Lost Patrol -2- Push Button (Patreon)

I handed the glasses back meekly after staring through them for at least half a minute. Streep and Helmstead took another brief look before the lieutenant snapped the lens covers back on.

“It’s a really big…bird?” I suggested. “And it was flying away there at the end.”

Sgt. Streep did that eyebrow thing but didn’t say anything else while putting the binoculars back in their case.

Lt. Helmstead smiled at me. “Nice try,” he said. “But a bird that big would not be especially reassuring.”

I nodded. The thing was nearly as big as the tower it flew over.

“We all know what we were seeing,” he added.

“A puh-terowhatsus?” I had to try, didn’t I?

Streep snorted as he snapped the lid of the field glasses suitcase-like case.

“A dragon,” said the El Tee flatly.

I puffed a sigh, then sent a glare toward the distant towers. The tallest one appeared to have seven or more stories, judging from what might be windows. And the not-bird’s wingspan had looked at least twice that big.

None of us said anything for a bit. Then I blinked several times. I had a question that didn’t relate to the mythical saurian we still didn’t really believe we had seen. At least, I didn’t think it had anything to do with giant flying lizards.

“What did you want me to come up here for, sir?” I asked the El Tee. The rest of our unit were parked on the north slope of the ridge, out of sight of the tower and its visitor.

Helmstead and Streep had come up to the top of the ridge to take a look with the glasses at what might be a town, and the first sign of any sort of habitation we had seen in four days. I had been puzzled about why I was invited along before Streep had seen the monster and handed the glasses to the El Tee, but I hadn’t had a chance to find out.

I mean why? I’m the youngest and lowest rank member of the squad —pardon me, squadron— so, why me? I’m also easily the least military member of the unit, and I’m only in the Army Reserve (to avoid the draft, naturally) courtesy of my uncle, the congressman from Colorado, so I’m resented just a bit by the other fellows.

Huh? Maybe that’s why…?

I swear to Captain Kangaroo that both the El Tee and Sgt. Streep glanced at each other, looking embarrassed. Neither of them wanted to tell me why they had taken me with them over the ridge to look at the “town”!

Lt. Helmstead spoke first. “I’ve decided you’re going to be my driver, Lucie.”

“Me?” This was really startling. Being the lieutenant’s driver was kind of the prestige job in the unit. A big step up from my current position as assistant for whichever sergeant or specialist needed unskilled help. “I wouldn’t know how to drive your Jeep, sir!”

That got frowns from both of them. “When you volunteered for the Patrol, you said you could drive a stick shift. I know I asked you that.”

“I meant the kind of shift that says PRNDL on it. I think it’s a candy from Switzerland.”

“An automatic,” said Sgt. Streep. “You can’t drive a standard transmission/”

“The ones with the extra foot pedal? No, sir — uh, Sarge. I can drive a stick shift automatic, and the kind with push buttons like my aunt has.”

“Push buttons!” They both said at once.

“Uh huh, it’s an old Chrysler Imperial, I think. A big old boat, my dad says.”

“They quit making those five or six years ago,” the lieutenant protested. He glared at me, so I smiled back.

“My aunt is a lot older than that,” I assured him.

Sgt. Streep was obviously trying not to laugh, so the El Tee gave him a glare, too.

I wanted to ask another question, but I wasn’t sure what to ask. The lieutenant turned to look back across the valley toward the towers, still glaring, as if he were willing to challenge the dragon we had all seen earlier.

We stood there looking at the wide valley with the small group of buildings miles away for maybe twenty seconds.

Finally, the Old Man, who was younger than his sergeant, sighed. “I’ll do the driving, Lucie, but you’re riding with me from now on.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. I tried not to grin too big. Some of the guys in the unit might not like this obvious preference. “Will I have some kind of job or, or, just riding shotgun?”

Helmstead rubbed his chin and it made that scratchy sound that meant he hadn’t shaved. I shivered a bit. “We’re going to dig some weapons out and issue everyone something to shoot with.” He glared at me, again. “You do know how to use a rifle, don’t you, Lucie? The kind where the bullets come out of the barrel end?”

I blushed. Time to show some seriousness. I pointed to my uniform above my name tag. “I’ve got an Expert Rifle badge that goes right there, sir,” I said.

“What was your score?” he demanded.

“Seventy-four of eighty with the M-4, sir.”

He relaxed a bit. “So you can shoot.”

I nodded meekly. “I did even better with the M-16 but the M-4 was my latest score.”

His mouth twitched. “You ever fired an M-203?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “But not to qualify. Just familiarization.” They surely wouldn’t make you fire eighty rounds with a grenade launcher to qualify, would they? Your arm would fall off.

“Alvin,” Helmstead said to Streep, “get Lucie an M-4 carbine with a 203 attached.”

An over-under. I started to smile, but he wasn’t done glaring at me.

“Besides riding shotgun, you can take notes, keep my stuff organized, as well as your own,” he added.

“Sort of be your batman, like in a Kipling story?”

“I suppose,” he muttered. We started back to where the vehicles were parked again.

I hummed quietly, and I don’t think either of them heard me. “Na-n’na-na, na-n’na-na, na-n’na-na-na, Batman!”