<c> 1992 Erwin H. Lerner

CHARACTERS:

A/3C RALSTON SILVERSUN                  age 48, white, lanky.

1ST LT. DON "WHITEY" WHITEHEAD          age 30, black, strong.

A/2C BRUNO "BRU" ROACH                  age 46, white, stocky.

A/1C ABRAHAM DELANO "A.D." COHEN        age 22, white, pudgy.

1ST LT. ROSA "BLACKY" BLACKMAN          age 27, white, thin, short.

LT. COL. HARRIET CHITFIZ                age 44, white, voluptuous.

JABER MUSTAPHA                          age 25, Druse, lean, mean.

ARA YASIRFAT                            age 55-60, Druse, pear-shaped.

SCENE: Thirteenth Mobile Epsilon Support Squadron (13th M.E.S.S.) dining hall module, situated below sea level in a Negev Desert cave rich with colorful mineral deposits.

Shored walls, wood support beams, parachute silk drapings, single-bulb overhead light fixtures, several NO SMOKING signs prominently posted.

Center, wooden stand supports large-sized coffee urn, paper cups for hot drinks,  powdered cream, sugar and artificial sweetener packets, plastic stirrers, unfancy paper napkins.

Rear, steam table apparatus.

Left, ten- or twelve-foot-long wood table with parallel benches

attached, extends upstage lengthwise.

Near Right, wood round table.

Far Right of Center, metal square table.

Five wood, five metal folding chairs.

Rear Right, mosquito-netted passage to kitchen inside.

Rear Left, mosquito-netted passage to area outside.

TIME:

The present; Thursday morning; Thanksgiving Day

                             ACT ONE

AT RISE: 0600 hours (6 A.M.).

Lights on in vicinity of tables.

Disorder following all-night poker game at round table. Five wood,

five metal folding chairs scattered about. Steam table

disassembled at rear.

AIRMAN 3RD CLASS RALSTON "SARGE" SILVERSUN sits atop long table, wears 2-piece desert fatigues with single-stripe chevrons; his

former non-commissioned officer rank is faded indelibly on

seasoned, often-laundered fatigue shirt sleeves; wears olive-drab

undershirt visibly soiled with perspiration, well-shined black

brogans; adeptly strums blues notes and chords on old guitar.

1ST LT. DON "WHITEY" WHITEHEAD wears desert fatigue pants,

colorful tee-shirt, tennis shoes, sits at round table, works with

laptop computer to sort and count variety of currencies;

calculates on line to determine international exchange rates;

types entries in database file; uses ballpoint pen to jot in

legal-paper note pad; organizes currency in stacks, using a U.S.

Army 45-caliber pistol, ammunition clip and holster as paperweights.

After a moment:

            AIRMAN 3RD CLASS RALSTON "SARGE" SILVERSUN

   (Sings softly to himself)

Mailcall blues/Got a lot of rotten news/Feeling low like I do/Down as I

am/Don't care a damn.

   (Strums several loud chords)

I'm so tired, I ought-should put in for retirement.

                  1ST LT. DON "WHITEY" WHITEHEAD

   (Busy)

I hear you!   Silversun, a musical moment is one thing; getting caught by the C-O is something else.  You will destroy all evidence of unauthorized gambling activities.

                            SILVERSUN

Yes, sir.

   (During following, dutifully rests guitar on long table, lowers feet to
   floor, rises, collects broom, dustpan two large, plastic
   trash bags, wearily sweeps rubbish in heaps, separates
   perishables from non-perishables)

Shucks!  Lieutenant Whitehead, you won a lot to be thankful for.

                            WHITEHEAD

   (As before)

Around sixteen K.

                             SILVERSUN

Sir, is today Thanksgiving Day in Israel, or is today tomorrow in the U.S. of A., or was it yesterday?  Golly!  I observed the marathon where the deal went 'round and 'round so many times with no openers, until the ante was nuclear-level tremendous.

                            WHITEHEAD

   (Busy; smiles)

I was prepared to bluff, cheat, or kill for that pot.

                            SILVERSUN

You finally opened, and split your opener--a pair of Aces, as I recall--and you drew one card to a royal flush in spades!

                            WHITEHEAD

The Jack came in chest-high down the middle. 

                            SILVERSUN

Bam!  A grand-slam damn home run!  Shoot!  As for me:  just let this here graveyard shift get relieved; I'm fixing to sleep near death all day, and resurrect myself to tie one on something wicked.

                            WHITEHEAD

   (As before)

By order of the base commander:  "There will be no possession or consumption of alcoholic beverages on this military installation."

                            SILVERSUN

With all respect due in that regard, sir, Colonel Chitfiz is apeshit.

                            WHITEHEAD

   (Glances)

As you were, airman!

                            SILVERSUN

Just because some guerrilla leader threatened to cancel us with ground-to-ground missiles.

                            WHITEHEAD

At ease!  Who leaked that top secret information?

                             SILVERSUN

I’ll never tell!

                            WHITEHEAD

You will when I sweat you under interrogation.

   (Returns to taking care of business)

                            SILVERSUN

No military unit in this world could survive steady, condition-yellow alert status, no class-A pass privileges; strict on-base booze prohibition.  I cherish good-old Patrick Henry:  Give me liberty, or I'll take it!

                            WHITEHEAD

   (Busy)

I’ll have to command the firing squad that shoots you for going AWOL in the face of the enemy.

                            SILVERSUN

My enemy is faceless!  Give me a loaf of bread, a jug of wine, a whore underneath the bow--hot damn, Omar Khayyam!  Lord, grant me amazing grazing.  Aymen! Ahmen! Awmayne! So be it!  My numero-uno gripe in life is, being too unfortunate to have sat down in your monthly, table-stakes, winners-only poker game.   Instead, I produced a back-kitchen craps shooting contest, and lost every last, darn, cotton-picking cent of my scared money.

                            WHITEHEAD

   (As before)

Silversun, cease your chronic bitchings.

                            SILVERSUN

Yes, sir.

                            WHITEHEAD

   (Completes currency count, etc.)

Okay:  minus the hundred-and-fifty-I lent you, plus my one-week minimum interest, your snack service kitty amounts to one-sixteen U.S. Would you rather military scrip, Israeli shekels, Egyptian pounds, Iranian rials, Saudi riyals, or Jordanian dinars?

                            SILVERSUN

My humble slice of money pie aint worth nothing much, noplace, nohow.  Let's you and me cut cards double or nothing; ace is high; no pushers.

                            WHITEHEAD

Okay.  Just don't go bitching afterwards about: lucky Whitey worked you all-night on slave duty.

   (Shuffles deck; rests cards on table top)

Pick and show, yo' momma won't know.

                            SILVERSUN

   (Rests broom aside; cuts deck, picks a card face down;
   turns up Eight of Spades

There's me behind the eightball in spadesl.

                            WHITEHEAD

I'll be as painless as possible.

   (Cuts deck, picks card face down; peeks at it;
   turns up Deuce of Clubs)

Do you believe?

                            SILVERSUN

Deuces loses!  My two hundred and thirty-two bucks aint hardly enough spending money to rent a Cleopatra and sail the River Nile.  Let's bump heads once more: four-sixty-four or bust.

                            WHITEHEAD

Shuffle the cards!

                            SILVERSUN

   (Nervously shuffles cards; rests deck face down
    on table)

Cut your throat!

                            WHITEHEAD

   (Spreads deck, picks card face down)

Lady Luck be here!

                            SILVERSUN

   (Pcks card; turns up Queen of Hearts)

Whooee!  My honey wants money.

                            WHITEHEAD

   (Shows King of clubs)

My bad King of clubs, clobbers your pussy-Queen of hearts.

                            SILVERSUN

Never in all my born put-together, have I ever seen the likes of your
cotton-picking good luck.

                             WHITEHEAD

I'm state of the art, turkey!

   (Reaches into a pocket, removes antique gold

   pocketwatch on fob, observes time; declares)

Zero six ten hours, and all is well!

                            SILVERSUN

Life's hell!

                            WHITEHEAD

   (Offers pocket watch; gratuitously)

You can have your collateral back.

                            SILVERSUN

   (Takes, pockets watch)

My family heirloom timepiece runs perfectly on time.
   (During following, wearily clears tables, retrieves
   broom, sweeps floor, sorts rubbish, etc.)

                            WHITEHEAD

   (During following, removes ZIP disk from notebook
   computer; boots down; pockets pen, pad; deposits
   currencies in moneybelt; rises, puts on moneybelt,
   fatigue shirt; adjusts BASE SECURITY OFFICER
   armband on left sleeve; adjusts fatigue cap with
   silver bar on it; adjusts pistol belt with holster;
   locks and loads U.S. Army 45-caliber automatic
   pistol; assures safety is on)

Silversun, one dozen empty, one-liter bottles labled, A.D.C. kosher red wine, were uncovered in a restricted-area waste disposal unit.  Latent fingerprint analysis led to a Twelfth Global Reconnaissance Squadron Mobile enlisted man, one Airman Second Class Abraham Delano Cohen.   The situation is a possible case of treason.

                            SILVERSUN

How do a dozen empty bottles constitute treason?

                            WHITEHEAD

Don’t ask me, ask Colonel Chitfiz.  I require you to work undercover, and discover how wine infiltrated my absolutely solid, Base Security defense perimeter.

                            SILVERSUN

No, sirree Bob, I won't spy and be no stool-pigeon.

                            WHITEHEAD

No sweat; stick to your principles. The hapless dude is most likely not guilty anyhow.  Silversun, as of zero six thirty hours this date, the suspect is on administrative transfer to Thirteenth Global Mobile Support Squadron, assigned to permanent kitchen police detail.  If kosher or otherwise wine is being trafficked on this post, I’ll know it when you turn up tipsy.  Here’s a hundred and fifty shekels tip for services rendered.

   (Offers money)

                            SILVERSUN

   (Sheepishly takes, pockets it)

Thanks kindly, sir.

                            WHITEHEAD

The wine case I mentioned is confidential intelligence information.  Keep it strictly between yourself and yours truly.

                            SILVERSUN

Yes, sir, beyond any shadow of doubt.

                            WHITEHEAD

Catch you later.

   (Exits Rear Left)

                            SILVERSUN

   (Mutters to himself)

Is that a threat or a promise?

   (During following, bags all rubbish, sings quietly)

Mailcall/Mailcall blues/Got a lot of rotten news/Pa wrote the letter/Ma

aint no better/Dog choked dead on a chickenbone/Kid sister's run away on her own/Gals are free to choose/Mailcall blues/Sonny, we aint got no money/Can't borrow nary any/It's true/Feeling low like I do/Down as I am/Don't care a damn/Mailcall blues.