Roycelandia
17-08-2004, 09:37
Tranter, Roycelandian East Africa
The small town of Tranter, near the northern REA/AC/Lusaka joint border, and coincidentally near the disputed province of Bukova, was a surprisingly uneventful place. Despite the large garrison of soldiers near the border, the rest of the population were mainly farmers, geologists, and the other sort of people one expects to find in a small, remote outpost of civilisation in the African "bush" (or Desert, as most of the perpetually dust-caked inhabitants of Tranter thought of it).
The largest building in town was, unsurprisingly, the local pub. The Powder & Shot even had Satellite TV, and so was usually packed on Saturdays for the Sporting matches, which could not legally be broadcast on free-to-air TV.
Today, however, was not a Saturday. It was a Tuesday, and a very hot, dry one at that. The two soldiers driving a truck full of the new Self-Loading Lee-Enfield rifles were not pleased at the assignment- they'd been driving for hours, their asses were numb, they were out of commercial radio reception range, the truck didn't have a shortwave receiver, and, worst of all, the Air Conditioning had broken down.
The temptation was obviously too much for them as they drove through town on their way to the military outpost.
"Reckon we got time for a couple of cold ones?" asked the Corporal to the driver, a young Private.
"Course we do" replied the Private. "It's too damn hot anyway. A couple of Beers will go down nicely."
And indeed the beers did. Until the two soldiers came back outside and discovered the truck was missing.
The corporal said a short four letter word. The private said another four letter word.
Several hours later, after hitchiking out to the Outpost on a tractor, the Base Commander had been informed of the events by the two soldiers.
"Plenty more where they came from." was his reaction.
"So you're not mad?"
"No. Why should I be? They'll send some more guns, you two can go home, and we can get back to doing nothing. Don't worry about it. The mess hall is on the far side of the camp if you'd like something to eat."
The two soldiers dismissed themselves and headed for the mess, whilst the Outpost Commander rang Khartoum to let them know the guns had been lost. The Quartermaster at Khartoum was out at lunch, and never got the message that the shipment had been stolen. Coincidentally, a computer error sent another truck of guns to the same base the next day anway, instead of to Wadi Halfa where they were supposed to go.
A smaller country might be concerned or alarmed at this sort of thing, but oddly no-one really seemed to care. The real question of course, was "Where did the guns end up?"...
The small town of Tranter, near the northern REA/AC/Lusaka joint border, and coincidentally near the disputed province of Bukova, was a surprisingly uneventful place. Despite the large garrison of soldiers near the border, the rest of the population were mainly farmers, geologists, and the other sort of people one expects to find in a small, remote outpost of civilisation in the African "bush" (or Desert, as most of the perpetually dust-caked inhabitants of Tranter thought of it).
The largest building in town was, unsurprisingly, the local pub. The Powder & Shot even had Satellite TV, and so was usually packed on Saturdays for the Sporting matches, which could not legally be broadcast on free-to-air TV.
Today, however, was not a Saturday. It was a Tuesday, and a very hot, dry one at that. The two soldiers driving a truck full of the new Self-Loading Lee-Enfield rifles were not pleased at the assignment- they'd been driving for hours, their asses were numb, they were out of commercial radio reception range, the truck didn't have a shortwave receiver, and, worst of all, the Air Conditioning had broken down.
The temptation was obviously too much for them as they drove through town on their way to the military outpost.
"Reckon we got time for a couple of cold ones?" asked the Corporal to the driver, a young Private.
"Course we do" replied the Private. "It's too damn hot anyway. A couple of Beers will go down nicely."
And indeed the beers did. Until the two soldiers came back outside and discovered the truck was missing.
The corporal said a short four letter word. The private said another four letter word.
Several hours later, after hitchiking out to the Outpost on a tractor, the Base Commander had been informed of the events by the two soldiers.
"Plenty more where they came from." was his reaction.
"So you're not mad?"
"No. Why should I be? They'll send some more guns, you two can go home, and we can get back to doing nothing. Don't worry about it. The mess hall is on the far side of the camp if you'd like something to eat."
The two soldiers dismissed themselves and headed for the mess, whilst the Outpost Commander rang Khartoum to let them know the guns had been lost. The Quartermaster at Khartoum was out at lunch, and never got the message that the shipment had been stolen. Coincidentally, a computer error sent another truck of guns to the same base the next day anway, instead of to Wadi Halfa where they were supposed to go.
A smaller country might be concerned or alarmed at this sort of thing, but oddly no-one really seemed to care. The real question of course, was "Where did the guns end up?"...