Moeche in the morning

Moeche in the morning.

The ride characteristics of a mark III panzet fall short of the comfort of Moeche’s Mercedes coupe.

Her tank platoon rolls through colored smoke in a play battle. They are rehearsing an assault upon a
"fortified enemy village".

The Majoret spent most of last night mapping out the brigade’s attack routes.
She aspires to someday wear general’s epaulets.

Moeche’s far to hung-over to bother with maps, she has all she can do just to hang on to the turret ring.

Suddenly, out of the smoke the Majoret rolls up in her scout car.
"Were the doodle have you been? You’re ten minutes late! This sort of incompetence gets people killed!"

Moeche manages a half-hearted salute. "Jawohl, meine Majoret, we experienced mechanical difficulties."

"Difficulties, what manner of difficulties?"

Abruptly the turret side hatch opens and korporalet Grötessa explosively empties the contents of her stomach all over the side of the panzet. The bile permeated bouquet sends a spasm of nausea boiling up the back of Moeche’s throat.

"What the hell is this?", shrieks the Majoret.
Repressing her own gag reflex with remarkable success, Moeche calmly replies,"Vomit, meine Majoret".