Birdy

feet are already cold. My arms are stiff from the shots. I jog in place and windmill my arms. The other three jerks are hunched inside themselves, smoking.
    Finally, the T-5 comes out. He doesn’t look up or count us. Maybe he can’t count to four. We follow him to the motor pool where a truck is waiting. There are two jigs in the cabin. I smile at them but they ignore me. The T-5 pulls down the tailgate.
    ‘OK, up you go, shitheads.’
    I muscle up and swing into the truck first. Two guys can’t make it so I give them a hand. The back of the truck is sheet metal, wet, slick and black with damp coal dust. Shovels are leaning against the front wall of the truck bed. There are no seats. The damned coal dust is going to get all over the new overcoats. I go and squat beside the shovels. The other farts line up on both sides of me. Nobody’s saying anything. We’re not even looking at each other.
    The truck starts with a lurch and swings hard out of the motor pool. We’re all thrown on our asses and slip across the truck bed. We can hear the sons-of-bitches laughing in the cabin. The T-5 looks back at the fun through the cabin window. We barrel along a dirt road, falling all over each other, till we get on the main road to Harrisburg. Our knees are black from sliding around, and Christ it’s cold! There’s nothing to block the wind. My face and ears have turned numb. After about half an hour, we pull up to some coal piles near the river. The truck stops and the T-5 comes around to open the tailgate.
    I guess I’ve stopped talking and I’m only thinking because Weiss opens his eyes and says, ‘Go on, Sergeant, tell me about the incident that related to the court-martial. Tell me everything you can remember.’
    ‘Well, sir. They transported us by military transport to Harrisburg. There was a corporal in charge, Corporal Lumbowski, the non-commissioned officer I was accused of attacking. There were also two PFCs driving the truck and four of us on the detail.’
    I’m running my mind a mile a minute trying to give Weiss enough to keep him interested but not too much. I’m hoping I can tell this without sounding like a homicidal maniac.
    I jump off the truck first and my legs buckle. I can’t feel a thing. One guy takes a header and cuts his hand on the gravel. The T-5 is standing, pointing into the truck. He’s wearing thick leather mittens.
    ‘Stupid basturds; ya fergot the fuggin’ shovels. Ya wanna shovel tha’ coal whit yer han’s dat’s OK whit me. You!’
    He points at me.
    ‘Yeah, you, musclehead. Jump up deah an’ git dem gahdamn shovels an’ make it fast! We ain’ gaht awh fuggin’ day!’
    I do a quick, one-handed hurdle up onto the truck bed. The moron didn’t expect that. I grab the shovels. I stand with them at the tail of the truck. I motion to one of the guys on the detail.
    ‘Here, you; catch!’
    I throw him a shovel. The asshole not only misses; he ducks!
    ‘Cut dat shit, fuck-off! Jiis’ han’ ’em down. Dem’s guvment isshew. Ya wanna make outta fuggin’ Stamenttachaages, huh?’
    I jump down and pass out the shovels. The jigs back the truck close to a huge pile of coal. The T-5 takes my shovel.
    ‘Naow, disheah’s ah shovel, an’ disheah’s de wokkin’ en’. Disheah’s de hannel. Ya take-a-hold by de hannel an’ push de flaht paht unnder de coal deah and lif’ up an trowh de coal inna truck. See? Unnerstan?’
    So fuckin’ stupid. We all start shoveling. The coal’s frozen so hard we almost can’t get the shovels in for the first few bites; we have to kick them in. We’re all getting in each other’s way. The T-5 goes up to sit in the cab with the jigs. They keep the motor running so the cab’ll stay warm. All we’re getting is carbon monoxide out the back. Nobody’s talking; none of us is much at shoveling; we’re all hurting from the shots and binding tight in the new overcoats. It’s going to be one long morning filling that truck.
    ‘Well, sir, we work for about two hours shoveling coal into the truck. None of us had had much experience and the noncomin charge, Corporal Lumbowski, was getting impatient. He had a job to get done and we were way behind schedule.’
    Weiss nods and gives a few hmms to show he’s listening. I think he really likes hearing this kind of crap. Maybe psychiatrists get into it because they like freaky stories.
    I’m just getting up a sweat, when the moron T-5 jumps down from the cab, puts out his cigarette and comes