Trash Digger

“You’re not gonna like this SGT Vance,” a soldier said.

“Whatya got?” I asked

“Bugs have taken to the food.”

“Oh, so after 18 hours of a mission gone wrong we have no food?”

“Roger.”

“And where is our shitbird supply guy that was supposed to keep it covered?”

“Sleepin’ or jerkin’ off.”

“Both good excuses to fuck over a platoon that hasn’t seen food in a day, right?”

“What do we do?”

“Take the parts that haven’t spoiled or bugs haven’t taken to and dig into room supplies.”

“There won’t be enough for you though.”

“Just do what the fuck I told you and get some shuteye.”

I might have been acting tough, but holy shit I was crying on the inside like a toddler in a grocery store throwing a temper tantrum because his momma won’t buy him some skittles.  Stay calm.  How does it go, “woo sawwwww?”

Our supply guy was a grade A dirt bag.  He was short, white, beer gutted and sported dark, greasy, dandruff-infested hair that was always way out of regulations.  A true embarrassment to the uniform, but every unit needed a supply guy and he was the card we were dealt.  We called him Dog, because prior to morning PT one day back at Fort Lewis he was caught rubbing one out in his truck right in front of the troop area.  We believed he literally had a lower IQ than none other than Forrest, Forrest fucking Gump himself while holding a nervous stutter with a soft, high-pitched voice that often cracked.  Or was that the innocent front ole Dog wanted us to see?  He eventually got arrested for sending boxes of our equipment home to sell off for cash.  Yes, Dog stole and sold equipment we needed for war.

For the most part, we were able to salvage our own supplies.  I told my guys to never expect anything while in a war zone.  It’s a war.  Deal with the conditions given to you the best you can.  Adapting to your environment is a big part of surviving in a hostile, foreign land.  Some days we only had time to sleep, eat or get supplies.  You had to choose just one.

I had to find a way to get some munchies before the cannibalism of my worst soldier began to seem like a good tactical decision.  Perhaps a chubby one?  Negative!  Man up and find a way.  As soldiers started filing thru to grab what they could, each one turned to me with half a handful of food and offered me half of that. 

“I'm good.  Eat that and go to sleep, brother.  We’re back out in 6 hours.”

            In my head, I imagined grabbing the minuscule portions offered and going at them like Cujo with rabies.  I was too stubborn to take from my soldiers, which bordered lunacy.  My eyes wandered around the area in desperation.  Maybe I’ll just smoke a Newport and that’ll quench this hunger, which sadly worked from time to time.  Not this time.  Some food fell to the floor as I glared at the soldier who dropped it, then the food and then the soldier again.  How could he do such a thing!  You son of a bitch.  Woo sawwwww?

            My teeth began to ache.  This was a new level of hunger for me.  Even my teeth missed biting into something as saliva coated them.  The area finally cleared.  I was done acting like a patriarch.  I about fell to my knees to scream, but didn’t have the energy.  As I took a deep breath and turned to attempt the Newport phenomenon I spotted something amazing.  Someone had found an MRE and ransacked the hell out of it.  In their vampire-like lust for food, they had left something behind.

            A cookie.  Not just an ordinary cookie, but a half-eaten M&M cookie.  It looked magical and I wanted it.  I even looked around to see if anybody else was eyeballing it.  "Oh no, darling, its just you and me."  I'm not sure if I said that last bit aloud to myself or not, but game on.  As I reached down to swipe my “precious,” I noticed a lot of other things.  Why was there a plethora of wrappers and ammunition boxes underneath this cookie?  Then the tunnel vision simmered and I realized it was lying near the top of a trash pile.  I didn’t give a damn.  This was happening and I was eating the most glorious of meals straight out of a trashcan.  That half-cookie left me stuffed and on cloud 9.  I’ll have that victory cigarette now to get a quick buzz to the head and pass out for a few.  I win this round, Iraq.