Free The Odd Angry Shot by William Nagle Page A

contest is about to begin. Bung is in one corner of the arena, the engineer scorpion trainer in the other.
    The master of ceremonies steps into the arena, bows to the audience and is immediately pelted with empty cans and pieces of bread. The master of ceremonies immediately retires from the arena, and stands a safe distance within the confines of the audience. He tries again.
    â€˜Quiet! Quiet! Shuddup , bugger you!’ screams the master of ceremonies. The crowd hushes.
    â€˜Gentlemen, loose your insects.’
    It’s a disaster from the start for our spider. Bung, already well over his limit, tips our contender from the ammunition box and, as misfortune will have it, our Gladys lands upside down on the floor of the arena.
    The scorpion, taking full advantage of our contender’s plight, rushes forward and impales our Gladys with its tail. Gladys gives a few twitches and expires.
    â€˜You bloody beauty,’ yells an engineer, jumping up and down and spraying those around him with the contents of his can.
    Bung is heartbroken and, in a fury of disappointment, jumps straight into the arena and stamps his foot on the scorpion.
    â€˜You rotten bastard,’ gurgles the scorpion trainer. He launches himself across the arena. The two are quickly separated before they can do any damage to each other. Bung is carried away screaming obscenities and the occasional ‘Murderers! Unfair! Murderers!’
    We sing every ribald song known both to ourselves and to the engineers, drink everything there is to drink and, having demolished the engineers’ mess tent and set fire to the insect arena, stagger back across the road to our lines.
    We are almost at the entrance to the tents when Harry grabs my arm.
    â€˜Look, over here,’ says Harry, pointing an unsteady finger.
    I focus slowly on the figure seated in the ditch at the side of the road. It’s Bung. He is sitting with his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking, a piece of white paper in his hands.
    â€˜Jesus,’ says Harry, shaking his head and blinking.
    â€˜What’s the matter Bung?’ I ask, kneeling in the dirt beside him. Bung reaches out for my arm.
    Like a kid, I think as I move to squat.
    â€˜What’s the trouble Bung?’ asks Harry moving to Bung’s side and kneeling.
    Bung buries his face further between his knees and starts to sob loudly.
    â€˜Bung, for Christ’s sake what’s the matter?’ demands Harry, taking him by the shoulders and shaking him.
    â€˜Probably lamenting his spider,’ I hear Rogers crack from behind me.
    I notice another figure standing about ten feet from us. My eyes peer into the darkness as I try to make out the face.
    â€˜It’s the 2 IC,’ says Harry as the figure approaches the little group.
    â€˜Can I have a word with you?’ asks the 2 IC pointing at me. I stand and walk up out of the ditch, my hands brushing dust from the knees of my already filthy trousers.
    The 2 IC turns and walks back to his former position. I follow him. He outlines the situation in a few terse sentences. Two hours ago the unit received a signal that Bung’s mother and girlfriend were killed in a road accident in the early hours of yesterday morning.
    â€˜I’ve been keeping an eye on him, from back here,’ the 2 IC says. ‘Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, eh?’
    â€˜Do you want us to pack his gear, sir?’
    â€˜Says he doesn’t want to go home; wants to stay here,’ answers the 2 IC. ‘Look after him, eh?’
    â€˜Yessir.’
    I turn and walk back towards the group on the road.
    â€˜Mother,’ I mouth to Harry.
    Harry slides his hands under Bung’s arms and drags him to his feet.
    â€˜Take his other arm,’ says Harry.
    I feel the warm sweat patch under Bung’s arm as the forlorn little group shuffles down past the line of tents. I turn my head and look at Harry. Harry looks at me and shrugs his