Flies in the Ammo Shack


(A Vietnam War tale about Flies, 1971)

It was a warm evening in the ammunition dump, inside the ammunition shack-comprising of two rooms, walls made from pressed wood, floors or decorates of long wooden sheets level lumber generally, you could see through their breaks, set screwy close by each other; likewise the shack was a destroy unbalanced, practically unstable, and extremely broken. Established on four by four bars under the sections of flooring, about a half foot high, among the delicate white sand that encompassed it, giving a jungle gym for the reptiles to take part in entertainment, inconspicuous.

I conveyed a semi old ‘Stars and Strips,’ magazine with me when I needed to go to the ammunition shack (where us troopers did our desk work for designations and circulating of ammo to the guards showing up from a few areas inside the area.

I conveyed that old ‘Stars and Strips,’ magazine for a month, until another one emerged, and utilized it to wash away flies. They were wherever in the ammunition shack-we were pervaded with them, with their humming around as though we were 45-70 ammo : fat and slim bellied documents; some dim others light shads of dull, long and short winged flies, gnawing your hands and face, and ears, behind your neck, amassing around you, creeping up your shirt sleeves, plunging at you as though they were little rebuffing rockets, prepared by the Vietcong to bother you.- me, us!

There were dead or kicking the bucket flies, likewise strolling flies on every one of the three work areas inside the two rooms of the shack, filling the air with foul flotsam and jetsam, pointing towards one’s mouth, yet very satisfied in the event that they missed, and basically arrived all the rage. They polluted everything, sticking, and climbing, and, surprisingly, some slithering, in their quickest stride conceivable, particularly the gigantic bellied ones, they’d attempt to move away yet I’d smack them, tragically leaving a dumpy-ridiculous wreck, I sincerely attempted to just drive them off, yet like I said previously or suggested, they were at that point brained washed and prepared to forfeit their lives for the purpose.

I stood by without complaining those long warm days for the sun to go down, so I could get the damnation out of there and return to headquarters and become inebriated, and fail to remember those awful nuisances!


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