posted on Feb, 12 2024 @ 01:06 PM
Mike squinted at his watch. He was a muscular man, almost as wide as he was tall. On his head, his close cropped hair was
exactly so, almost
as if it were standing in formation. Down the sleeve of his blouse, numerous hash marks gave evidence of long service to causes greater than
himself.
His hawk-like stare next scanned the machines. Everything within them was interwoven; it was the nature of the machines.
Some fifty men stood motionless and silent. They barely breathed, awaiting Mike's command.
Precisely at
thirteen hundred hours, the machines' keening whines dropped off, and slowly stopped. The synchronization of their operation had
matched that of Mussolini making the Italian trains run on time!
Master Sergeant Michael Russell, United States Army, pivoted precisely on the heel of one foot and the ball of the other in a facing movement. For a
moment, he regarded the assembled men, and then, bellowed:
QUARTERMASTER PLATOON NUMBER FIFTY-FOUR TWENTY-SIX: WHEN I SAY 'MOVE', BREAK RANKS AND MAN YOUR MACHINES ... MOVE!
With that single command, the mass of men "broke ranks" and bolted to the washing machines.
The 19th Regiment's laundry was ready for drying.
-The End-
Cheers
edit on 12-2-2024 by F2d5thCavv2 because: (no reason given)
edit on 12-2-2024 by F2d5thCavv2 because: (no reason
given)