Flashbacks, Part 9: Road Trip

To say the dream had put him in a foul mood would be an understatement. The antique alarm clock forced out one last dying ring before it was crushed for the umpteenth -- and last -- time beneath Sarge's tire. The Jeep eyed it through heavily lidded, groggy eyes.

"Piece of shit," Sarge muttered, sweeping it into the trash with a wheel. It mirrored how he felt about himself sometimes: out of date, loud, and on the way out.

He rose and stretched, his axles and frame creaking back to life. With a heavy sigh he headed out into the main room of his hut and cracked open the fridge. Was seven AM too early for a beer? Like hell it was. He grabbed one, twisted it open, and drank nearly half of it in one swig.

"Up and at 'em, soldier," he said over the open bottle.

So, the beach. Fat chance the hippie was even out of bed yet. No, of course he wasn't. Sarge was fairly certain that reveille had become his own personal alarm clock, guaranteed to always go off on time. Sarge was a man of routine, however. Even routine infuriation.

Finishing his beer, he rolled to his own record player and started the music. Seemed like his neighbor was ahead of the game this morning. Hendrix started blaring a few seconds after, and Sarge held his tongue and his rage as he raised the flag. He turned in time to see the flat Volkswagen face appearing in the doorway to his dome. Fillmore shifted lazily on his tires and gave Sarge a small smile that was somewhere between teasing and friendly.

"Ready to go, are we?" Sarge grunted. He had expected the sight of Fillmore to bring back more memories of that dream, but no. That fat flowered face might be the same model, but the similarities ended there.

Fillmore's smile faded. "Uh, no," he said, then the smile crept back slowly. "Give me an hour? I'm the one packin' the stuff, remember. You just relax and let me take care of it."

"Fine, right," Sarge said, waving a tire. He felt as if he had been up running all night. "I'll just go have a beer," he added, too quietly for Fillmore to hear.

Heading back inside, Sarge wrapped his aerial around the neck of another beer and drove outside with it. He drove into the desert as the sun rose. The heat now was pleasant instead of unbearable.

It wasn't like Sarge to drink so early. Well, not usually. For one who chided his neighbor on using intoxication as a form of escapism, he did just that once in a while. The difference was the substance and the vehicles reaction. Two beers wouldn't hurt though.

He drank this beer at a much more reasonable pace. The mild heat and the dirt under his tires relaxed him. As he finished off the last remnants of his drink, he let it fall with a clunk into the sand.

Sarge's age didn't often show, and what he did next would be one of his well kept secrets. His restless night got the better of him, and the two beers and peace and quiet lulled him into a much needed nap.




"I've seen tanks who wouldn't be able to out-drink you," the helicopter said to the Jeep.

William scowled up at him. He wobbled and said nothing, so Robert continued.

"Every time you get the chance lately you've been getting drunk. You know if your commanding officers knew about it you would be in for it. The rest of the boys get drunk, sure, but not like you."

"Don't tell me what to do, Robert! Chrysler. You're the one who should be sticking with his own platoon. You'll get demoted back to nursemaid if you're not careful."

Sounds of rowdy partying echoed from the bar. Loud male voices raised both in anger and laughter, glasses clinking together. The noises were quiet from out in the woods, where William had wandered in his angry, drunken stupor and Robert had invariably followed like a pesky black fly.

"I suppose there are a lot of things you would get in trouble for though, huh?" Robert said in his usual light voice, smiling fondly down at the Jeep.

"Very funny!" William spat, and Robert's smile faded. There was genuine venom in his voice. William was grumpy at the best of times, and Robert knew he didn't feel like he fit in with the other Jeeps. In a superficial sense, sure. He wasn't bullied like he used to be after earning a reputation as one mean son of a bitch, but there was something that kept him away from them. The helicopter doubted if anyone noticed, even William.

"Hey, all right, calm down, I was just kidding."

"So it's a joke to you?"

Robert tried not to roll his eyes. The little Jeep could be dramatic when he wanted to be.

"I never said that," the helicopter said. "Maybe you should go back inside with the others."

"Oh, want to get rid of me, do you?" William was swaggering, trying to puff himself up, clearly looking for a fight. Robert couldn't help but chuckle. William would go out unarmed and pick a fight with twelve Nazis armed to the teeth if you put enough brew in him.

"Don't you fuckin' laugh at me!" William snorted, and plowed toward the helicopter, who hovered upward like a dragonfly just out of his reach and smiled calmly down at him. "Scared, huh?" William scowled up at him.

"Don't hurt yourself, Will," Robert said, though the beating of his own blades drowned out his voice. He carefully landed, but William's wrath was far from spent, and he was quickly dealt a very painful punch to the nose.

"Chrysler! Will, you've got a whole army of Germans out there to beat up, and you're picking on me?"

He winced as Will approached him again, reeking of beer and a Jeep that hadn't had a good wash in weeks, but this time all the soldier did was lean drunkenly on him.

"I think I'm the smallest one there," he slurred, and Robert couldn't help but laugh again. He stifled it at the growling in William's engine.

"Sorry, sorry. What brought on a comment like that? Come on. Talk to me."

William sighed heavily, gave a half-hiccup.

"Just something I noticed."

Robert didn't say anything. He knew more about William's life growing up than the Jeep probably knew he had told him, as he had been drunk every time. It seemed the only time he really opened up to him was when he was too drunk to care. The helicopter knew what the simple comment had meant, and didn't feel the need to push William further.

"You've had enough to drink tonight," he said instead. William only grunted in reply. With a crunching of rocks and shrubs, the Jeep lowered himself to the ground right where he was.

"I'll sleep it off," he muttered.

Robert looked up. He was sure neither could be seen from the bar, and soldiers left for the night enough that no one would care. A good many of them would be gone to brothels or out looking for drugs or something to occupy themselves with before they had to head out again. In a way Robert was glad Sarge was the odd one out. The helicopter lay down next to him, dragging a bit of branches down with him in his blades.

"Quiet down up there," William growled.

"Oh, okay. Sorry sir," Robert said, smiling.




"Uhhh, Sarge? Hey buddy, don't want to sleep the day away, do we?"

Sarge snapped awake at the sound of a deep voice, and turned to look at Fillmore standing next to him, trailer full of beach supplies in tow. The empty beer bottle fell as his tire knocked against it. Fillmore looked slowly down at it, then slowly back up at Sarge, lips pressed tightly together. His brain worked slowly, and he decided not to comment.

"I was just resting my eyes," Sarge said, and Fillmore shrugged his frame.

"Well, let's go rest 'em at the beach, sirdude," he said. Sarge nodded, and they headed to the main road. After driving in silence for a while, they came to a fork in the road. Sarge eyed the sign that pointed to the highway, and was about to open his mouth when Fillmore picked the smaller road, which was all the old Jeep was capable of.

Sarge was surprised to find that the trip was not as painful as he thought it would be. His nightmare was a thing of the past as the sun rose higher in the sky, and he listened as Fillmore droned on about the plant life that grew along the side of the road. Sarge had no idea how such information could ever be useful, but he was impressed that the hippie had managed to store so much information inside his empty head.

An hour, and then two passed. They passed through a small town just as noon hit, and the two pulled into a small gas station.

"Are we close to the coast?" Sarge said. "Let's have a look at the map."

"Map? Uhh, no map," Fillmore said. "I've been out here too many times to need a map. I would say it's about forty minutes from here, though. I just thought I would get us some cold drinks and let my tires cool off. Cool?"

"Er, yes. That's...cool, Fillmore."

The bus snickered and coasted up to the counter where a battered but happy looking Buick was reading a paper. She looked up at them.

"What can I get you boys?"

"I'm in the mood for a slushy. How about you, Sarge?"

Sarge looked around the small convenience store area. He was never one to enjoy candy or treats of any kind, and didn't know what half of the things on sale were like. "I'll have what he's having," he said finally. He watched as Fillmore paid, and almost protested, but thought better of it. He would buy the bus something later to make up for it.

"But she didn't give you anything," Sarge whispered to Fillmore as the bus turned around and headed to the other side of the store.

"Wow, Sarge, you don't get out much, do you? Not much of a sweets kinda guy, eh?"

Sarge thought for a moment, watching as Fillmore selected two big plastic cups from a stack next to a machine with nozzles.

"I've bought those black licorice pipes a few times," the Jeep said, and Fillmore widened his eyes and turned down the side of his mouth slightly.

"Oh awesome," he said in a monotone, filling his cup with three different slushy flavours. "Here, you try."

Sarge followed his example, though he only selected the blue flavour. They coasted outside and sat under an awning to drink.

"Hey man, check it out!" Fillmore said, and stuck out his tongue, which was stained purple.

Sarge wrinkled his grille. "Very mature, bus."

"Aw, come on, man. Let's see yours."

After a bit of prodding, Sarge briefly stuck out his own blue tongue. Fillmore laughed, snorting slightly, which caused the edges of Sarge's bumper to twitch upward. They exchanged a brief, fond glance, Fillmore flicking his single mirror contently before Sarge averted his eyes. The bus chuckled again, quietly.

"You know Sarge, you're a good guy," he said. Sarge cleared his throat and cracked a very awkward smile for about half a second.

"Right, heh. Uhm, thanks Fillmore. You too. Okay! Let's get back on the road, shall we?"

"Yeah, right," Fillmore said, still smiling as he lead the way back to the road.