The Bridge

Groggy Dundee counted his losses - one dead, one seriously hurt, two missing - from his latest skirmish. His few surviving expeditionaries struck up a solid camp on the bank of river. Potts was again on reconnassiance, though Groggy felt it might be more useful if he were to just go into the bush and blow his own head off.

How did I get stuck with such a team of idiots? Groggy asked himself.

-

As Groggy pondered this question, two of his "missing" were in a fight for their lives.

Yes, Sergeants Kimmel and Harriman were still holding out against the vicious French. They had been for almost seventy-two hours with only two machine gun bullets and some empty liquor bottles. Fearing that the beer bottles were Molotov cocktails, the Froggies fell back and besieged the intrepid twosome. While this bought Kimmel and Harriman their lives for the time being, it seemed to ensure their doom, as the French brought up heavy tanks and artillery to shell their "position". In reality, the two Sergeants were lying sleepily on a grassy knoll, but their opponent figured them, apparently, to be a mighty force.

The "siege" lasted for all of six seconds. As soon as the first tank shell fired, Kimmel jumped into the air like a crazed jackrabbit. It wasn't clear exactly what happened, but she charged at the French, with rage and fury in her eyes - and tripped over a low-lying tree root. Two French soldiers apprehended her before she could do more.

"You moron!" Harriman cried. But her insult towards her captured colleague only drew fire her way. A mortar shell exploded behind her, and she collapsed, unconscious.

-

"Yankee prisoners! Notice, I do not say 'Yankee soldiers'! You ceased being soldiers the moment you surrendered!"

Grenouille and his small party of captured men listened wearily to Colonel Boulle's rantings again. It had been over two months since they had been captured - left alone, forgotten, by their commanding officer.

Having constructed a camp for themselves, out of their own captured equipment, they now had a new task.

"You will finish the bridge...by the 12th day of June. You will work under the direction of a French engineer... Lieutenant Beauregard."

A short, squat little Frog rushed forward to indicate himself as the man in question.

"Time is short. All men will work! Your officers will work beside you. This is only just... for it is they who betrayed you by surrender. Your shame is their dishonor. It is they who told you... ''Better to live like a coolie than die like a hero.'' It is they who brought you here,not I! Therefore... they will join you in useful labor. That is all."

The imposing Colonel Boulle then dismounted his rostrum and marched back to his tent, flanked by Legionnaires armed with foot-long bayonets.

Grenouille's party - consisting of himself and Garfer's Canadian forces - were tired of the obnoxious Colonel Boulle. Having built the camp, an air strip, and an air-conditioned Cineplex for their French captors, they now had to build a transit bridge across the Rio Nazas. In the scalding heat and humidity, with temperatures close to 120 degrees? Grenouille wondered how long they could stand it before just collapsing dead.

-

Three days into the work, the poor, engineerily-challenged Canucks had only built two planks screwed together. Lieutenant Beauregard threatened to shoot them on several occasions, but he was talked out of it by his commanding officer. Grenouille seemed to be little help; he was just a lazy ass and sat by the side of tree until he was prodded with bayonets to join in the work.

By the seventh day, one more plank had been added to the bridge, and that was it. Boulle could not believe that the Canadians were that incompetent, and ordered Grenouille to be brought before him.

"What in the fuck are you doing, you stupid American pig?" Boulle asked him, slapping him across the face.

"I'm doing all I can!" Grenouille protested. "These Canucks are just idiots!"

"They're your men," Boulle screamed. "Keep them in line."

"They're not my men!" Grenouille replied. "Garfer's their commander!"

Boulle had the runt thrown in "the Oven" - a small-box made out of cast iron - as punishment anyway, being forced to live only off of stale Diet Pepsi and some animal crackers.

But by the fifteenth day, the foundations for the bridge still weren't done, and so Boulle decided to take Grenouille's advice and talk to Garfer. One night, Garfer was brought to have a nice supper - with some delicious Canadian bacon, sausage, and pancakes, as well as Labatt's to wash it down - with Boulle, and discuss the bridge's construction.

"I know that you're a hard worker," Boulle said in a charitable tone, "but you surely can do better than that! Five pieces of wood nailed together in two weeks is not satisfactory! I do not want to have to kill you, but if I will, I must."

"Then how will your bridge get built?" asked Garfer.

"I'll put my men to work," Boulle replied indignantly.

"Why don't you do that now?" Garfer asked.

"Because they're busy guarding you."

Garfer blinked and stared at his captor, amazed at the circular logic of this argument.

"Now, your commanding officer. . . " Boulle began.

"That American moron can rot in there until doomsday for all we care," Garfer interrupted.

"Let's not get excited," Boulle said.

The argument continued well into the night. By two in the morning, both men, having drank between them a very potent mixture of booze and coffee, were both on edge, frustrated, and in very bad need of a trip to the bathroom. But at last, they arrived at some sort of agreement.

"Read the terms again," Garfer said, squeezing his legs as hard as he could.

Boulle cleared his throat and looked at his ink-and-syrup stained napkin. He began, "All Canadians will build the bridge to the best of their ability. If the bridge is completed on time, they will be allowed to cross the border illegally with the assistance of our government. If not, they will be shot and buried in some hole in the desert."

"Sounds fair," Garfer agreed. He stood up to leave, but stopped as he felt a warm tingle spread down his pants. He simply stood there for a moment, then left and rushed for the lavatory. Boulle simply stared at the mess Garfer had left, and then felt something himself. . .

-

By the end of the week, six planks had been constructed. It wasn't much, but it was a much faster rate than had been before.