Squirrel Patrol: Thousand-Yard Stare

R & R & R

Nuts sat at a table in a deeply shadowed corner of the bar. The bright lights of the kitchen, gleaming through the doorway, amplified the depth of shadow. Nursing some corn distillate in an acorn cap, he was relaxed as much as he liked it - which was not as much as the rest of his patrol. From his vantage point, he could view the front entrance, the gang carousing on the main dance floor, and could hear - if not sense - any movement in the kitchen / backdoor area. His squad was in rare form, various levels of inebriation and grab tail - either with each other, or with some of the local talent.

He sipped at the cap slowly. The drink was just enough to give him the warm fuzzies. He didn't feel the need to get fully soused. That was a young pup's game, and he could enjoy their antics without the settling of dues that would occur the next morning. Unfortunately for the patrol, he would be the collector of the dues. Nuts wouldn't overdo it, but he wouldn't baby them either. Looking around, he took inventory of his charges as they bounced around the Unified Squirrel Organization (USO) club.

Jazz was nearest, seated at the bar having a fermented berry drink with the barmaid. Nuts couldn't quite hear all of the exchange, due to the noise of the music machine, but he figured the banter involved some high class subjects Jazz thought would impress the barmaid. She was a few years older and meatier than Jazz, and had probably seen more than her share of soldiers walk through the bar's doors. Her name, Blaze, was supported by a strong tan swath of fur in a stripe from her right ear, down across her mostly white chest, and continued around to her tail. If Jazz thought he had a chance with her, it wasn't Nuts' place to ruin the idea. But Nuts had kept score: Jazz was on his fourth drink; Blaze was still nursing her first, but probably charging Jazz for the unpoured extras.

Vermin had just stumbled off the dance floor, either supporting - or being supported by two coochie-coos. The larger one was striking. A really light grey fur, with flecks of black. It reminded him of another mammal of the past, the name of which eluded him. She was the leader of the pair, and her carefree attitude belied her true, controlled manner. Her partner was maybe a year younger, a nondescript two-tone, who was still learning the tricks of the trade. She wasn't faking her tipsiness, having matched Vermin, drink for drink. The trio made it back to their table, where the flecked one poured more drinks.

Nibble and Roadkill were regaling a couple of squirrels and their chipmunk mascot with tales of their latest heroic deeds. Road was laying it on thick, with Nibble supplying details when Road stopped for breath or a drink. Nuts wasn't sure who was lead and who was the backup. They kept on switching roles, which was confusing enough for Nuts. Their main two listeners, sisters apparently, were polite about it, but you could see by their looks, they knew Road was laying it on thick. And they didn't seem impressed with Nibble. The chipmunk though, probably underage, was mesmerized.

Scratcher was the only member absent. He had been there earlier, they had all arrived together. He begged off early though, claiming tiredness. The gang gave him a snootful of harassment, but finally bade him well after Nuts told them to knock it off. As Scratcher made his way to the door, Nuts hinted that Scratch could skip the morning formation and see the medics. Scratcher said he would think about it. Nuts was pretty sure the kid was okay, only a little shook up from their recent encounter, but he realized combat affected all squirrels differently. Even himself.

He thought back to his earlier years, both as a young pup and later, when he was old enough to be drafted into the war. As a pup, he watched the older squirrels go away. Some came back with with flash and swagger, and some didn't. For those that didn't, Nuts assumed they just moved somewhere else. Only later did he learn that to assume something just made an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me'. ASS-U-ME. When he finally got in, he learned the truth about war, had his share of terror and triumph that finally changed into a reality-based apathy. Do what you could, don't get you or yours killed while doing it. And when the worst came about, as it always did, you just got up and dusted off your fur. Or not, if the Great Squirrel came for you.

Not liking where his thoughts were taking him, Nuts put some script on the table, waved his thanks to the barmaid who managed a nod without breaking stride with Jazz, and quietly slipped into the kitchen, and out the back door. Making his way back to camp, he took some small pleasure in the crisp fall air. Keeping to the sides of the old buildings, and staying in shadows, he walked through the streets that the giant ones created. He knew that other squirrels grew up in these places, even back in the time of the giants. They weren't there now, at least not that Nuts could detect. It was a weird place to visit; he sure wouldn't want to live here.

A short walk later brought him to a small wooded park. He saw one of the sentry points and made his way to enter. The old one on duty was something to see. Nuts was surprised to see one this old. Sitting on a small log, the squirrel was ready to fall over. His fur was dull and missing in patches. He was holding an old weapon in front of him, the stock on the ground, his head resting one one of his arms that were holding the barrel next to his head. Nuts smiled to himself. Even under peaceful times, squirrels never got too old. Injuries, starvation, even getting caught out in a cold rain was enough to do it. Nuts drew up to the old soldier.

"Sergeant Nuts reporting in from a town pass.", he stated, as he presented himself as if being inspected.

The old one had got off his spot on a log when he saw someone approaching. The distance wasn't that great, as the sentry's senses had faded with age. Still, he did what he could in the war effort. Standing up as much as his old bones would allow, he spoke to the young soldier. "Halt! Identify and give the password!", he commanded in a shaky, hoarse voice.

Nuts stood straight as he politely repeated his identification. "Sergeant Nuts reporting in from a town pass."

"And the password?", the old one asked cagily.

Nuts wasn't aware of any password being used in camp. The patrol would've been told before they left. Still, he thought, better to give the old guy something, even if it was wrong.

"The password is 'chocolate chip cookie.", Nuts said.

The sentry leaned closer, with his hand at his ear. "What? Possums make nookie?", he replied.

Nuts let out a short laugh at that, before speaking a little louder, "chocolate chip cookie!".

"Hawks spit loogies? What kind of password is that?", he replied.

Nuts rubbed his head over his eyes. He didn't want to insult the squirrel, but he didn't want to spend the rest of the night trading quips. Crossing his nails, he gave it one more shot - the truth this time. "There is no password!", he squeaked.

"Of course there's no password!", the old one squeaked back. "Why'd you think that?" The sentry went back to sit on the log as he waved Nuts into the park. "Get along with you, now. Grab a rack. Tomorrow's gonna be a big day. Get some shut-eye.", his voice drawing low as he slipped back into his half sleep.

Nuts moved on into the camp. Finding his way back to his tent, he thought about what the old boy said about tomorrow. He hasn't heard of any new movements or attacks being planned. In fact, since their debrief, Nuts fully expected a period of boring training and nightly debacherie. Usually not one to accept camp rumors, he considered it might be wise to heed the sentry's warning about tomorrow.