A Platoon Member's Reconnaissance Miscalculation

One day, I'm on the train heading home.  I'm sitting on the aisle, no one in the middle, and another soldier (aka commuter) is by the window.  I am wearing armor (aka headphones). On the other side of the aisle is a soldier who is also wearing armor, but he's got bombs. 

Or should I say he's dropping bombs, as the hip-hop he's listening to is blaring at deafening levels into his skull.  Even with my shielding armor, I can hear the explosions from his device.  I take cover and dip into my hot popcorn ration. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I feel the look of a fellow soldier, the guy by the window.  He's not staring at me, but he keeps turning my way and I can tell he wants to say something. 

It is looking likely that my trip back to the barracks is going to involve some crossfire, and the terrain may become a battle theater. 

Finally, I decide to let him off the hook. I turn to him and say, "WHAT IS YOUR MAJOR MALFUNCTION, PRIVATE PYLE?" Ok, I actually asked, "is there a problem?" He asks me very nicely, "would you please turn down the music?" I said, "it isn't me." I nod toward the enemy soldier who is blaring Biggie. 

My fellow platoon member apologizes and we both shake our heads in mutual frustration. 

Camaraderie in the trenches.  War is hell.

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