Denver Run

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The wind from the north was bitterly cold.

“Hurry it up,” groused the tall soldier, his brown eyes scanning the surrounding countryside, his cheeks stinging from the icy gusts, as he stamped his booted feet again and again in an effort to keep the circulation going.

One of the two troopers engaged in changing a rear tire on their jeep glanced up at the speaker, scowling. “If you think you can do any better, big mouth,” he snapped, “be my guest!”

The first soldier shook his head. “You’re doing just fine. What are you getting so touchy about? I’m freezing, is all.”

“And you think we’re not?” demanded the second trooper, an older man with a protruding paunch.

The third soldier looked up, glaring at both of them. “Will you two shut the hell up? We’d get done a lot faster if you would stop your damn bickering!”

“I just don’t see why Brandon can’t help,” complained the second soldier, arching his back to alleviate a cramp in his right hip as he crouched next to the jeep.

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