My friend grins at me as he pokes his rifle into my chest. 'Squeeze one out?' He asks. I nod in reply - it's become a tradition. Shitting alone is boring.
We walk to the wooden boxes with holes cut out. The glory of war is but a distant memory as I sit in the burning heat, trousers around my ankles and flies on my arse.
I ask Gus about the Falklands. He fought there on Mount Longdon as an 18 year old. He says little so I give up. A soldier walks toward the makeshift desert toilets. 'Follow my lead' Gus says.
In front of us are Pissing Tubes. Sticking out of the ground at 45 degree angles. The soldier unzips his trousers. 'I wouldn't do that if I was you mate' Gus says the words with feigned concern.'Why not?' The now confused teenager ask, pausing for the answer.
'Some lad in Seven Brigade mate - Spider bit his cock. He's in a bad way' Gus glares at me as I suppress my laughter. The soldier steps back and peers into the black funnel. 'Serious?' He asks. I nod sagely, biting my tongue 'Yeah man, fangs like Seven Six Two rounds I heard' 'Fuck that' he replies and pisses on the floor.
I laugh until tears stream down my face when the frightened soldier leaves. We finish up - wipe and chuckle. Then go back to the war. The next morning the Seven Brigade soldier has died. His cock fell off. His face turned green and boils grew on his eyes. Rumour Control has spoken and the war has the day off.