The Green Room

(2006) No infringement upon the rightful owners of "Combat!" and the characters thereof, is intended.  Any resemblance between real people and the characters in this story is purely coincidental and no insult is intended.  This piece of fan fiction is for enjoyment only, and in no way will the author gain monetary profit from its existence.

"April in the Green Room:  The Morning After: 

A Few Minutes Later"

by Thompson Girl 

Saunders stepped out of the Green Room's main door and closed it firmly behind him.  His eyes were drawn by movement off to the left.  A man, dressed in a long-sleeved cream-colored shirt, brown vest, a blue bandana tied around his neck, old denims, boots, and a dirty bent cowboy hat, ducked behind a tree as soon as Saunders appeared.  For a second, Saunders toyed with letting him get away with it, but it was a very short second.  "Kirby!" he hollered.  "Get over here."

A moment passed, then another, then Kirby shuffled out from behind the tree.  He looked a darned sight more convincing as a cowboy than he did as an Indian, Saunders thought.  Only there was one thing out of place.

"Where do you think you're going with that?"  He pointed to Kirby's B.A.R., which was slung over his shoulder.

"Oh this?" Kirby glanced at it, almost in surprise.  "Nowhere."

"'Cause if you're thinking of visiting the Old West with that thing, I'll have you back in the Green Room with a dust broom and a mop before you can holler 'Injuns'."

"No, no," Kirby protested.  "I wasn't gonna do that, honest."

"All right, then go stow it."  Saunders gestured behind him at the front door.

Kirby took a few steps that direction, then stopped and turned around again.  "Aw, Sarge," he said, plaintively.  "Come on.  Why can't I take it?  With this baby, I could show the Indians AND the cavalry a thing or two.  All by myself."  He laughed softly and went on, "End the fighting real quick.  And then we could get on with the hoedown and the dancing and the drinking and the peach pies and whatever else those women got cooked up."

"Look, you go draw yourself a Henry or a Winchester.  The B.A.R. stays here."

"Aaaannh."

Saunders said, "Kirby, I'm not gonna tell you twice."

Kirby grimaced at him.  "Where's your pioneer spirit, Sarge?"  He turned to go.

"Oh," Saunders added, off-handedly, and Kirby turned back.  "When'd you get that new fruitcake in?"

"New fruitcake?" Kirby said and shook his head.  "No, there's just the one from a few weeks ago."  He smiled.  "I got the last piece set aside for me for later.  I labeled it off-limits and everything."

"That's what that paper was he threw away then," Saunders said, almost to himself.

Kirby frowned at him.  "Who threw away what?"

"Oh nothing."  Saunders started to walk away.

Kirby followed him.  "Sarge, did somebody eat my fruitcake?"

Saunders paused, his back to Kirby, hesitating.

"Well?"

Saunders hunched his shoulders, uncomfortably, as he turned around and said, placatingly, "Look, Hanley had a rough night of it, Kirby.  Cut him some slack."

"The lieutenant?" Kirby said, angrily.  "What's the matter, can't he read?  That was my last piece."

"Sorry, Kirby."  Saunders shrugged and turned away, listening as Kirby, still talking to himself, stormed for the Green Room's front door.  He smiled to himself and went on his way.

end

Will Saunders have better luck with the writers than Hanley?