The barrel fire still smelled horribly electronic. "Are they self-reporting?" Boots brushed against a noggin squirmed up sleeping in a tent.
Embattled. No one had seen them advance in a weather system to connect commandos with contained.
A slept-hard lip smacking. One hand on a breast, the other shushing on eye open. Lips moving to tell.
In fact, some of ours had been stripped to underwear again and tied to a flammable and potentially explosive weight that was by-passed by pick up.
Someone did a quick headcount. Silently made way to another campsite.
"Two," fingers told.
"Are the AWOL still in their uniforms?" A clerk-type turned to ask.
No comments:
Post a Comment