Fallen Angels by Walter Dean Myers

supply of insect repellent came in. Lieutenant Carroll said that it was good for making Molotov cocktails. Peewee wanted to know how come he was thinking about making Molotov cocktails when we had all the explosives in the world right in camp. Good point.
    Lieutenant Carroll was a decent kind of guy. He talked a lot about Kansas, which is where he was from. His parents had a farm near Hays and his father was proud of him being an officer in the army. He’d told us that, about his father being proud of him being an officer, twice. It was like he didn’t know what to make of it.
    For Sunday chow we had roast beef, mashed potatoes, peas, carrots, carrot cake, and milk. We seemed to be having that quite a bit.
    After chow we put the television on, but nothing was on. Nothing at all. All we got was static. Brew wrote a letter to President Johnson saying that if he wanted us to fight, he’d better send us some good televisions, and we all signed it. Then we threw it away.
    Then we watched the movie again without the sound, and we all had parts to play in it. That was the best showing of the movie, especially with Peewee as Julie Andrews.
    We listened to the news on radio and heard about peace talks in Paris. There was a lot of talk about how we were kicking the living crap out of the Communists, too.
    “Turn that up loud as you can,” Peewee said. “Make sure them Congs hear it.”
    We heard stories. Stories about fighting in Dak To, and down south in Pleiku, but we weren’t doing any of it. I thought about it, though. I wanted to know how it felt to shoot at a Cong. The way I thought about it, mostly, was thinking of what I would say when I got home. Maybe even what I would say to Kenny.
    Kenny always looked up to me. He couldn’t play ball as well as I had when I was his age, and he didn’t do as well in school. Maybe it had something to do with Dad leaving when Kenny was four. He saw all the fights between Dad and Mom, and I think it hurt him more than it did me. I had basketball, and I was good in school. Later, with Mom drinking so much, all Kenny had was me. I wanted to tell him that I did something in the war.
    I couldn’t sleep most of the night. When the rats weren’t running around in the dark, the mosquitoes were after you. Peewee said that the mosquitoes ran patrols for the rats and afterward they split up their catch. I had to go to the bathroom, but I didn’t want to go out to the outdoor latrine. In the first place it stunk too bad, and in the second, as soon as you pulled your pants down after dark the mosquitoes bit your ass.
    For breakfast we had eggs, coffee, buns, bacon, and grits. Peewee complained that he missed the roast beef.
    “You getting that for lunch,’’ the cook said.
    “If you serve any more of that damn roast beef you better bring a rifle with it because I’m going to put a hole in your ass for every slice of beef I see.” Brunner said it like he meant it, too.
    The cook, a short blond guy with a tattoo on his right arm that said “Mother” and one on his left arm that said “Linda,” spit in a cup and slid it down to Brunner. “There’s your lunch, skinhead.”
    Captain Stewart, our company commander, came over and asked what was wrong, and Brunner told him what had happened.
    “We can only fix what they send us, Captain,” the cook said.
    “I’m sure the corporal realizes that, soldier,” the captain said. “But men who go out and risk their lives every’ day would like a little more respect.”
    “I didn’t ask to be no damn cook!’’
    “Watch your mouth, soldier,” the captain’s voice assumed captain’s status.
    Two jets swept by and started hitting a target less than five miles away. They must have made a half-dozen passes before they were joined by two more. We went outside and watched them, our food still in our hands.
    “They must have got a convoy,” Brunner said. He said it to Captain Stewart, and he had his sucking-up voice on. Behind him, the cook