It’s been
awhile since I written a Trooper Bob story, in fact it’s been awhile since I’ve
been here. I could say I’ve been busy
but that isn’t completely true. I could
tell you I’ve been depressed, kind of like Duane in Larry McMurtry’s Duane’s
Depressed. But I haven’t taken up
walking everywhere. I could tell you all
kinds of things but the truth is, I don’t know why I haven’t been here.
I have been
spending a lot of time with Trooper Bob lately and every now and then a story
will fall out of his brain and I have been remiss in reporting them here. I know that man has more stories than Carter
has little liver pills. If you don’t know
who Carter is or what little liver pills are, well GOOGLE it!
I digress.
Let’s welcome back the Chronicles of Trooper Bob.
They sat in
the old stone building. The one where
John Wayne had slept, where George Patton had smoked his cigars and written in
his journal. They had gathered from all
over the state. The border was in a
state of flux and there was an uprising on the horizon. The Colonel had given the order and they had gathered with their riot gear driven hundreds of miles and now they were waiting for
word. A gaggle of men dressed in summer
wool DPS uniforms in the South Texas heat, waiting. Some played cards, some read Zane Grey novels
bought at the five and dime in Brackettville but most napped. They napped because it was smart to grab the
sleep when you could. Tomorrow was
unknown. Heck and hour from now was
iffy.
Trooper Deal
and Trooper Bob sat talking old times and telling tales. Waiting for others to nod off so they could
play a prank or two on the unsuspecting victim.
Sometimes it was as simple as the shaving cream and feather trick which
would cause the newly shaving cream covered victim to come alive spitting and
cussing while the rest would scream in laughter.
The worst
part of the detail was the waiting. The
waiting produced boredom and boredom gave them way too much time to come up
with new ways in which to torment the other.
The shadows
were getting long and another day had almost passed when the bell clanged and
they shifted from leaned back chairs and legs draped over easy chair arms. They had been waiting for something to happen
and now it had. Chow time. Trooper Bob eased off his chair and picked up
his gun belt. Strapping it on he also
stuffed something in his pocket. He
wandered close behind the others smirking just a little
“Hey, Hutch” cried Deal “I’m so
hungry I could eat the south end of a north bound cow.”
“The way that hamburger tasted at
lunch it might have been all asshole” Trooper Bob replied.
“Well I guess you’d know what
asshole tasted like, you bein one and all” Byron shot back.
“I’ll remember you said that, I have
a long memory” Bob answered.
They filed
into the mess hall and pulled out the metal chairs lined along the makeshift
tables. Bob made his way around the
table passed the Colonel’s chair at the head of the table pausing just a moment
to notice a nice cushion placed on the chair.
Guess old lead bottom had a delicate derriere he mused. Then he moved on.
Colonel Leadbottom stood at the end
of the table cleared his throat and in his best imitation of George Patton he
gave his speech. How in difficult time
brave men step forward to do their duty.
He droned on and the men shuffled feet and fidgeted in their seats. Their greasy fried chicken and instant mashed
potatoes grew cold on their plates the gravy congealing in puddles. Finally, he finished up and lowered his incredibly
ample ass onto the chair.
PLFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT echoed through the stone walls. Someone in
the back of the room yelled AMEN! Leadbottom jumped to his feet huffing and puffing,
he stormed around his chair. Leaned over
and with thumb and forefinger plucked a whoopee cushion from his chair. The room erupted in laughter. Leadbottom stormed out leaving his congealed
gravy and soggy chicken.
Trooper Bob grinned knowing that the Ben Franklin sold more
than just Zane Grey novels and Juicy Fruit.
Night fell and the stars shone
bright over the old fort. Ghost of Pecos
Bill and Skinny Jim Wainwright haunted the halls and watched over the troopers.
Snores echoed through walls and off of
the wooden beams. All quiet on the
border.
The next morning the word came and
the big yellow school buses started pulling up in front of the Officer’s
Quarters. The men roused from their beds
cowlicks standing tall and sleep still in their eyes began their preparations. The troopers shined their boots, cinched on
their Sam Browns and pinned on their badges.
There were no jokes, no grab assing.
This was serious. This was Poncho
Villa serious. There was a border war
brewing and these men were the first line of defense. They checked their cartridges and revolvers
grabbed their shields, replaced their signature Stetson hats with helmets and
moved out.
One by one they boarded the buses; the
Colonel checked the names off his roster.
They were seated side by side, ready to do or die. The Colonel cleared his throat and gave the
instructions. “On this auspicious
occasion we must remember these are civilians, Mexican citizens. Remember no violence unless necessary. We are here to defend our citizens, never
attack. Keep your cool don’t let them
goad you into a battle. We are here as a
show of force. I know you all have trained for riots but remember this is not
training, men. This is the real deal. Now, does anyone one have any questions?”
The men squirmed a bit not really
sure what to expect. The colonel made it
sound so ominous. Was there really going
to be violence? Was the joking around
and hijinks over and now it was all business?
Deal raised his hand “Colonel, sir?”
“Yes Deal?” the Colonel replied
“Shouldn’t somebody stay back and
defend the fort?” Deal asked with a straight face.
“Shut up Deal and put on your helmet”
The Colonel shouted over a bus full of laughter.
Trooper Deal leaned over and
whispered to Trooper Bob “John Wayne would have never left the fort undefended.”
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