Jigs in the Rounds Shack

(A Vietnam War story about Flies, 1971)

It was a hot afternoon within the ammo dump, inside the rounds shack-consisting of a couple of rooms, walls manufactured out of hdf, floors or vase of long wood made boards-flat timber with regard to the most element, you might see through their cracks, positioned crooked alongside one another; also the particular shack was the smite lopsided, practically wobbly, and quite broken. Planted about four by four beams underneath the floorboards, about a half foot high, between the soft white sand that surrounded that, providing an playground intended for the lizards in order to engage in recreation, unnoticed.

I carried a semi outdated ‘Stars and Strip, ‘ magazine with me when I had to visit the rounds shack (where people soldiers did our paperwork for aides and distributing associated with ammunition to the convoys arriving from several locations within the location.

I carried that old ‘Stars and Strips, ‘ mag for a month, until an innovative one came out and about, and used this to swish away from flies. These people were all over the place in the bullets shack-we were infested using them, with their very own buzzing around as if we had been invaders: fat and even thin bellied data; some dark some others light shads of dark, long plus short winged jigs, biting your arms and face, plus ears, behind your neck, swarming around you, sneaking up your shirt sleeves, scuba diving into your eye as though they were small punishing missiles, trained by Vietcong to annoy an individual. -me, us!

There were 450 bushmaster ammo or dying flies, also jogging flies on each of the three desks within the two rooms from the shack, filling the atmosphere with putrid debris, aiming in the direction of one’s mouth, yet quite content whenever they missed, and basically landed on your own lips. They polluted everything, clinging, plus climbing, and even several crawling, within their quickest gait possible, specifically the big extra fat bellied ones, that they had try to get away but I’d personally swat them, sadly leaving a dumpy-bloody mess, I absolutely tried to simply frighten them away, yet like I mentioned before-or implied, these were already brained rinsed and ready in order to sacrifice their lifestyles for the trigger.

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