TO KILL A GOOK

To Kill a Gook

     Four or five of us were in a tent, standing around a map table. A couple more guys came in from the last watch of the night in our machine gun bunker. They checked in with me; I had been Sergeant of the Guard for the night. Someone asked how their watch had gone. 

     One man expressed frustration. He said he was getting short, that he was fed up with all this guard duty where you're always on edge but nothing really cuts loose. Said he'd sure like to kill just one gook before he leaves this fucking place. 

     There it was: the spark of recognition, of vigorous agreement, that arced around the circle of our faces; the darting of eyes as each of us recognized that all the others had been feeling the same thing. I did it too. I felt it; I meant it. 

     "Right," I said. Grunts. Nods. Smiles.