Captain Swindle was nearly as red as his overcoat, cheeks boiling over with sweat and spit.
“Who authorized this?!” He pointed at the clumps of ruined goods from the Mother Land floating in the harbor.”WHO?!”
The entire back row of the formation nearly bowed in two to keep from laughing, most squinting at the tea leaves. Private Kippers snored softly, leaning on a post.
“DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH—-”
“Chrus, look at’im George, he’s gonna ‘splode,” Private McGee said to George Jessup.
“If NONE OF YOU ARE COMING FORWARD IT’S NOTHING BUT HARDTACK FOR THE NEXT MONTH!”
Everyone groaned. Kippers woke up, snorted, and scratched his ass.
“Ain’t been nuthin’ but ‘ard’tack for week anyway,” McGee moaned.
Swindle cursed and puffed and blew, the men slowly edging away lest he “‘splode”. Around his tenth pass of the front row, the shops and market began to slowly stir, the floating debris drawing curious onlookers.
A pretty little towheaded woman flitted by, causing McGee to stiffen and suck in his gut.
“Give it up McGee, you’ve got more chance with the Queen,” Jessup said with a soft chuckle.
“Well I mi’t, but my dick ain’t ’bout reach that far,” McGee said.
“YOU!” Swindle barked at the back row. Kippers started and hit the ground, drawing the snickers of everyone. “CLEAN THIS FILTH UP!”
The back row groaned. McGee sucked his gut in as the girl skipped by again, whistling softly.
McGee smiled and nodded at Kippers.
Ben Franklin had sent his regards.