The Odd Angry Shot Read Free Page B

food into pots and turn it into shit.’
    A bumble of mirthful snickering and faces break into smiles.
    â€˜Up your arse,’ comes the stern reply.
    â€˜Be nice, cookie, or I’ll piss in your powdered egg.’
    Exit Harry. Be sure to tune in again tomorrow for another episode in the continuing saga of Harry and the Baitlayer.
    Remember that mail. Parks and kids, kids and parks, sleep tight but don’t forget that we are protecting you all, so do please put pen to paper.
    â€˜Rogers. Small. Small. Small.’
    â€˜He writes ’em himself.’
    â€˜Shuddup. Clarke. Westfield. Shaw.’
    Remember how good it was to get a letter. You never wrote too many—maybe you should have written more—but anyway it was good. What’s this? Re-addressed.
    Dear Sir,
We find it necessary to remind you that your account is overdue. We would be pleased if you would settle as soon as possible—amount $3.50.
    â€˜Shit, one of mine’s a bill.’
    â€˜Who do you owe money to here?’
    â€˜No. Re-addressed from Australia.’
    Reply:
    Dear Sir,
I find it necessary to inform you that I am at present indisposed, and what’s more I don’t care a rat’s arse about your $3.50.
Kind regards,
Son of Anzac.
    Letter number two:
    My Darling,
I’m sorry I haven’t written sooner but I’ve been so busy. I’ve just moved flats and you know what moving’s like. I must tell you something. I think it would be a good thing if we broke it off while you are away. I don’t want you to have to worry about me while you are over there because I’m sure that you have enough on your mind without me there too. Anyhow, must go.
Bye for now,
Love…Whatever. Whoever.
    Reply:
    I can’t even remember what she looks like. Thanks for nothing.
    REMEMBER how it seemed warm and cosy inside the tent when it rained. You liked to watch the rain. Remember when you were a little boy and you used to get your arse smacked by your mother when you stayed out in it. Remember how you used to walk up and down beside the hedge and whistle ‘Singing in the Rain’—it seemed like a good thing to do at the time—and you were only six. Thirteen years isn’t that long.
    It was good inside the tent. The sandbags looked solid, protective in their uniformity. Someone said they looked like Besser Bricks. Oh give me a slice of suburbia and a Holden.
    HARRY is cleaning his AK47. Shaw and Rogers are writing letters.
    â€˜I think my feet have had the chop. Have a look at this.’
    I display my feet like two red spotted candelabra in front of Shaw’s face.
    â€˜Jesus, they don’t look good, mate. Maybe you’ve got leprosy.’
    â€˜My feet are OK. It’s my crotch,’ says Rogers.
    â€˜Yeah, we know. You can’t leave it alone.’
    â€˜You may as well forget it, everyone else in the Task Force has it too.’
    â€˜What? Roger’s crotch?’ says Harry, ‘I always thought there was a bit of poof in the boy.’
    â€˜Up your arse,’ says Rogers.
    â€˜See I told you, a dead-set queen.’
    â€˜Is there something that can cure my afflicted tootsies,’ I demand.
    â€˜I’m told that it helps if you piss on them,’ says Harry.
    â€˜What’s it do?’ I enquire.
    â€˜The stink kills you and you don’t have to worry,’ says Shaw.
    â€˜Go and get stuffed the lot of you. I’ll go and see the medic.’
    â€˜He won’t do you much good,’ says Harry.
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜He’s got it himself.’
    â€˜Anyone got any porno?’ I ask, and fall back onto my bed.
    â€˜YOU will patrol the area from the road here—to the edge of the plantation here.’
    â€˜What’s in the area?’ asks Shaw.
    â€˜Mostly VC. There have been a few isolated reports and yesterday morning’s briefing reported that two fresh graves have been found in the area of grid