#mousekateer

     “Hey Cowboy.” Is he the only one feeling the heat here? A bead of sweat rolls down the back of his neck, he feels it trickle down his spine and it makes him shiver in spite of everything else. He’s the first one in their unit to forego the shirt. Maybe he’ll start a trend.

They’ve been stationed out here for what feels like days, sitting around nursing blistered feet and going permanently half-hungry on shitty rations. Snafu himself is sitting pretty with a small collection of cookies and peach jam that he swiped from an army supply drop a few hours ago. He dips a cookie in the jam, swirls it around. Crumbs fall off and speckle through it. He thought about spitting in it to mark it as his, but some of the fuckers around here would eat it regardless. Anyway. He has Cowboy’s attention. It takes him a second to remember why he wanted it in the first place.

     It’s hot, but not the kind of wet heat they got used to in Vietnam. Joker’s mom froze orange juice the day before and he’s licking carefully at a homemade popsicle in the shade under the tree in the back yard. He shifts a little and his arm bumps Cowboy’s shoulder.

     Joker doesn’t believe in God, and just about every single recruit is aware of that thanks to Hartman’s line of questioning the other day. There’s a service in the chapel on Sundays, to which Joker doesn’t go. Some of the others do, though, either because they actually do believe or because they just want an excuse to get out of the room for a little while. Whatever. It’s not so bad in here when it’s empty. He hobbles over to Cowboy’s bunk and sits down, lifting a leg up onto the bed to inspect his bare foot.