Dirtbag

By Brian Henley

A disgraced Marine veteran finds work in the California high desert as a generator repairman. He also finds plenty of drugs, degrading sex, and zombies. The heartwarming tale of a despicable man on a quest to sink ever lower. Truly inspirational, provided you're a horrible human being.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Henley
• Release date: May 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301681136

Brian Henley

Brian is a combat veteran of the U.S. Marine Corps who nowadays likes to write about magical princesses.

Book preview

DIRTBAG

by Brian Henley

Copyright 2013 Brian Henley

Smashwords Edition

I

We need it up and running.

Sir.

He looks at me with a level gaze that I’m sure he thinks is threatening and repeats himself. We need, he says, with a pause I’m sure he thinks is ominous, it up and running. The Marines in earshot have stopped murmuring. Wheeler glances at me nervously through his inch-thick glasses.

Time to use my secret weapon. I was a bookish kid before I joined the Marine Corps. My favorites were the war novels, the ones where it was always do-or-die, and the hard-bitten fighting men were constantly growling things like, Hold this line, or Get it done. Or, I suppose, We need it up and running. I couldn’t get enough. To me, being a Marine seemed the noblest job in the world. Surprisingly, my diligent war-story reading didn’t prepare me very well for an actual deployment as a for-reals Marine, but it did have one good side effect: it gave me a facility with the language. I don’t trot it out very often, because Marines like their comrades to sound stupid and act smart, not the other way around, but it comes in handy when talking to officers. Marine officers get wary and uncertain in the presence of vocabulary and grammar, I don’t know why. I think it’s something they do to them at OCS, possibly involving bells and dog food.

Sir, I have grave reservations regarding that equipment. Putting it under load in its present condition could result in catastrophic failure. Wheeler’s eyebrows go up and he gives me a look that says well played.

The Lieutenant skips a beat, and I actually catch him looking at my collar to remind himself he outranks me. Give me a break. You wanna just whip ‘em out? I’ll send Wheeler to get a ruler.

But of course I won’t say that. Beyond the obvious consequences, it would simply reflect poorly on me, my unit and the Corps. Marines are professionals. I take great pride in that.

I thought he was going to go for it.

Shut the fuck up. Wheeler can tell I’m in a snit and he’s trying to help, but I’m in no mood. I should have known. There is no creature more insecure on this wide green earth, save perhaps the American teenager, than the Marine Corps boot lieutenant, and there was no way he’d be countermanded in front of his troops by a couple of attached electrical equipment repairmen. I pick up our Kevlars, plop his on his head. Can’t have my doppelganger running around exposed.

And it’s not just him. Deep down I’m pissed at myself, too. I’m serious about my work. I was first in my class at MOS school, lot foreman at my shop. Do I love repairing generators? No, but as long as I have to I’m going to do it well. And this goddamn machine has been making me look bad for a month.

Of course if I could just open it up… but that’s a risky move. All the grit and dust in the air- do I really want to spend an indefinite amount of time with the covers off, all those precision-machined parts sticky with oil and exposed while I dig through the guts of the thing? Hard to justify unless I know exactly what to look for, and for now I don’t. And even suppose it’s something easy to see, like a bad valve or a broken push rod (which I think it might be), what am I supposed to do, carve one out of wood? Show me the John Deere distributor in Fallujah and I’ll show