Voting rights
Tully spun the steering wheel of the jeep wildly to the left to avoid the half-track's guns. The vehicle skidded sharply and he stomped on the accelerator and cranked the wheel to the right to bring it under control. A hail of German bullets spattered into the sand around him; one pinged off the hood and buzzed angrily past his ear. He clamped his teeth hard on the matchstick hanging from his lips and swore silently.
"Today's my 21st birthday," he said to himself.
He swerved to the right, setting up for a long sweep along the length of the supply column. Hopefully, Moffit was still with him. A burst of fire from the .50 caliber reassured him. The German vehicles passed by in a blur as he concentrated on avoiding ruts and rocks in his path that could flip the jeep. The steady rat-a-tat from behind his head told him Moffit was doing his job.
"Today I can legally drink alcohol in the states of Tennessee, Kentucky, and West Virginia"
Sweat pooled inside his leather goggles, almost blinding him as he set up for another raking run at the line of German vehicles. The air was filled with the sharp smell of burning metal and raw gasoline. Men were out of the trucks now, running, trying to put out fires. He knew that the officers were yelling at their men, the wounded screaming, but he could hear nothing but the bark of Moffit's gun and explosions from the other end of the column where Hitch and Troy were taking their own toll on the German supply lines. A half-track burst into flame a few hundred yards away – one of Moffit's bullets had found the gas tank. A supply truck tried to climb the side of the wadi and rolled over.
"I can vote in the next election."
The other jeep peeled away from the column, heading into the open desert. Tully followed, slewing the vehicle back and forth to provide a more difficult target. Once out of range, he forced himself to relax hands that maintained a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, shoulders hunched forward as if to ward off any stray bullets, and a jaw clamped so tight that the matchstick had snapped in two. Pulling his goggles down around his neck, he wiped his face with a grubby sleeve, and coasted to a stop next to the other jeep. Hitch and Troy were out of their vehicle already, lounging against the chassis with open canteens. Tully removed his helmet and placed it on the seat beside him, then yelped as all three of his friends emptied the contents of their canteens on his head, laughing and wishing him a happy birthday.
"Thanks, guys, now bring on the dancing girls, will ya?" Tully grinned, fishing a soggy matchstick out of his shirt pocket and placing it between his teeth.
An uncertain future lay before all of them, but today was his 21st birthday, and he was going to live to enjoy it.