Flies in the Ammo Shack

Flies in the Ammo Shack

(A Vietnam War tale about Flies, 1971)


It was a blistering evening in the ammunition dump, inside the ammunition shack-comprising of two rooms, walls made from pressed wood, floors or decorates of long wooden sheets level lumber generally, you could see through their breaks, set slanted close by each other; likewise the shack was a destroy disproportionate, practically flimsy, and extremely broken. Established on four by four bars under the flooring sections, about a half foot high, among the delicate white sand that encompassed it, giving a jungle gym for the reptiles to participate in diversion, inconspicuous.


I conveyed a semi old ‘Stars and Strips,’ magazine with me when I needed to go to the ammunition shack (where us warriors did our desk work for designations and circulating of ammo to the guards showing up from a few areas inside the area.


I conveyed that old ‘Stars and Strips,’ magazine for a month, until another one emerged, and utilized it to wash away flies. They were wherever in the ammunition shack-we were plagued with them, with their humming around as though we were trespassers: fat and 410 Ammo  bellied documents; some dull others light shads of dim, long and short winged flies, gnawing your hands and face, and ears, behind your neck, amassing around you, creeping up your shirt sleeves, jumping at you as though they were little rebuffing rockets, prepared by the Vietcong to bother you.- me, us!


There were dead or biting the dust flies, likewise strolling flies on every one of the three work areas inside the two rooms of the shack, filling the air with foul garbage, pointing towards one’s mouth, however very happy in the event that they missed, and just arrived all the rage. They sullied everything, gripping, and climbing, and, surprisingly, some slithering, in their quickest stride conceivable, particularly the huge bellied ones, they’d attempt to move away yet I’d smack them, tragically leaving a dumpy-ridiculous wreck, I genuinely attempted to just drive them off, yet like I said previously or suggested, they were at that point brained washed and prepared to forfeit their lives for the purpose.


I stood by without complaining those long blistering days for the sun to go down, so I could get the damnation out of there and return to headquarters and become inebriated, and fail to remember those dreadful nuisances!


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