From Sgt. Hook, here’s a touching piece called “At the Canteen.” I don’t really know what to excerpt from it so I’ll just give you the beginning and let Hook take it from there.
Still dressed in his dusty desert combat uniform, the old soldier bellied up to the bar, resting his elbows on the well worn mahogany wood where countless other soldiers have quelched a thirst.
“What’ll it be sarn’t major?†the uniformed corporal asked with a distinct Scottish accent while wiping down the space in front of his newest customer, recognizing his rank, a star flanked by a wreath, sitting between three chevrons pointing to the heavens and three rockers adjoining from the bottom.
Command Sergeant Major Jesse T. Martin Jr. hadn’t had a cold beer, or a warm one for that matter, in roughly 14 months and said as much.
Corporal Jack Rodgers of her majesty’s famed 1st Battalion, The Black Watch, Royal Highland Regiment, draped the white terrycloth towel over his left shoulder with a snap and asked, “I’ve pils or ale on draught?†looking directly into the old warrior’s tired grey-blue eyes.
“Make it a pilsner please corporal, thank you,†Martin replied.
“Pils it is then,†replied Rodgers as he turned to fill the order.
Jesse Martin hardly noticed the tall, frosted glass of golden beer set in front of him, drifting off as he listened to the juke box blaring the Mamas and the Papas melodically singing, Dedicated to the One I Love.
While I’m far away from you, my baby,
I know it’s hard for you, my baby,
Because it’s hard for me, my baby,
And the darkest hour is just before dawn—
Go read it all.
By the way, my post title is taken from “Fiddler’s Green,” an old poem embraced by American cavalrymen and carried on today by some tankers and scouts. I highly suspect Hook drew at least some degree of inpiration for his story from it.