THE ADVENTURES OF REX THE WONDER ENGINEER:

REX DOES DUTY DESK

Old Joe, formerly SAC's finest Boom Operator, wanders down the long hall of the new squadron building, looking for Rex. Rex, the wonder engineer, famous world-wide, defender of America, is supposed to be the duty pig today, but is nowhere to be found. Joe has checked the usual hiding places: The crapper, the smoking patio. He might be over at scheduling beating up the new Staff Sergeant working the desk. Joe continues down the hall, slowly, farting and giggling to himself. As he passes the Operations Officer's office, he hears Rex's voice, and then Lt Col Buffet's angry reply. Joe stops just outside the door and listens, ignoring the scathing looks of the first SGT, asshole that he is. Several other people gather just outside the door to listen.......

"Goddamnit, Rex! You can't go around smacking the co-pilots like that! Fuck! Your silly ass could end up in Leavenworth! Lt Auger said you hit him with the handset on climbout, and Capt Bank told me that you knocked his glasses off when you bounced a can of Beenie-Weenies off of his head! Is this shit all true? This is serious, you dumb-ass! These young officers are not your whipping boy boom operators. Now leave your fucking hands off of them, or I'll have you flying locals for the next ten Goddamm years!"

The snoopy bastards outside the door are shocked, but impressed, by this eruption by the new Ops Officer.
They hear the sound of ice clinking into glasses, and whiskey being poured. They hear Rex begin his defense, over Joe's painfully loud fart........
"Alright, Colonel, Goddammit, yer right, I maybe hit'em a little too hard, but the fuckers tried to kill me four or five times the first day of the trip. And the AC, what a fucking worm that guy was! He let'em do weird shit, and wouldn't chew their asses when they fucked up! I was fucking scared the whole mother-fucking trip and besides, The Beenie-Weenie thing was an accident. The dumb bastard was rifling through the lower refrigerator, looking to pilfer pax snacks, and I was working on the galley and the can just slipped. And the other thing, with the handset, well, that's just a reflex action, I guess. When we get stick-shaker, I go into the head-rattle mode. I tell ya, Sir, my nerves are shot! I don't even have enough abuse left for boom operators any more. These pilot boys need some real old style discipline. Like we used to do back in the C-133. Shit, I remember.........." "Stop! Enough of this shit, Rex,...finish your drink and get your ass out of here. I got a squadron to run, and some pilot asses to kick" Rex pours the remainder of the double-slam Jack Daniels down his throat and stands up, belches, and walks toward the door. "See ya, colonel, make sure we have whiskey and fresh whores for the dining-in."

Outside the office, the snooping crowd has scattered. As soon as the DO started taking about kicking pilot asses, the curious pilots split, back to the new excercise room, to continue their discussion on careers, finances, Jap cars, and how to squeeze blood from turnips (enlisted men). Only Joe is there when Rex walks out into the hall. They greet each other noisily, simultaniously breaking wind, and start off to the smoking patio. When they get there, after stopping at the pilots coffee bar, and stealing a couple of cups, they find Fruity, the misguided, semi-retarded, wonder of the literary world, acting first sergeant, dumb-ass boom operator that he claims to be. Fruity is practically slobbering on his ribbon rack. "Rex, what the fuck is going on? Are you breaking the chain of command again? I'm warning you, this could be the straw that....."SMACK! Rex backhands Fruity across the side of his lumpy head. Fruity reels, and bangs against the butt-can, falls to the concrete. Joe kicks him in the side, and breaks wind. "Listen, you piece of shit glorified-loadmaster maggot bastard, I've had enough of your crap. Stay out of my way, or I will kill you." "Yea, piss-boy," Joe adds, "Rex will fuck you up, good". "Shut your hole, Joe" barks Rex. "Now, dickheads, I gotta go back to the duty desk before I get in trouble with the man. So long, cheesedicks."

A few minutes later, Rex cruises into the mission planning area, and checks the situation. There is crap scattered all over his desk, and the phones are all ringing, while crewmembers sit around and pretend not to hear. Rex picks up the phone and connects...."Hello, good morning, duty pig here, what do you need?"
The voice on the line is deep and speaks with authority. "Yes, good morning, I'm trying to reach a Captain Slats, Otto Slats..." "Yea, so?" says Rex, "He ain't here, and anyway who the fuck are you? You got a name?
"Yes, this is Jim Dandy from Reese, Otto and me are pilot buddies and...." CLICK. DIAL TONE. Call is over. Rex punches up the other line. It's another pilot. "Hello, this is LT Fuzz, can you check the CASS for me?" Rex pounces. "No, I can't. Call your fucking scheduler, Ell Tee, the CASS is broke here. Permanently. CLICK. DIAL TONE. Next call. "Hello, I need the home phone number for Johnny Vortac" Rex tries to be polite. "Who the fuck is that? This is a military line. Does this guy have a rank, or is he some shit-sucking civilian?"
"Oh, he's a pilot"
"Wow, thats really neat. Do you have a rank, or a fucking name? Or are you a shit sucker, too?"
"Oh, sorry, I just need his home phone number"
"What for? Are you his monkey-boy? Are you diddling his wife?"
"Did I dial the right number here, 424-0030?"
"Yes, that is the right number. Congratulations. Now, can you hear this?" CLICK. DIAL TONE.
Rex follows the phone cord to the wall and pulls the fucking thing out. There. Situation resolved. He needs time to think. Actually, what he needs is a belt of the DO's whiskey. Maybe later.
A few hours later, Rex has gotten the room under his complete control. He had to beat up two boom operators earlier for telling 135 stories, but hasn't gotten into trouble with any pilots. That is good. He's on thin ice, anyway . Joe the Boomer comes in, they go out to the patio and have a smoke and a chew and a healthy belt of Black Velvet, offered to them by the Flight Surgeon. The Doc gives them shit about their tobacco use. Rex and Joe give the Doc shit about turining in bogus 781s with with fruadulent flying times. Doc offers another dose of Black Velvet. Rex and Joe shut up, and so does Doc. Fruity comes out, stares at Rex and Joe, lookes at the piss stain that he left on the patio, and leaves. The DO comes out, has a smoke, and a belt of BV. And so the day passes.

At quitting time, Rex is plugging the phones back in, when the DO walks into the room. Rex jumps up and stands at attention. Lt Col Buffet is a person that commands respect. Almost 7 feet tall, a former enlisted puke, expert boxer and pilot ass kicker, he towers over Rex. Rex wonders what the fuck is the problem now.
"Sir, it's almost 5 o'clock. Take the rest of the day off." "Rex, did you fuck with the phones in here? We got a tasking for an excercise, and everyone says they can't get ahold of our squadron. I oughtta kick your ass, you piece of shit engineer, I know you did something." Rex looks pretty innocent. "Shit sir, you couldn't kick the ass of a paraplegic baby boom operator. But nope, the phones are fine, see?" Rex demonstrates the now-fully-operational phone system. "Colonel, we oughta go fly sometime, get us old Joe and some gear-jerker that knows how to shut-up, and go on a trip."
"Bullshit. Rex. I'd have to wear my Goddamm helmet, and stay on oxygen the wholetime because of Joes farts and your whiskey breath" "Yessir", says Rex, "Just like the good old days"..........


NEXT: REX WORKS THE SCHEDULING DESK