Drinking Games

Author: shutupandsing

Rating: K+

This is weird. I don't know how this wrote itself but it did.

"What's at the bottom of that for you, Lew?"

Nixon paused at the lip of his bottle, accidentally dribbling whiskey down the front of his uniform. A slow pout drifted over his lips before he looked up sullenly.

"Well, I hope it's a good buzz, something to warm me right up. It's fucking cold, y'know?"

Winters rubbed his palms together in front of him, feeling the testimony of Nixon's statement right down through to his bones. Bastogne was the closest thing to hell on Earth. That is, without the fire, and the heat, and of course the brimstone.

"Most men fight for something, Lew." His fox-hole mate set his whiskey down for the first time in two hours, cuddling it protectively between his feet.

"The only thing at the bottom of that bottle is a whole lot of regret and what may or may not be some sort of flying insect." He flicked his lighter between his palms, giving his cold hands something to do. "And I fight for all the things the other men fight for."

A light drift of snow made its way over the two men, coating them lightly in fine, translucent powder. The make-shift cover they had created earlier on in the day was average at best; something the two of them should have been ashamed of given their positions in the company.

"You think any of them are regretting having signed up?"

Nixon scoffs loudly in the darkness. "Hell yeah! All those boys out there are wishing they were home in front of the fireplace, but they're not and that should mean something more."

The red glow from an enemy flare rises above the treetops, bathing the forest in a rich glow. It's quiet for a moment before he speaks again. "What about you, Dick? Do you regret being here?"

Winters studies the hard shape of the dirt near him, cuddling down further into his thick jacket. "Given present circumstances, there's not really anywhere else I'd rather be. Sitting in this fox-hole. With a good man like yourself."

Nixon laughs lowly, drinking again. "Amen, brother." His brow furrows. "Except a little entertainment would be nice, preferably women-folk. Hey! Maybe if we convince Gonorrhea to dress up real nice and to cover his face.."

"Can it, Nix. We're not going to humiliate our men."

"But what if there's actually a secret message at the bottom of this bottle that tells us how to win the war but the only way to get to it was to put one of our soldiers in harm's way?"

Winters looks at his friend in the darkness of their fox-hole. A new side of Nixon had just presented itself. "Then winning the war isn't that important, is it?"

Nixon drinks the rest of his alcohol in one long chug. He smacks his lips and lets out a quiet burp. "Okay then, the only thing at the bottom of that bottle was a bug."