“Sarge there are three regiments of the Queens men, we are so low on steam that we might not be able to fly out of this heap, and it isnt our fight.”
“Hand me your canteen……Not that one, the one filled with three century old scotch from the Earl’s estate.”
“Sarge we arent even English.”
“Look Corporal, if i hear another word out of you before i get to see these honkin spider contraptions fight those limey wimps, Yeah and gimme a cigar too.”
“I know sarge the Cuban ones from the Dukes right?”
CORPORAL GET US IN THE AIR
“What is it sarge?”
The large man’s massive hand flung the corporal down the hatch and into the pilot’s seat.
“Son those aren’t spiders they are wasps.”
“Sarge Diza level is low, steam is low, we might not make it.”
The corporal flipped ahundred switches and then braced for take off.
As the sarge took a swig from the flask in his vest, the stolen cognac made the radio in the cockpit that blared the Dylan song seam like a Prophecy.
BUSSINESS MAN THEY DRINK MY WINE, COME AND TAKE MY HERB