The McLaughlin Chronicles: An Officer and a Gentleman

McLaughlin’s ‘ride’ was a deuce-and-a-half that was carrying other cargo out to his platoon. The passenger, a corporal, dutifully offered his seat to the lieutenant. McLaughlin refused it, however, as he didn’t feel like driving the whole way down with the sergeant who was the driver. He would either be real chatty, and McLaughlin wasn’t in the mood to talk, or one of those types that hated all officers, and he wasn’t in the mood for a grouch either.

So, McLaughlin perched himself on an ammunition crate and yelled for the sergeant to drive. He regretted saying that almost at the time that he said it. The only thing that made this trip more bearable than his trip to the hospital, was the fact that he was able to sit up and see the outside without being blinded by the sun or craning his neck. He tried settling himself in and pin himself with two crates, but it didn’t seem to help all that much.

After about ten minutes, however, McLaughlin’s body was numb to the bumps and he was able to think back on the evening that had just passed. There was something about that girl. He knew it right from the start. What it was exactly, he couldn’t put his finger on, but somehow he couldn’t wait to get his nest break and see her again. He shook his head violently, ‘What was he thinking?’ He had a new platoon in a combat zone that he had to get used to. Not to mention the fact that he had the mystery to solve of how exactly recovered from his wounds so quickly, and the identity of the attacker of his last platoon.

The trip was going to last an hour and a half. Things were shifting in the back of the truck, as they would often do. After a half an hour, McLaughlin decided to reposition himself. He grabbed at one of the crates to pull himself up. Just at that moment, the rear left wheel hit a rut and everything bounced inside. His hand slid along the edge of the crate, peeling a large splinter off of the cover.

McLaughlin gave a yelp as he pulled his hand away. Blood poured out. He jammed it hard against his shirt and shuffled through his bag for a rag or t-shirt. He found and old t-shirt and wrapped it around his hand. He decided to stay where he was for the rest of the trip. When they finally came to a stop, his body was so numb that it took all he could to get himself to his feet. He stood there for a few minutes, trying to get the feeling back into his legs. He could hear voice around the cabin, but he didn’t pay attention to them. A sergeant came around the back. He wasn’t the sergeant driving, nor was he wearing the same type of clothing. He had a flak vest on, a helmet and a rifle slung over his shoulder.

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