The bottle shook as it descended a wave and Pvt. Pettigrew looked at his squad mates. Harrison had the green face of sea sickness and Pettigrew prayed that the man would stay healthy. At least if they had ridden a boat, Harrison could've vomited over the edge. Instead, Pettigrew rode the waves shrunk by the US Navy inside a wine bottle where Harrison's vomit had nowhere to go. Even those with their sea legs would lose it when breathing in the bitter stench.
"Look dawn comes," said Pvt. Solomon.
Big deal, thought Pettigrew. They'd traveled on the seas for two fortnights, and dawn came every day. Who would've thought his fate would lie in a drifting bottle when he'd signed up. He'd thought he was clever, signing up for the Micro Navy to avoid the draft. It sounded like a toy thing, kind of like being in the reserves. Pettigrew had never heard of the government allocating any money out of the big Pentagon budgets for the Micro Navy; he should have known there was a reason. Three-quarter liter bottles cost nothing.
"I see something," yelled Solomon when no one reacted to his dawn cries. He was worse than a rooster.
Pettigrew ignored him, rolling his eyes.
"A gigantic palm tree, stretching thousands of stories high."
The squad raced towards the neck of the bottle and it dropped forward with their weight into a wave but then it cleared the crest and they saw the island.
Sgt. Hicks yelled, "Prepare for landing."
All of them, even Harrison -- his face turning greener, prepared their guns. Their tiny hearts pitter-pattered in their chests as they neared the shore.
The bottle rolled the last bit up the pitch of sandy beach and the men crawled out of the neck. Pettigrew tried to climb to his feet but fell sideways as his world revolved. He heard gunshots and raised his gun while searching for the enemy. Sand exploded in his face.
"Go go go." Sgt. Hicks ran through the beach climbing over broken shards of blasted bottles. The bullets, larger than their heads, hit the ground like mortars and they struggled through the dunes. Gigantic waving strands of grass fluttered over their heads as they ran towards the edges where the palm trees grew.
Pettigrew prayed that his gun would do more damage than a BB.
The bottle shook as it descended a wave and Pvt. Pettigrew looked at his squad mates. Harrison had the green face of sea sickness and Pettigrew prayed that the man would stay healthy. At least if they had ridden a boat, Harrison could've vomited over the edge. Instead, Pettigrew rode the waves shrunk by the US Navy inside a wine bottle where Harrison's vomit had nowhere to go. Even those with their sea legs would lose it when breathing in the bitter stench.
ReplyDelete"Look dawn comes," said Pvt. Solomon.
Big deal, thought Pettigrew. They'd traveled on the seas for two fortnights, and dawn came every day. Who would've thought his fate would lie in a drifting bottle when he'd signed up. He'd thought he was clever, signing up for the Micro Navy to avoid the draft. It sounded like a toy thing, kind of like being in the reserves. Pettigrew had never heard of the government allocating any money out of the big Pentagon budgets for the Micro Navy; he should have known there was a reason. Three-quarter liter bottles cost nothing.
"I see something," yelled Solomon when no one reacted to his dawn cries. He was worse than a rooster.
Pettigrew ignored him, rolling his eyes.
"A gigantic palm tree, stretching thousands of stories high."
The squad raced towards the neck of the bottle and it dropped forward with their weight into a wave but then it cleared the crest and they saw the island.
Sgt. Hicks yelled, "Prepare for landing."
All of them, even Harrison -- his face turning greener, prepared their guns. Their tiny hearts pitter-pattered in their chests as they neared the shore.
The bottle rolled the last bit up the pitch of sandy beach and the men crawled out of the neck. Pettigrew tried to climb to his feet but fell sideways as his world revolved. He heard gunshots and raised his gun while searching for the enemy. Sand exploded in his face.
"Go go go." Sgt. Hicks ran through the beach climbing over broken shards of blasted bottles. The bullets, larger than their heads, hit the ground like mortars and they struggled through the dunes. Gigantic waving strands of grass fluttered over their heads as they ran towards the edges where the palm trees grew.
Pettigrew prayed that his gun would do more damage than a BB.