Anyway, we got word that there was an off-base party going on at a beer garden, and that there was going to be a little too much action. But when they found out about it, and because there'd been no invitation, they just called us in to keep 'em off the locals. So we get there, the rest of my squad, a good bunch of guys, and it's too late. I don't know why, maybe the frauleins got bored with them, maybe we got the wrong address, who knows. But the place is quiet, and there's no one there when we come in.
Lights are all out and no one's singing.
He paused long enough for Mike to get him another while I got a second pint. So we get closer to them, and what do I see but all these young guys, almost kids they were so young, with close haircuts and brown shirts. I used to run in drunks if I was on patrol, and the German cops would thank me, offer a few things in trade. One of then goes for the bench and lifts it and starts swinging, and a few of them start getting up and hitting us. They had us outnumbered about three to one, the bastards, but we had our edge, because we were carrying.