THE SANDY KNOLL by Ramon Collins

Paulin turned his field jacket collar up. “Jeez, the desert gets cold at night.” Sergeant Snyder squirmed over on his side to ease a lower leg muscle cramp. “Sand don’t hold much heat.” Lonely stars glanced at each other in the dark sky. Occasional flashes to the east were followed by a faint rumbling sound. “Do you suppose they know we’re over here, Sarge?” “Now what the hell do you think?” “I was just asking. This is your third hitch and I’ve been here three days.” “Paulin, they damn well know we’re here — feel better?” “I’d kind of like to see who’s trying to kill me tonight.” “If you don’t wanna die, stop joinin’ the fuggin’ army.” The sergeant inched his way up the knoll with his elbows, keeping his weapon out of the sand. Paulin watched, then did the same on the left side. Snyder turned his head. ”Keep that goddamn muzzle outta the dirt — squeeze off a round you won’t have a hand left.” The breeze stopped and silence took over. “Paulin — hear that? “Hear what?” Snyder propped himself on an elbow and looked back. “I heard a rustlin’ sound behind us.” He rolled over, sat up and stared into the darkness. Paulin turned halfway around then froze. “Sarge, if you’re tryin’ to scare the crap out of a new man, yer doing a good job.” “Is that what I smel–” Shots knifed through the dawn.

.

Return to This Week’s Flash