As of 08 Sep 2016, I don't own Chuck et al. I do own a very dog-eared paperback of Walter M. Miller Jr's Hugo award winning 'A Canticle For Leibowitz.'
-o0o-
Concerning the care and feeding of Abrahams APCs
Major Wiley introduced the Americans to Goodsir's platoon commander, Lieutenant, which they pronounced 'lef-ten-ant,' Moore and his 2IC Sergeant Newman. Goodsir and the two American Captains hung in the back ground, while the two Majors and the Lt talked. Goodsir noticed his fellow section commander, Corporal Carl 'Neil' Armstrong, looking at the group. Goodsir invited Armstrong over with a sideways nod, and introduced him to the two Captains. After a bit, he and Armstrong retreated a bit to discuss the platoon activities from the last few days. It wasn't really gossip.
Goodsir glanced back at the pair of visiting Klingons. He noticed they stood close together, she was saying something to him, and he beamed back at her. Her smile in reply seemed genuine, but God, it was fast.
Sergeant Newman came from the officer group a little ways, and called Goodsir and the little group over with the 'come here' field signal, and returned to the group. When Chuck, Sarah, Armstrong and Goodsir got there, Lt Moore said, "Dizzy, I need you to look after our guests for the night, we'll be rotated to another task tomorrow. O-Group at 1600. Neil, send a runner to inform 2-Morrow."
"Yes sir," replied Goodsir and Armstrong simultaneously.
Goodsir lead Major Casey back to the others. "Right-ho, ma-am and sirs," he said, "when you're ready, I'll take you back down to 'SanlyBowitz.'" Armstrong nodded a farewell, and headed back to his section so he could pass the message on to the third section commander, Cpl Sam '2-Morrow' Morrow.
Chuck followed the others. "SanlyBowitz,' he thought to himself. 'I know that from somewhere…. 'SanlyBowitz, Saintly…. Saint Le… Saint Liebowitz, ho no.' And then realized he'd paraphrased the Abbot from the book. 'Liebowitz. A Canticle For Leibowitz. The monastery in a Texas desert, set after a nuclear war. What was the monk's name?' Chuck had identified with him…. 'Francis? Gerard? The poor sod saw the world in a million different shades of grey, and his Abbot wanted black-and-white. Francis, that was it. Francis of…'
Goodsir noticed Chuck had come to a stop and asked, "Sir?" just at the same time as Sarah began, "Chuck? Are you ….."
"Would that make you Brother Francis of Utah?" Chuck asked the Australian with a wry smile.
A slow smile spread across Goodsir's face, "Hmmm-humm. I didn't realize people still studied the classics. I've been calling it that for three weeks now. You're the only one that's got it."
"Well, I'm more a movie and TV person. Haven't read that since ….. middle school," admitted Chuck after a moment of mental arithmetic. The two were studying each other more seriously now. Sarah had a secret smile. Major Casey's grunt brought them up, and Goodsir resumed the lead. Sarah leant over to Chuck with an obvious question. He just grinned back at her and danced his eyebrows.
Back down at 'SanlyBowitz,' Goodsir helped them take their packs from the Rover. Major Wiley left some jerry cans of water, as well as some twenty four hour ration packs for the visitors, and after exchanging farewells, drove off back to HQ.
"Ma-am, sirs, let's get you somewhere to crash." Goodsir said, as he led them to the section's bivouac which was located on a slightly higher patch, away from the check point.
Goodsir positioned them near the centre of the rough circle of shallow pits. The soldiers of the section were naturally curious, so he took the visitors to the occupied pits.
At the first pit, which contained three shallow trenches, Goodsir said to the two men there, "Cookie, Jamie-Lee, we've got some visiting Klingons," as he indicated the trio of Americans. The two men nodded in acknowledgement of meeting the trio. As they headed over to the next pit, Goodsir explained, "We call him 'Jamie-Lee' 'cause his last name is Curtis."
"Klingons," interrupted Chuck, "you called us Klingons…."
"Yes sir," replied Goodsir with a slight smile, "It's from Star Trek, the one with Jean-Luc Picard. In one of the episodes, the first officer does a student exchange thing on the Kling….."
"….Klingon ship the, ah…. the… Pagh."
"…O..kay… That was a tad fanboy obsessive. I'll take your word for it on the name of the ship. But, yeah, so that's where that comes from, it's not official, but everyone does it."
Chuck contemplated the fact that there was an army that knew Star Trek. He rather thought he liked the idea.
After the grand tour, he asked if they'd eaten. The group shook their heads, so Goodsir organised the rations, which he called 'ratpaks,' they'd gotten, as well as his own opened one from his big pack. Using the 'ploink' sounding cheek flick that Chuck remembered from Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Goodsir got his guys to start their own meals. "It's called stand-to," Goodsir explained, "Although this is a fifty percent one. When one of the soldiers in each pit began their meal, the other is still providing protection."
Chuck, in the meantime had made a startling discovery inside his ration pack, "Wow, chocolate."
Goodsir grinned, and thought of keeping the secret to himself, but then he decided that might set Australian U.S. relations back by a few years. "Uh, sir? While the chocolate is nice, it does contain a laxative. Don't eat all of in one sitting."
"You're kidding?"
"No. It's not that fast, just be aware, that all. Hard tack has a ….. clogging tendency after a few days. If it's bad, eat the chocolate." Goodsir then snapped off a section to show it was alright and ate it. He set up the little tin camp stove to boil the water in one of his kidney cups, and saw that Casey and Sarah had already figured it out, and Chuck was following the lead of Goodsir and Sarah. Goodsir noticed that the trio all had the same ration number, 'C,' while his was currently a 'G.' The C ration had an option of chilli con carne or lamb with rosemary, both in tear open bags, rather than the tins Chuck expected. The Americans all opted for the lamb, while Goodsir ate the sausages and vegetables from his.
The burning Hexamine tablet had a slightly clean chemical odour, and the smell of the meals as they were heated mixed with the smell of the fuel, along with the occasional instant coffee or powdered chocolate as the section ate.
Chuck and team Carmichael drank coffee, while most of the Aussies had tea. A baggie of diced fruit (all of them had ended up with diced pears, so there was no trading) and a nut bar rounded out lunch. Goodsir gathered the trash into an empty sand bag used for the purpose, and left it with the gun pit so the rest of the section could do the same.
Goodsir told the trio he needed to return to the check point so the others could have their lunches. Casey nodded, and took some paperwork from his thigh pocket. Chuck looked at Sarah, and then asked if he could follow. Sarah looked at Casey. Casey grunted, and all three got up to follow. Goodsir organized for two of the soldiers to follow him, and changed places with Freeman and the other two diggers.
The day wore on, but for Dizzy and Chuck, the afternoon went by quickly. Since Dizzy had revealed himself as a science fiction fan, they were testing each other on the minutia of their fandom.
There were two trucks during the afternoon, Goodsir and one of the soldiers, nicknamed Davie, checked the goats, or sheep, it was hard to tell the difference, for insurgents before allowing them to pass. Casey and Sarah conferred over his notes. Goodsir noticed that Sarah glanced at Chuck every few minutes or so. And vice versa. It was kinda cute, she would check on him, then he would glance over to her. Neither at the same time. Like a very slow invisible tennis game.
Dizzy and Chuck tested each other over a wide range of science fiction subjects. Each cracking the other up with quotes, and imitations. One of these imitations caused Dizzy to turn serious. Chuck was in the middle of a Full Rimmer Space salute, when Dizzy stopped his hand mid-way. "Sir, you don't want to do that …." Chuck looked hurt, and Sarah whipped around to see what happened.
The corporal continued, "Sir, don't you remember MASH? 'Snipers in the area, sir.'"
"Oh….. oh shit."
"It's okay, we're miles from anyone, and we're pretty safe, but …. Bad habit to get into, okay?"
"Yeah, okay. Sarah, it's alright," he said as she came near, concern in her eyes.
"Uh, Corporal …. Goodsir stopped me making a mistake."
She looked at Goodsir, gave a very quick smile and nodded. Goodsir thought to himself that he got the message, and nodded back. 'We need to talk,' he interpreted. 'Yes we do,' he thought.
It took a bit, but the moment faded, and they returned to fandom. Dizzy had never been to a convention. Chuck made them sound great. Chuck had a greater depth of TV shows, mainly because of the number of stations available to him. Dizzy was more of a reader. He suggested a number of authors to Chuck. They were brothers of a thinly scattered fraternity.
At 1545, Goodsir took the Klingons, a badge Chuck was now wearing with a quiet honor, back up to the CP again for the o-group. Dizzy was helping Chuck move quieter, and carry his rifle without its sling. Chuck noticed that Sarah was aware of his improvement. He also tried the nose breathing thing when they stopped for clearance. It didn't seem to make a lot of difference.
The orders group, which Chuck overheard the third corporal he hadn't yet met describe as a 'prayer group,' was pretty basic. All three section commanders were there, as well as Lt Moore, Sgt Newman and the platoon signaller.
Lt Moore began the orders by indicating a rough 'mud map' made of twigs, rocks, rope and kidney cups and stating, "The topography is going to be similar to the region we are currently occupying. You will notice this feature here," he pointed at a rectangle made out of twigs and the folded menu from a ratpak, "a bush airstrip. This is our intended target. The situation is, we obviously have visitors. We are to provide cover for them and get them to the target. Major," Lt Moore handed over to Casey.
Casey nodded acknowledgment and took over the presentation, "We've requested, and been given your assistance. We need get to and hold the airfield your lieutenant," Casey pronounced it the American way, "indicated, while we observe and report what we find."
Lt Moore resumed the briefing and covered the execution and logistics of the movement. Cpl Armstrong would stay to man the check point, Cpls Morrow and Goodsir will accompany. Personnel carriers from the Lancers had been organized for part of the transport to this junction, he used his rifle to point to a couple of pieces of green rope, and then a forced march for the remaining 10 kay leg. Relief from Bravo company was to follow in two days, and then all would return to battalion HQ. Frequencies, and passwords for the next few days were confirmed.
Goodsir took Sarah and Chuck back to 'SanlyBowitz,' while Casey stayed behind to use the radio, and then his sat phone.
When they got back, Chuck asked, "Where's the …." he was trying to remember the army word for toilet… Latrine, that was it. "Where's the latrine?"
"You got the date roll?" asked the Aussie.
Chuck's response was a baffled look.
"Date roll? Freckle wrap? Toilet paper," clarified Goodsir, "You know, for your date." The motions he made, made it obvious what and where the date was.
Chuck looked over at Sarah and said seriously, "It's English Jim, but not as we know it."
You could hear Sarah resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
Goodsir made sure he was carrying his riffle, and showed him where the shit pit was, out in front of the gun pits owned by Privates Joseph 'Jamie Lee' Curtis and Justin 'Davie' Warner. When Chuck pointed out that they would be able to see him, Goodsir replied, "That's kinda the idea. You don't want to be caught with your pants down."
When Goodsir got back to the centre pits, he noted Sarah give him a measured smile. Goodsir started first, and asked quietly, "Okay, I buy the Major as military. And without him," he pointed over his shoulder with a thumb, "I'd buy you in a uniform. But all three together? What do I need to know?"
She paused for a heartbeat, he could feel her measuring him. "Our ranks are real, Chuck is…. a specialist. And well, he is who he is. Thank you for helping him, by the way. He's been scared since he got here."
"No problem. Don't want him to get us… into trouble. Has he fired a weapon?"
She shook her head, "That's why we're here."
"…Mmmkay," Goodsir responded with a sideways twist to his lips.
"Look, please keep doing what you've been doing." She continued in apparent honesty, "he's responded more to you than I've seen before. Seriously, this is the first time I've seen him smile in days."
Goodsir nodded, and Cpt Walker busied herself with sorting out her pack.
When Chuck returned he said, "Wow, that toilet paper….."
Goodsir replied with a knowing grin, "Four sheets of gloriously luxuriant government issue two-ply. Mmmm, shiny."
Later in the afternoon, while it was still light, Goodsir repeated the lunchtime fifty percent stand-to for the evening meal. Chuck whispered his question to Sarah, "Why so early? It's still light."
Casey added himself into the conversation, "It gets dark later, moron. No lights."
"Oh."
The Chilli and freeze dried rice was a whole lot better than Chuck expected. He backed it up with a processed cheese that tasted like the one he recalled from grade school, some of the famous laxative chocolate and some sort of granola bar. He felt rather like he should burp contentedly afterwards.
After, as dusk was noticeably approaching, the section went to a full stand-to, everyone manning their position, and covering their arcs of fire as their eyes adapted to full night. Once full darkness had settled, the stand-to was relaxed back to a fifty percent condition.
The stars dominated the night sky to a degree Chuck had never encountered before. He wondered how the ancient sailors had used the stars for navigation, because there was just so damned many of them. He saw colors in the stars for first time of his life.
Casey broke his contemplation, as whispered angrily, "Christ moron, the whole idea is to be quiet."
Chuck looked hurt, but Casey continued, "From now on, when the corporal calls for overwatch, you stay damned still, and you do not make a single noise."
The section settled into their night routine. As the locals didn't drive a lot after dark, the guys staying awake, which Goodsir called a 'piquet,' could cover both the section and the check point. The piquet was set up so that two men were on all the time, to make sure that neither fell asleep, and one would start an hour after the other in a staggered two hour shift.
Casey grunted at Goodsir, and thus volunteered the Klingons into the piquet. Goodsir moved off to confer with his 2IC, Freeman, to work the extra three into the roster. Not that Goodsir didn't trust them, but they factored splitting them up so there was always one Aussie with each Yank. The rest started to sleep.
As section commander, Goodsir traditionally pulled the first and last piquet of the night, giving the section commander an almost unbroken sleep. Goodsir and Casey began the first shift together. Goodsir was a little wary of the large, quiet Marine. Slightly to Goodsir's surprise, Casey broke the silence first. "When I started, my first gun was the M60," Casey indicated the section's machine gun, the Belgian designed Mag 58. "Happiness is a belt fed weapon," sighed Casey.
"We still sort of use those. The Skill At Arms, we get to live fire-and-move with a range of weapons. M16s, the SLR. Even the old Bren, which is a lot more accurate than anything since," responded Goodsir.
"Corporal, you've obviously noticed Carmichael is… we had to rush his training."
"He's a civvie in greens."
Casey grunted an amused noise at that. "Well, I appreciate your looking after him, us too. All going well, we'll be out of your hair in a day or so."
Goodsir nodded into the darkness. The Moon would be rising later. He then asked, "Can we expect many creepy-crawlies when we kick this log?"
Casey smiled a little to himself. He hadn't realised how much he missed being in the field with working soldiers. "Nah, intel says…."
"Fuck."
"… minimal. Sometimes they're right you know."
-o0o-
In the Australian army, a bed, and in particular, the issued sleeping bag is known as a 'farter.' While there is some evidence to suggest the name comes from the British Army dating back to colonial times, most reputable scholars agree that thanks to the issued three-part blow-up sectioned mattress (mattress, pneumatic, sleeping for the use of) that was used from the Vietnam conflict, and up until after the first Gulf War. The name came from the fact that every time you moved, they made a lovely farting sound.
Even during those times, no-one actually used these mattress sections as actual mattresses, it was just simply easier to sleep on a ground sheet. But, the blow-up sections did make useful waterproof compartments for shaving gear, soap and other wet items once you cut them into foot long sections.
When Goodsir had gotten back to his farter, Chuck and Sarah were sleeping. She'd taken her hair out, and was sleeping next to Chuck a little closer than fellow captains should, as she used his chest for a pillow. Goodsir grinned to himself at the sight, and he picked his sleeping bag out of his pack.
There was a metallic 'click' sound.
Goodsir looked at the source of the metallic click sound, his smile having evaporated.
Sarah was pointing a pistol at Goodsir, and was sitting up, scanning around herself. She recognized the section commander, aimed up and took the weapon back down to DefCon 2. She smiled apologetically at Goodsir, and having made sure Chuck was still sleeping, she lay down, a little further from his side that she had been, and closed her eyes.
'Wow,' Goodsir thought to himself, 'Must not fart too loudly around this pair.'
-o0o-
Goodsir was woken by Nichols for the pre-dawn piquet. When he got back to the gun pit, Chuck was waiting for him.
"Morning," greeted Chuck in a stage whisper, "apparently we can't have coffee."
"Not yet. The light from the flame," he explained and continued, "Have a powdered juice. Got your cup?"
After a bit, Goodsir asked, "How long have you been w….. I mean, worked with Captain Walker?"
"Year and a bit,"
"So, have you …." asked Goodsir.
After a longish pause, Chuck admitted, "It's ….. complicated."
"And yet the human population on this planet is a tad over seven billion."
"What's a tad?" asked Chuck, pretty sure the other would get the reference.
"In space terms, that's about a half a million miles," Goodsir replied with a grin.
Chuck grinned to himself in the dark, "She's the best thing that's happened to me. I was in a …. low point, and … um. Anyway, she was …. ah, assigned to me. My detail. Casey too. I have a …. I have a knack with scattered data."
"You tell her?"
"Hmm?"
"How you feel. You should. Might be worth the time."
"It's …. complicated." Chuck repeated, "Pretty sure she knows, anyway. I think everyone knows. I'm lousy at poker."
It was Goodsir's turn to grin, "Yeah, well. Thank God women get interested too, otherwise most men would die alone, with the entire boxed Star Trek collection. And some cool tee shirts."
"Don't forget the collector's edition Tron poster." Chuck grinned into the growing dawn.
"O…kay, and again, oddly specific."
Chuck continued, "There are rules …. If we… you know what? I would rather have Sarah yelling at me for not staying in the car, than never have known her. You know? I'd take just five minutes of angry Sarah every day for as long as …. than never.
Goodsir noticed the light, and checked his watch, "Time to wake the rest," He said as he went to start waking the section for the morning stand-to.
After sun up, they went back to the fifty percent stand-to, and after breakfast began weapons cleaning, and hygiene. Chuck was amazed that Goodsir didn't shave using soap, just a dry disposable razor.
Goodsir grinned at him, "Funny thing, I can't shave like this at home, only out here, in the weeds. And the bloody thing lasts longer like this. I can get about two weeks out of this razor here. Back home. and with shaving soap, I'm lucky to get three or four days." Sarah noticed Casey's expression with a wry smile.
Casey asked, "I thought the Aussies relaxed the shaving at times like these?"
"Some units, sir. We're just infantry. Our Colonel likes the Queen's regs; 'every man will shave.'"
At 1030, the rest of the platoon came to the checkpoint.
About 1100, a dust cloud was reported from the hill, and Goodsir went to the checkpoint. Four Armored Personnel Carriers rolled into the check point in a cloud of dust, and noise.
For Goodsir, the funniest point was when the Turret Head in command tried to check the diggers for excess noise from their packs and webbing. Sgt Newman kindly pointed out that any noise his men made was more than covered by 'deafening roar these tin butter-boxes made.' Having only two hooks, he was outranked by the sergeant, and so, exit one frustrated tankie. Dizzy made a mental note to nominate him for a 'Bent Barrel' award, the unit citation for the most public cluster fuck that year.
One of the APCs was a RAEME (Royal Australian Electrical and Mechanical Engineers, pronounce ray-me) carrier. There was absolutely no room in the back for troops. It was armed like the others, but with a small tank turret, and the back was full of spares.
Goodsir lost the Yanks to Platoon HQ in the chalk assignments. He saw Chuck about to request the same APC, and he stopped him with eye contact, and a head shake. Chuck returned the gesture with a nod, and a small shrug.
In the back of the carrier, Goodsir took the offered head-set and sat down. These things we decidedly not comfortable. They were noisy, cramped, dusty and dark. The smell of diesel pervaded everything, reminding Dizzy of his father's tractor. There was no suspension that you could notice. The convoy took off leaving Armstrong's section behind to await replacement.
-o0o-
Goodsir was famous for sleeping in these things. His snoring once was louder that the APC at idle. Sgt Newman was a little proud of this, and made sure the new guys learned this.
The THUMP woke him up. The tankies were cursing in his headset. The APC lurched, lurched and jerked. The APC then stopped very suddenly and at an angle. The Corporal up in the turret was screaming at him, "Think it was a mine! Ambush LEFT. Debus Right!"
Goodsir repeated this to his men as he tore his headset off, and the ramp dropped. Out into the bright of the day and turn right. He dropped as soon as he was level with the middle of the carrier. He tried to move fast. "Instant!" he yelled as he took stock of the situation. The damaged APC wasn't going anywhere. Not today. His section worked their weapons to the 'instant' condition.
The other APCs had pulled off the road, and troops scattered from the back too. The three remaining APC roared off, fanning out. There was a stream of automatic fire coming from a slight rise about two hundred meters away from the road. Most of it aimed at the APCs, tinging, and bonging off the metal. The damaged APC was still dangerous, and was returning fire.
There was zero cover anywhere away from the APCs, it was just a dusty track in a rocky desert. Goodsir saw Casey grab Chuck and pull him to the ground. Both Sarah and Casey were scanning furiously, weapons ready. Sgt Newman called out in a parade ground voice, "Platoon, GO!"
"Go, go go!" yelled Morrow and Goodsir, as the whole body of troops scrambled forwards. "Down!" came the yell from about four voices and the platoon dove belly first to the ground, weapons ready. Lt Moore came over the radio. Morrow, you're with me. Dizzy, left flank."
"Copy," replied Goodsir using the radio, and yelled to his men, "Gun, Go!" as he indicate the direction. All the men of the section yelled, "Gun, go!" also, and the three men of the gun team got up, and ran zigzag about ten feet, and back down again.
"Rifles, go!" cried Dizzy, and the same thing happened with the three men of the rifle team.
"Scouts, go!" he yelled and moved himself with last man to move, Curtis.
Fire-and-movement is a fairly simple process, move each leg of the section, platoon, company or division forward, and keep the momentum going. You repeat each leg movement, mix up the sequence and repeat. Fire at the enemy when you can. Yell a lot, keep everyone informed. Shoot a lot. Reload a lot, too. Keep doing this until you get where you want to get to.
Chuck was shitscared. This was nothing like the movies made it out to be. Bullets fired at you are a hell of a lot louder than the movies make out, and there was none of the angry bee sound he expected.
Casey and Sarah were screaming at him to get down, but they were too far away to grab him. Goodsir zagged a little out of his way, and grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, dragged Chuck back into position with him, throwing him to the ground with himself. Sarah was still screaming at Chuck.
"It's Okay, I've got him. I've got him!" he yelled to Sarah. Casey nodded, and nudged Sarah. Sarah, paused, stared at Goodsir. She stared hard. After a moment, she nodded.
"Oh, fuck. Now I'm in trouble" he said to Chuck.
"Huh?" said Chuck calming down a bit.
"Well, if I bring you back with even a hang nail, she's gunna kill me. Gun GO!"
Everyone in the section chorused the call, and Cook, Dillan and Freeman ran forward for a few seconds and threw themselves to the ground, before firing a number of bursts from the machine gun.
Goodsir continued, "Okay, when I say, 'scouts,' you move with me, Okay?" Chuck swallowed and nodded. "Scouts GO!" yelled Goodsir, and the section echoed his call. Chuck, Goodsir and Curtis ran forward and threw themselves to the ground.
Chuck got the hang of it by the second movement, and Goodsir stopped dragging him. Once they were clear of the ambush zone, they just ran. They reached a point level with the enemy position, "Kev! Traversing, grazing enfilade fire. Go!"
"From a defilade position" came back the grin from Freeman. They'd both been on the same subject course. He and Cookie let fly with the machine gun.
"In position, boss," Goodsir called over the radio. 'Copy,' came the lieutenant's replay. They saw the remnant of the platoon move forward more aggressively. The APCs and ground troops coordinated themselves. 2-Morrow and his men used one of the APCs as rolling cover. The APCs reached a point where they couldn't depress the 50 cal gun down enough to cover the position. Goodsir heard the call over the radio directed at his men, 'Depth, move in for fight-through.'
"Copy," he replied and Goodsir called for section fire, and the whole section advanced in extended line, with all the men firing as he kept Chuck behind himself.
During the fight-through, one of the enemy had been killed near the large machine gun they'd mounted on a tri-pod. His body lay, bloodied and dusty, flattened somehow. Chuck, and a lot of the men, were grateful they couldn't see how much damage a 50 cal machine gun could do.
There were two wounded enemy, and the remaining three tried to run before an awfully close warning burst from the RAEME vehicle stopped them.
One of the wounded was moaning constantly, and had lost a lot of blood.
The sig, Wang, was on the radio, reporting the contact to the company signaler in a low drone, Sgt Newman and Lcpl Nazibor 'Wrath' Kahn had both the medical kits open, attending their own first.
Cpl Kevin 'Kev' Freeman had rolled an ankle badly during the fight through and Pte Luke 'Julia' Roberts could now claim he'd gotten holes in his shirt, having been brought down with a through-and-through to his left calf, and a grazing dent to his helmet that they discovered later. A couple of Goodsir's guys had ringing in their ears from the road mine along with stiff and sore muscles from sitting pretty much over the explosion, but otherwise the only other injuries were scrapes from doing fire-and-movement over rocks.
-o0o-
A/N – In the original version of this, I mentioned an item that used to be found in the 24hr ratpak of my time – 'Luncheon Meat Type 2.' Sadly, or not before time, according to your point of view on these things, Luncheon Meat Type 2 was removed from the ratpak about the turn of the century (and no, we never found out what happened to Luncheon Meat Type 1).
Whoever wrote the Wiktionary page, Appendix: Australian English Military Slang got it spot on, "Luncheon Meat Type 2 - An inedible can of pink stuff issued in some Ratpaks. Do not attempt to eat. Do not attempt to feed it to a dog - dogs won't eat it." Think an unholy cross between Spam and Pal (with marrow-bone jelly).
