The Dogface of Tyre
The Dogface of Tyre
He rode in on a service motorcycle and parked between the MP section’s grimy Chevrolet jeeps, whose soft skin canopies sagged. I knew right off we’d be washing and putting a taut feel to things before the day’s end. He was the new Dogface, a name given to Military Police Detachment Commanders. No one knows who coined the name or why, but we assumed it was because a commander was expected to bark or maybe had the facial representation of a hound or perhaps both.
Fola was too tall for a motorbike, even if was a titanic Yamaha. It was the last military police motorbike in the UN – its three companions had been written off in the last six months, primarily because of the roads, most of which were cratered as badly as the Moon.
And he looked like he was the last soul out of somewhere else severely blitzed. I could smell the drink from him in the wavy afternoon heat. When he removed his shades under the veranda, his green eyes were holding onto the mist of a party that wasn’t long over. After removing his helmet he smoothed his lank brown hair. He sniffled and handed me his blue UN flak jacket to leave in the duty room/armoury for him.
Next, he asked to be shown to his billet. He didn’t need to be introduced to his dog run as he would have previously visited the MP section. So he was acquainted with the layout of ...
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