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    A Patchwork of Yarns
    A Patchwork of Yarns
    A Patchwork of Yarns
    Ebook62 pages53 minutes

    A Patchwork of Yarns

    By Piers Platt

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    About this ebook

    A conscientious objector volunteers to go to Vietnam. A weary assassin seeks his final target on a desolate planet. The protagonist in a story rebels against his mediocre writer. A Patchwork of Yarns is a short story anthology that includes ten original stories, from the nostalgic to the adrenaline-pumping, the bittersweet to the absurdly hilarious.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPiers Platt
    Release dateJun 8, 2017
    ISBN9781386070788
    A Patchwork of Yarns

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      Book preview

      A Patchwork of Yarns - Piers Platt

      Welcome Home

      Oh, you’ll like this one, sir. It ain’t another one o’ those heartbreak war stories." The NCO shivered adroitly out of his heavy PRC-25 radio pack, shifting the bulky machinery down onto the grass and unclipping his entrenching tool from the back of the rucksack.

      Good, the lieutenant grunted. I can do without the heartbreak tonight. Someone’s got to make it out of here alive, right?

      That’s a rog, sir. This guy makes it, all right.

      Sergeant Stevens liked his new lieutenant. He had just taken over the platoon as a replacement for their last LT, a guy named Porter, who had earned himself a Purple Heart and a trip to Japan after stepping on a VietCong mine. The new lieutenant was fresh in-country, and hence had zero combat experience, but his men were his first priority, and that was the best thing you could say about an officer, Stevens knew. The kid was smart enough to take his NCOs’ advice too, and that made him ten times better than some officers.

      Stevens tweaked the radio’s numerous knobs, switched to a longer antenna, and then spoke briefly into the radio’s handset. On hearing a reply, he gave a quick thumbs-up to the LT. Satisfied, the lieutenant grabbed his rifle and headed off to direct the emplacement of his troops along the platoon’s perimeter, overseeing the defense of their hilltop position for the night. It was muggy, as always, and the noise of the platoon digging into the thick clay was jarring in the hushed jungle evening.

      Stevens set to work excavating a two man foxhole for himself and the lieutenant at the center of the rough circle the platoon occupied. The lieutenant soon joined him, the two men taking turns digging into the red earth, and providing cover for the other. When they had finished, Stevens took advantage of the waning light to clean his weapons. He laid out his M-16 on a spare undershirt, disassembled it, cleaned the bolt, the carrier group, and the upper receiver, and ran a rod down the barrel twice. Satisfied, he applied a light coat of oil, reassembled the weapon, did a function check to ensure everything was working properly, and reloaded it. The lieutenant took a final tour of the unit’s defenses, and, satisfied with the security, he dropped back into their foxhole. Stevens pulled out two C-rations and began heating them over a squat field stove. As the sun sank below the mountains and twilight began to set in, Stevens began his story.

      A couple months back, I got a slot at LRRP school – you know, the long range patrol thing they’re trying out? I figured I’d be able to catch up on some sleep, take a break from all this patrolling.

      The lieutenant gave him a dubious look, and Stevens laughed. Yeah, I know – fat chance … those six weeks were worse than all of Basic combined. They had us humping 60, 70 pound rucks all night, morning PT went on ‘til lunchtime, and we had classes all afternoon. But at least no one was shooting at us for a while. Only one weekend of liberty, most of us spent it sacked out. Anyway, my bunkmate back at the barracks was a kid named Jack Frost. No bullshit, sir … Jack Frost from the frozen depths of Maine. We gave him some shit about that, but he’d heard it all since grade school, didn’t spook him a bit. Real nice guy, and a hell of a soldier. Top of his Basic class, big guy, blonde hair, blue eyes, baseball All-American, Airborne, Ranger tab, you name it. This guy had been to every training school the Army’s got. We got to be pretty good friends, and by the end of the program we partnered up for the final Field Exercise.

      Stevens handed a meal to the lieutenant, and then cranked the lid of off his own, sniffing cautiously. Fuck. Turkey Loaf again.

      Looks like you got pound cake with that, if it helps any.

      Stevens shrugged unenthusiastically, but dug in. Between mouthfuls, he continued.

      "Where was I … FieldEx, right? So Jack and I gotta crawl 30 miles across this stinking swamp in three days, observe the ‘enemy’ position, and raid it on the fourth night, while the instructors patrolled the whole area. We spent the last night actually in the swamp, and to keep our minds off all the

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