Read Online War Year by Joe Haldeman - Free Book Online

pack of Winstons. He took out one and tossed it back. “Reminds me—we’ve got an SP pack down at the pad. Somebody wanta go get it?”
    â€œOn my way,” Professor said.
    â€œWhat’s an SP pack?” Willy asked.
    â€œMostly cigarettes and candy,” the lieutenant said. “Pop, you about ready to put overhead on this bunker?”
    â€œYeah, I’ve got Doc an’ Fats on it.”
    â€œOK… what can I do besides drink one of those beers?”
    â€œThought we’d just take it easy until we get the overhead.”
    â€œSuits.” He cracked a beer. “See, that’s the way it is. I command this platoon, but Pop leads it. Pop, if I ordered you to eat a pile of shit, would you do it?”
    â€œWith a grin on my face, sir.”
    â€œI just bet you would. Anyhow, anything Pop says, goes. Anybody else tells you to do something, you can try to reason with him.”
    Doc and Fats came puffing up the hill, balancing two eight-foot logs on their shoulders. They dropped them by the hole and flopped down panting.
    â€œGot six more this size,” Doc said. “Afternoon, sir.” Pant, pant. “How ’bout lettin’ us take a break while the new guys haul up a couple?”
    We got to our feet. “Just show us where they are,” Willy said.
    â€œI’ll go with yuh,” Doc said, getting up. “Oh, my achin’ back.”
    â€œGive yourself a Darvon, Doc.”
    â€œFuck, sir, I’ll stick to aspirin. Let’s go.”
    We found the logs, and Doc showed us how to get one on each shoulder. They didn’t start to get heavy until we’d gone about ten steps. We barely made it to the top.
    â€œGood job,” Pop said. “OK, Fats, you an’ Doc get the next two. Then Farmer and Horowitz again.”
    â€œWhat kind of cigarettes you smoke?” Prof was opening a cardboard box with his bayonet.
    â€œPall Malls for me,” I said.
    â€œSame.”
    He opened the box and tossed a carton to us. “That’s all we got, you’ll have to split it. Won’t get any more for a week.”
    â€œFive’s plenty.”
    â€œNot for me,” Willy said. “What else you got?”
    â€œAll the menthols you can smoke. Everything else is pretty much spoken for.”
    â€œUgh. Gimme a coupla packs of menthols, then. Just in case.”
    â€œHave a carton. You can always throw ’em away.”
    Willy and I helped Pop and the lieutenant stack sandbags around two sides of the hole. When Fats and Doc came back, all of us wrestled the six logs into place on top of the sandbags, then we went back to get the last two.
    By the time we brought the two logs back, they’d covered half the bunker with three layers of sandbags. We placed the logs and finished piling up sandbags; wound up with four layers.
    â€œWell, what do you think, Pop?”
    â€œFour layers’ll probably stop a sixty-millimeter mortar. Not much else. It’ll do for tonight, though.”
    â€œLet’s get some chow and call it a day.”
    â€œGoddamn it, Fats; get some chow, get some chow!—everybody else hates C-rations.”
    â€œLieutenant Byrnes!” A private came running down the hill.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œCommand post wants you on the double!” He came to a staggering stop. “A Company’s made contact, out in the boonies. Company-size ambush.”
    â€œHoly shit!” The lieutenant scrambled up the hill.
    Pop grabbed the guy’s arm. “Any casualties?”
    â€œYeah. Don’t know how many yet.”
    â€œProf, better get ready to blow an LZ. Your demo bag up tight?”
    He picked up a bag and rummaged through it. “Plenty of caps, fuse, det cord. We’ll get a box of C-4 down at the pad.”
    Then the artillery roared, BLAM BLAM BLAM-BLAMBLAM; I jumped out of my skin and so did Willy, but the others didn’t seem to notice.
    â€œFarmer,