# Fortunate Snoot Chapter 1

Fortunate Snoot
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Chapter 1
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“Fuckin’ Arvin! Fuckin’ vee-cee! Fuck ‘em all - fuckin’ skinnies!” The lamp swung over the table as the little purple triceratops swung her bottle of 33 around, gesturing across the bar. “Fuck are you looking at?” - this to a bartender side-eyeing her. Anon sighed and put his hand over his hand over his face as she thrust herself out of her chair then fell sprawling onto her well-padded front and started to sob.
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“Give me a hand with ‘Goras, Reed?” The two of them dragged the semi-conscious shortstack out the door and into the grimy lantern-lit street. While Reed sat on the gutter next to an incoherent Trish, Anon ducked back into the bar, spotting a familiar ptero crest. He circled around in front of her; back before the start of their tour he would have surprised her with a hug from behind, but these days she’d probably stick her ka-bar through him.
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As she spotted him those amber eyes lit up, and her brows raised in question. “‘Goras and Reed are out the front,” explained Anon, and Fang sighed and headed for the door. “Why do you call her ‘Goras when she gets like this?” she said. “Short for Pythagoras,” said Anon, “on account of all her triggernometry.” Fang let out an involuntary burst of laughter, threw her hands in the air, and dug an elbow into his ribs as she walked past him and out into the alley. “At least I can get her some uppers in the morning,” Reed muttered, stilling the shaking in his hands with a pull from a hip flask.
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Leave done, back on base, and one diminished and sunken-eyed trigga crew chief in tow, the four hurried towards their MedEvac Huey. Fang and Anon hoisted themselves into the cockpit while Reed and Trish swung up behind them into the cabin.
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Fang began running through the preflight checklist as Anon reached out to switches and circuit breakers all over the cockpit. “Overhead switches - circuit breakers - in! External lights - anti collision - on! Cargo reel, wipers, heating - off!” The sound of dexedrine popping out of a blister strip came from the cabin, as Reed popped some government-issue amphetamines into his hand and passed them wordlessly to Trish. Anon started the MedEvac Huey’s turbine as a nearby gunship’s rotor began spinning, both engines screaming higher and louder. Fang’s snoot brushed up against his cheek and lay there for a silent few seconds as he raised a free hand to lightly tap it, then she turned back to the checklist and began to speak.
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“Alright, VVURM DRAMA!” A pink fuzzy forearm thrust into the cockpit holding a wad of gauze, forefinger and thumb making a fingergun. “Recapping that briefing! We’re heading 180 klicks north out of Saigon to a gully; squad of marines have come under fire and taken casualties.” The Hueys began rising together and pivoted north. “The dweebs over there in the Hanasaki are escorting us in and providing cover.”
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Moving low and fast, the stick familiar under Anon’s hands, his ship flew out of Saigon and out of the safe zone. Ahead and to the left behind an M60, a red-orange shape fidgeted, telling beads of a rosary too far away and too small to see. A green head sat barely visible in the cockpit.
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