The Drone Wars

Pig and Patrick

The twenty year old dark skinned man from the U.S.A bore a resemblance to the natives of Nigeria, perhaps his ancestors had been snatched from around there.  He was fresh from bootcamp along with his companion who went by the peculiar name of Pig, perhaps not least because of his upturned nostrils and barrel-like figure.  He turned toward his pink-skinned, sunscreen-slathered fellow American who stood alongside him and looked upwards: "Say there, Pig, do you think that there's a bullfrog somewhere in the world that could jump higher than this pile of sand?"

The tropical sun was getting low in the sky over Camp Wolfcat but it was still hot as blazes.  This month was the month of maximum rain for Lagos Nigeria but since Pig had arrived the weather had been pretty dry.  Maybe it was climate change, maybe not.  Though the political debate on the topic had long since ended, Pig regarded all science with a skeptical eye.  Just empty speculation by people who finagled a paycheck without actually getting things done.  Their commander had allowed them to take the hottest hours of the day to rest from filling sand bags.  They'd started before dawn and would have to continue until sunset.  Somehow the sweltering of the present didn't diminish his desire for a hot meal and a hot shower.

"Well, Patrick" said Pig, propping his shovel up and examining the pile of sand carefully.  It looked to be about fifteen feet high, clearly many truck loads.  "I ain't seen many bullfrogs in my days, but I'd have to say that most any frog could jump higher than this."

"It's a mighty tall pile of sand." The dark skinned man shook his head.  "I've played with frogs since I was a boy growing up by the old mill pond but I don't think they could do it.  Why do you think it's so easy?"

Pig returned to his labors.  Though he was older than the vast majority of the soldiers on the base, he worked harder than most.  Grit was more valuable than talent.  He suspected that the wall of sandbags might well protect someone from shrapnel in case a missile came down in the base.  He and Patrick were supposed to get their platoon assignments this evening.  They had a comfortable relationship that came from weeks of bonding together at basic training.  They were assigned as battle buddies and they had done just about everything together from their first days until now.  They hoped and had reason to expect that they would end up in the same platoon and, indeed, in the squad.

"It's not that I think that a frog can jump all that high," replied Pig pensively as he finished another bag and began to tie it closed, "it's just that I don't think that this pile of sand can jump at all."

Patrick broke out into peals of laughter and couldn't continue to work.  Pig smiled just a little.  He knew he wasn't very smart but sometimes his jokes did manage to get a laugh.

"Hey, Pig," said Patrick when he had quieted down.  "I overheard in the mess at lunch that the 44th platoon is down a squad.  We might get assigned there."

"Sounds good as any to me."

"The Chinese say that the number four is unlucky.  That it sounds like the word for death."

"Then it's a good thing we ain't Chinese," replied Pig.

A couple of hours later, the sun had set and they were relieved for the day.  Pig was a sweaty mess and so was Patrick.  They headed down to the showers on the south side of the NATO base.