The badger and the porcupine: short stories

Kurt Hassit, Glen Richards, and I were sitting indianstyle in an army-issue tent that smelled like moth balls. We were waiting for the light in Engleton's tent to go out, so Hassit could show us his big surprise. We sat in the pitch dark whistling melodies and listening to crickets and the wind blowing around outside. The ground underneath us was hard as rocks. It hurt your ass to sit on it, even if you were sitting on your sleeping bag and pad. Kurt stopped whistling and said, "Check it." He motioned his head towards Engleton's tent.