Cranberry Sauce

“Mmm, Thanksgiving grub,” said Flynn.
“Yeah, it’s actual meat from, like, animals raised on a farm or something,” added Zuberi.
“They’re called ‘turkeys,’ Izzy,” commented Li.
“Turkeys? You mean the Turks?”
“I-I don’t, no. No, not Turkish people. The bird. The turkey.”
“Oh, like, just Turkey. Oh, okay.”
“Umm… sure?”
“Where in the name of Jesus Christ and atheism is the cranberry sauce?” Flynn complained.
“I dunno, you want me to ask the sarge?” I asked.
“You know what, why not, Ruth?” replied Flynn. “Go ahead. Ask Papa D.”
I turned my head to find Sgt. Papadopoulos cleaning his rifle. “Hey, Sarge,” I said in a loud voice.
“Yes, Private Charet?” asked Papadopoulos.
“Where’s the cranberry sauce?”
“I don’t know,” he answered before wiping grime off of his rifle’s barrel. The man could field-strip like it was nothing. “Take it up with the supply guys.”
I turned my vision back to Flynn. “See that, Jerry? The sarge doesn’t know.”
“Oh, no!” said Zuberi sarcastically. “Whatever shall we do?”
“You know,” I started, “I’m gonna go and actually take up the sarge’s advice.”
“You gonna go to the depot?” asked Flynn. “Find out what the fuck happened to the cranberry sauce?”
“Yes, yes I am.”
“Is it because you’re in a firebase in the middle of nowhere on a faraway planet waiting for Innies to shoot us up on fucking Thanksgiving?” Flynn questioned.
“No,” I answered. “It’s because I would like some cranberry sauce.”
“Not gonna lie, cranberry sauce is kinda eh,” said Li.
“Who are you?” sarcastically commented Flynn.
“Chinese-Canadian,” replied Li with a deadpan face.
I walked away after that comment, feeling like I was losing focus on the objective. I meandered through the maze of pillboxes, artillery pits, and shell stacks and found my way to the supply depot. I found one of the logistics fellows in a respite and decided to try and get some answers from him. A man of pale complexion, his lanky physique towered gracefully over me. “Hey, man, got any cranberry sauce?” I asked.
“Sorry?” asked the man, who leaned against a crate.
“Cranberry sauce,” I said. “Got any cranberry sauce?”
“Ouch, sorry, got the last can,” he said with an American accent.
“Damn,” I uttered with a crestfallen breath. “Well, good on you.”
“Nah, come on, I can share this. Where’s your squad at?”
“We’re near the southwest perimeter, the spot with the good view of Innie Valley.”
“Oh yeah, I know that spot. I’ll follow you, though. Lead the way. My name’s Bradley, by the way.”
“I’m Ruth.”
Bradley and I meandered our way back to my squad. “Oh, who’s this?” asked Flynn.
“Private Bradley Binghamton,” said the supply guy. “And here is the last can of cranberry sauce in Firebase Kilo.” From his back pocket, he procured a small can, with the words “CRANBERRY SAUCE” in big, bold, all caps lettering on the side.
“My hero!” quipped Flynn.
“That’s Flynn,” I said, pointing to the elated Marine. “Then there’s Li, then Zuberi, and our sarge, Papadopoulos, over there.”
“You got the cranberry sauce for our Turks?” asked Zuberi. Li adopted a befuddled look on his face, while Flynn grinned widely and looked at me. I gave him a look back with rolling eyes.
“Yeah… I mean, yeah I do,” awkwardly answered Bradley. The supply guy opened the can with a knife, and we indulged in the tart jam.
“Thanks, Brad,” said Flynn. “Can I call you Brad?”
“Sure, man, and it’s no problem at all. You know, people around here might be bummed that we’re not at home right now, but we got each other. I mean, we’re all Marines, right?”
“Yeah, man,” said Flynn. “I mean, you may not be dodging bullets like us, but last time I checked you were still a fucking Marine, man.”
“Yeah, that’s what’s up,” added Li, stabbing some turkey meat on his platter with his fork and stuffing it into his mouth.
“It’s crazy, though,” I said. “I mean… I never thought when I was little I’d actually get into the service. And here I am, on some firebase in the middle of nowhere on some faraway planet on fucking Thanksgiving… with some badass buddies.”
“Hell yeah, sister,” said Flynn.
“Mashallah,” added Zuberi.
“Too bad those out there Innies probably don’t have those same warm feelings right now,” said the sarge, reassembling his rifle. “Keep celebrating, boys and girls. But don’t get too comfy.”
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