Chick Prick

Military Humor

Kevin Lumley

Based on actual events experienced by Jason Heard, former Lance Bombardier, 94 Locating Regiment, British Army, retold by Kevin Lumley

The rain was drizzling down from an overcast sky.

Typical summers day in the north of England really.

Me and the rest of the lads from my platoon are out on a field exercise.  If you call lying down in a ditch amongst the sodden gorse and heather and blackberry bushes exercise.

To make it worse we’ve been saddled with a bunch of girlies.

No, I don’t mean pansies, I mean your actual female of the species.  Women.  A dozen or more of them from a transport battalion.  Been assigned to us for the week to get a feel for ‘real’ soldiering.  Got rifles and everything, the full kit.

They had been champing at the bit to start with.  Out in the cuds with a bunch of hard core Toms just back from over the water.  (Northern Ireland).  That was back at the barracks anyway.

Now the stark reality of how we spend a lot of our days is beginning to disillusion them.  They’re whingeing and moaning like you wouldn’t believe.  It’s cold, it’s wet, my hairs a mess, my make-ups ruined.  Fuck me, who’d want to go war with this lot.

The Sargeants already been up and down the line telling everyone to shut up.   We’re supposed to be lying here on a reconnaissance watch, as a prelude to an ambush, on a column of enemy troops.  They must have got lost, we’ve been here for bloody hours.

For my sins four of the women have been put in my tender care.

“Look after them Jonesy, keep them out of mischief.  Show them how to use the terrain for concealment.”

“Yes Sarge.”

Give me strength!  How hard can it be to wiggle around inside a patch of wet bush and keep your head down until the bad guys show up.

A voice hisses at me from a bush on my left.

“Jonesy.  Jonesy are you there?”

A female voice.

“No I’ve gone on holiday to Barbados.  Of course I’m bloody here, where the hell do you think I am?”

“I’ve got to go,” the voice tells me.

“You what?  Go where?”

“Pee Jonesy.  I have to pee.”

I scratch my head.  “Have a piss you mean?”

A big sigh from inside the bush.  “Yes Jonesy, that’s right.  I have to piss.”

I think about this for a moment.

“And you’re telling me this interesting piece of information because…………?”

“Because I don’t know how to,” the voice informs me.

I lie there and contemplate the enormity of that statement.

I’m not sure what to say to tell you the truth.  I mean here she is, a twenty something woman, telling me she doesn’t know how to relieve herself.

“Um, I’m not sure I can help you out in that department darling.  I really think it’s something your Mother should have talked to you about.”

“You fucking moron, I don’t mean I don’t know HOW to have a piss.  I mean I don’t know how to do it lying inside a bush on a reconnaissance  mission.  Is there some special technique?  An easy way to do it?”

Oh I see what she’s talking about now.

“No,” I reply cheerfully.  “There’s no special way of doing it.  Just whip the old fella out and have a slash.”

Silence for a bit, then; “I don’t have an old fella Jonesy.  I can’t cock my leg against a tree or do it standing up either.”

Do I really need to know this stuff, I ask myself?

“Well your shit out of luck then aren’t you!”  I point out.

The last thing I hear from her is.  “Oh for Gods sake.”

A short time later the bush nearby starts to shake and thrash about.  Strange moaning sounds come from within.

This has not escaped the Sarge’s attention.

He comes crawling over to me.

“What’s all the fucking noise over here Jonesy?”

“Don’t know Sarge.  One of the birds is trying to have a piss I think.”

The Sarge gives me an odd look and slithers off towards the threshing bush.  A moment later and he stands up and says.   “Jonesy, come over here and give me a hand for Christ’s sake.”

Covert ambush must be over then, I think to myself.

I stagger upright, trying to get feeling back into numb limbs.  Pace over to the Sarge.  Peer over his shoulder at the struggling figure below him.

I can see a rather nice, naked, pale, female bottom.  It’s covered in scratches and rapidly swelling red blotches.

The rest of the figure is apparently trapped by an over amorous blackberry bush. The young lady is crying and moaning and begging us to help her.

As far as the Sarge and I can work it out, said female dropped her trousers and panties and attempted to release her urine from a squatting position.  On top of a patch of stinging nettles.  The shock of being stung on her naked posterior propelled her forwards into the blackberry bush.

Once enveloped by the bush she was unable to free herself.

Savaged by a blackberry bush, a bottom full of stinging nettle venom, it was all too much for the poor thing. She lay there half naked in front of us and worked herself into a hysterical fit of alternate screaming and sobbing.

The Sarge and I looked at each other.

“It was never like this in the old days,” the Sarge assured me.