BRENDA

Morosely Brenda sits next to me in the sergeants mess. 
"Rough weekend?"
"Ye-ah."
"Like to talk about it a bit?"
"What's to say?  You know how things are these days."
Well yes I do.  But still that's pretty vague, could refer to a dozen things.
"Swine," she says vehemently, "should put the lot of them in a Louisiana bayou, let the alligators feast."
Clue, fight with her husband.  I nod.
"How many tours we done?"
"Lots, enough, too many."
"Exactly my point," she asserts, "back in ancient history the men did the tours and the women had to stay home and behave.  Now it's their turn, think he'd know better."
I rather suspect her husband knows little of history, in fact little on anything other than sports.  I nod.
"You, smart, never married."
Well not exactly smart, just that all the Afghan boys were scooped up by white chicks, none left over for me.
"Thought about stabbing the rat, decided no.  Them stockades are probably every bit as tough as in the old movies."
"Bread and water, swing a sledgehammer."
She grins, "heck with him, I threw him out.  Gonna chase that young guy in the motor pool."
"Is that wise?  He can't even change oil properly, you could get stranded."
"Now that sounds interesting, " wicked grin, "pass the sugar."