‘Bout the last place you’d expect to see a GAZ 69 would be in Fort Stockton, but damned if there wasn’t one parked at the Dairy Twin a while back.
No idea how it even got there. Manny, from Manny’s Motor Mart, the used car lot operating out of the former Unitarian Church across the street, had never seen anything like it. He went over and struck up a conversation with the rough looking guy in fatigues leaning on the front fender next to the ominous looking hooded headlamps. The guy seemed reluctant to engage at first, but Manny can talk the ears off a stalk of corn and wasn’t going to let up until he had the full story. Before Yolanda brought out the burger basket and fries, the two of them were inside the GAZ and the Ruskie was giving Manny the full rundown.
“So you actually trained Russian soldiers from this thing?” Manny asked the soldier, stealing a fry or two when he wasn’t looking. “Tell me how you dunnit!”
“One time I task new recruit to eliminate 50 oppressors of liberty with his rifle. He return, his bayonet bloody. He say he only manage 40.”
Manny, trying to figure out wholesale value of the GAZ, replied, “So did you punish the recruit’s failure to follow orders?”
“No,” the Russian answered. “I give him another opportunity. He seem committed to the Motherland. Need another chance. He come back bloody, having killed 47 oppressors of liberty.”
Manny, glancing at the tools strapped to the side of the olive drab GAZ and figuring what that option package would add to resale value, said, “I had a lot boy like that one time. Likable kid, but couldn’t pour piss out of a boot. Did you make your trainee repent for his repeated failure to follow your instructions?”
The Russian drew a long sip out of the striped straw of his Dr. Pepper, put his big boot up on the dash and looked over at Manny, stroking the salt and pepper stubble of his chin. “Is it not the failure of the teacher if student does not perform to expectation? I commanded him to endure further training while I submitted myself to my superiors for failure to adequately command my troops. I spend five days in isolation contemplating my inadequacies. I contemplate my failure to serve Mother Russia. I rededicate myself to task and give him one more chance, this time with me by his side.”
Manny was only listening with one ear, the other trying to figure out if he could get more for the GAZ with the undercoating package and interior protectant. “How’d it work out?”
“We go out together to face the mass of oppressors again, united in effort to succeed,” the soldier said as he swelled up just a bit with pride and finished his fries.
“Then what happened?” Manny asked, wishing he’d have ordered his own cheeseburger basket.
“The horde was vast. We stood before them alone, bayonetted rifles at the ready, fearless for the Motherland and ready to sacrifice ourselves for cause,” the soldier said. “I took careful aim and fire my weapon. ‘Blyatt!’ the trainee yelled out. ‘What’s that noise?’”
I doubt this is the same one, but there was a 1971 GAZ 69 on Manny’s Motor Mart lot for a few weeks after that with a sign on the folding canvas top that said ‘Manager’s Special’ on it. “Perfect for Putin’ round the Fort,” Manny told people who’d pull over for a look. “Only one in town. Can’t let it go cheap.”
