Free Circles in the Sand by D. Sallen

to scrounge from your surplus property, or disposal site. Such things as wood, boards, paint, even anything in the way of furniture that might have been discarded. Oh yes, back at Air Div they said I could draw on you for gasoline.”
    “Do you have authority to obtain government petroleum supplies?’
    “Yes Sir. I have plenty of requisition forms. Right now I don’t know how much gas we’ll need. I don’t know for sure how many vehicles we’re going to get. I believe Air Div will be contact with you about the gas too.”
    Prescott looked at Clint’s orders again, frowned, bit his lip and then curled it. “Sergeant, yours is the most ridiculous story I’ve ever heard. I just can’t believe your tale. These could be phony orders. You’ll have to remain here until I can determine this is not some sort of chicanery.” He turned to the Army Sergeant. “Have the military police send an escort to take these men to the guard house. They stay there until I order them released. Be sure their vehicle is impounded too. Hah!” he sneered at the two airmen.
    After he walked out, the Sergeant behind the desk, threw his hands out wide and rolled his eyes. “Ain’t you guys lucky. No officers. Particularly no Second Lieutenants. You got it made.” Then he called the Military Police.
    On the way to the guard house, Clint said to the buck sergeant escorting them, “Hey, what’s with this chickenshit Lieutenant?”
    “You mean our hero, Lute Prescott? He graduated last in his class at West Point. Seems to think he’s got to be super military to make up for it. He can be a real pain in the ass.”
    At the guard house, the desk sergeant, having been informed by the HQ Sergeant, told the airmen. “I don’t have any good reason to lock you up. Lute Prescott just said to have you escorted down here. Just wait in the day room until Lute Prescott gets over his snit.”
    By late afternoon, and still no word on release, Clint wondered if Lieutenant Prescott had a hard-on for the Air Force in general. 
    “Hey, Sergeant Elsas, is this trip really necessary?”
    “Of course. You heard Sergeant Greybull. Any boundary markers that existed are gone. We’ve got to draw our own lines and circles in the sand.”
    “What a way to run an Air Force. I can’t believe we’ve just been dumped out here to construct a bomb site. Where the hell are the construction people? Civil engineers, civilian contractors or somebody else that should be doing this job? Not us poor peons.”
    “You’re a natural born pisser, Alcocke. When have you had it so good? A pleasant drive in the sunshine, out in the country. Fresh air. Do ya’ good.”
    “You don’t mention choking in all this dust, busting our ass every time this clunker hits a hole or hill.”
    “Can’t have everything. You could be doing this in Korea…with some nasties shooting at you all the while.”
    “Yeah, yeah. Speaking of nasties. These two guys riding up on horses are friendlies?”
    Just stopped at the six mile point out from the center of the north road, they watched the riders approach. “Don’t look like Chinese or Koreans…Russians maybe.”
    Fritz Deutsch and Basil Tree reined up to look at the airmen sitting in the weapons carrier. “You dudes lost out here in the wilderness?” Deutsch said.
    Elsas squinted up at him. “No, as a matter of fact, we’re just establishing some territory.” To Kline and Priebe in the back, “Okay, troops. Here’s were we plant that stake…on that little knoll.”
    As Priebe and Kline jumped out, Deutsch said, “Hey, hold on a minute, guys. What do you mean…you’re setting out your territory? You gonna piss on that stake like a damn catamount?”
    Elsas grinned at Deutsch. “Ain’t necessary. What’s it to ya’ cowboy?”
    “Damned if he ain’t a smart ass, Fritz.” Tree rode around to the other side of the carrier. “Want me to teach him a lesson in manners?”
    “Back off, Basil. What it’s to me, is you’re