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Closed post for anexquisitecreature
Sep. 3rd, 2024 08:33 pmVietnam, 1973.
Transportation Supply Depot 8 really wasn't much to look at from the outside, just a cluster of temporary corrugated iron buildings at the edge of Da Nang airbase, weathered by the harsh climate and in need of a renovation. But renovation was the last thing on the minds of the US military at that moment; President Nixon's policy of Vietnamization was in full swing, and unit after unit was being shipped out, leaving the staff at the depot with more and more time on their hands.
The roughly handpainted sign outside; 'Open 09-14hrs' was backed up by the padlocked garage gates and the lack of any signs of activity, save for music drifting out of an open door on one of the vehicle garages where the lights were on. Inside, a pair of legs clad in shorts sticking out from under one of the Jeeps, the series of bangs and clankings emanating from it almost drowning out the music coming from a boombox off to one side, a couple of posters of film actresses papering the wall above it.
At the sound of the badly oiled door squealing open, a gruff young male voice calls out from under the truck.
"Whoever you are we're closed! If you need something fill out a request form, otherwise come back tomorrow!"
Transportation Supply Depot 8 really wasn't much to look at from the outside, just a cluster of temporary corrugated iron buildings at the edge of Da Nang airbase, weathered by the harsh climate and in need of a renovation. But renovation was the last thing on the minds of the US military at that moment; President Nixon's policy of Vietnamization was in full swing, and unit after unit was being shipped out, leaving the staff at the depot with more and more time on their hands.
The roughly handpainted sign outside; 'Open 09-14hrs' was backed up by the padlocked garage gates and the lack of any signs of activity, save for music drifting out of an open door on one of the vehicle garages where the lights were on. Inside, a pair of legs clad in shorts sticking out from under one of the Jeeps, the series of bangs and clankings emanating from it almost drowning out the music coming from a boombox off to one side, a couple of posters of film actresses papering the wall above it.
At the sound of the badly oiled door squealing open, a gruff young male voice calls out from under the truck.
"Whoever you are we're closed! If you need something fill out a request form, otherwise come back tomorrow!"
