
just felt important sitting up front. After all, the mission had been his
bright idea. I could at least fly the fucker kinda straight and kinda level
so he got is ass up to let me try to help Billings out.

We were all dead and I knew it. Nothing meant shit to us anymore. Bullets
were still clanging all over this old bird and I knew they'd hit something
else we needed before long. When Fredrickson stood up to let me into the
left seat I just kicked him out the big door and let him fall. Maybe his
gung ho ass could kill them all on the way down.

Billings lived long enough to get us out of the ground fire; five or six
clicks from it in fact. Not before they put a hole in the transmission
though. It leaked oil faster than Billings was leaking blood. Of course we
couldn't find a place to put it down. What a fucking ride when the rotors
started slamming into trees.

The crash didn't kill me but I knew I was a dead man. The only weapons I had
were my .45 and Billings'. The .50 was trashed in the fall, or right at the
end of it. I didn't think I had anything broken but both my ankles were
sprained badly. Somehow I managed to crawl out of the Huey's remains with
the two .45s and my chocolate.

That had been four days ago. At least the fucking unending rain had covered
the trail I'd made crawling away. I was still fucked though. Even if
friendlies had been looking for me there was no way for me to signal them. I
couldn't even stand up. No flares or smoke. Nothing but two .45s and now
just three mostly melted chocolate bars left.

The gooks hadn't given up. I'd heard some of them moving last night. They
could probably smell me by now. With no canteen the only water I'd had came
dripping down out of the trees. No telling how much bird and monkey shit it
had been filtered through. I hadn't been able to control my bowels for
twelve hours. Funny how much shit a few chocolate bars can turn into when
you have God knows what in there churning them.

Now it was day again and I could hear the gooks moving. They were closer
now. I didn't really feel like eating the last three bars but I did it
anyway. No sense letting those little bastards have 'em. I licked every
melted smear off the foil wrapping. Funny, as sick and as fucked as I was
they still tasted great.

cmsix@cmsixNOSPAM.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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