Sargent Major Musket stood before me. I’d really screwed up, and I knew it. It’s bad when a wheel had just fallen off the Major’s jeep while his aid drove him across the base. It’s worse when you’re the corporal that personally inspected the vehicle, and declared it safe for use. There was just no way this was going to end well.
Musket cleared his throat, and stared right into my eyeballs. I thought they was going to melt.“Tell me again, how the Major wound up in traction, with two broken arms, and fractured ribs, and his aid wound up with a concussion, and is having his faced stitched back together, after riding in your jeep.”
Musket just stood there, his hands on his hips. “Well, Corporal. I’m waiting.”
I told him how I’d driven the jeep from its parking space to the door, where the aid and the Major had taken it. How I’d checked its maintenance log, kicked the tires, checked the oil and the other fluids, and declared it safe to drive.
Musket stared at me. I woudn’t have been surprised if he’d ordered my hands nailed to the pavement. “Well, Corporal, what are we going to do about this little mistake of yours?”
I swallowed, and then tried to speak. “It’s uh… personal failure sir. And please, call me PV1 Greaser, sir.”
At least he didn’t nail my hands to the pavement.
I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 61. Hope you enjoy it. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.