License to Drink #Sharrack4

Finding beer on foreign soil has always been a bit of a problem; especially when there’s a war on. Any farmer would normally give you a bit on the side; but when you’re collecting for a whole platoon in wine country you may as well be crawling through a desert. Somehow though, Mike always managed to pull through. He’d show up at the door; usually pissed as a fart in the middle of the night with his special drunkards licence just to keep the party going. When the locals saw this document; they’d have to give anything they could spare; because if there was any doubt a whole platoon would be on their doorstep to ransack the premises and take any bottle-related object they could find. Those who were lucky enough to look as if the house was occupied often had to hide any of their bottles in boxes; under floorboards or in the attic as soon they got word that a platoon was nearby.