My Little Fiat

The story of how I got my first car.

Written for: Honoring Our Veterans ▼

This memoir was written for

FORUM

Honoring Our Veterans - Challenge  (ASR) Celebrating Veterans Day every day #423698 by 🌻 pwheeler ~ love joy peace

. The Monthly Challenge
For each month, the challenge is to submit a story (up to 1,000 words), a poem (up to 40 lines), or any relevant piece of writing (up to 1000 words) about veterans or military life. -- This is a first in a series of vinyette memoirs about my first duty assignment in the miliary for the Honoring Our Veterans Challenge.

Word Count: 997

In 1987, I was a young 19 year old solider stationed in Germany. It was my first duty assignment, fresh out of basic training. Mind you, my duty assignment was NOT ideal. If you remember your history, after World War II, Germany was divided into zones of occupation. The United States zone was anything south of Frankfurt. They sent me north – way north. My assignment was at the 583rd Ordnance Company in Handorf, Germany. The nearest big town was Munster, Germany. There were 200 Americans in Handorf and 10,000 British soldiers stationed throughout Munster. Yep, I landed in the British zone of occupation. My platoon was “Security,” platoon. There were about 15 MP (military police, which I was) and 15 Infantry soldiers in the platoon and we provided security for - ordnance. And that’s another long story….

Before I get into the story of how I got my first car, I kind of have to set the scene. There was an infantry Sergeant First Class charge of the platoon and he was getting ready to go back stateside. Sergeant Melby was a really nice guy, at least I thought so.

Now, out of 15 Military Police in the platoon, 3 of use were girls. And each of us had our own unique personality. There was Mackekine who was tall with red hair, tall, and wicked fussy. Then there was my roommate, “Chad” short for Chadwick. Her first name was Wendy. She was short, from New York, and tough as nails. Then there was me. I was average height, average weight, and I’d consider myself “cute,” as opposed to drop dead gorgeous. Out of the 3 of us, just about every guy on post was trying to bang me, BUT that’s not this memoir.

About six weeks before Sergeant Melby was set to go stateside, Wendy pulled me aside.

“Steph, Sergeant Melby is giving me his car.” She smiled.

“You? But you don’t have a license,” I pointed out. Mind you, the story about how I got my license is for another memoir. Let’s just say it took 5 times taking the test to finally pass it. Wendy took the test 5 times too, but failed it each time.

“No, but you do. Sergeant Melby is going to sell the car to you for one dollar. It will be registered in your name and then when I get my license, I’ll buy the car from you for one dollar.”

I wrinkled my eyebrows. “Why would Sergeant Melby do that?” Mind you, Wendy and I were Privates First Class. We were flat ass broke in 1987. We thought COLA was money given to use to buy cokes when we first got to Handorf.

Wendy smiled like a proud little goose. “Because I’m having an affair with him and he wants me to have the car, but since I don’t have a license, I told him to give the car to you and then when I get my license, you’ll give the car to me.”

My eyes grew wide. My mouth dropped to the ground. In hindsight, now I know why Sergeant Melby didn’t hit on me. I closed my mouth and squeaked, “You and Sergeant Melby?”

“I call him Kim.”

“Oh.” I wrinkled my eyebrows. “Okay, I guess.”

She punched my shoulder like she often did. “I knew you wouldn’t mind doing this for me.”

“No, not at all.” I pursed my lips. Honestly, I was shocked. I didn’t see this one coming. “How long have you to been … doing the nasty?”

“Couple of months of now.” She smiled. “I trust you won’t say anything.”

“Me? Nah. My lips are sealed.” And they were. Let’s just say for the most part Wendy was my best friend in Handorf. We went through basic training together. Probably in another time and place we’d be acquaintances at best, but this experience had made us best friends. Then I thought about it. “Does Melby’s wife know about you guys?”

“Nah. She’s clueless.”

“Oh, good.” What else was I going to say? Let me run and tell her? I’m no “rat fink.” I’m not the morality police. I’m just a no-nothing Private First Class. I got my own issues in the bedroom department, though I could honestly say my on again-off again “boyfriend” was single.

Anyhow, that was how I found out my best friend and my platoon sergeant were having an affair and I how I was about to get a car.

Sergeant Melby’s car was a pretty decent car for the time. It was a blue 1975 Supermirafiori 131. This thing was a little go-getter. Melby told everyone he was selling the car to me for 500 bucks.

Little did I know that his wife had found out that he was having an affair.

Sergeant Melby and I met a couple of days before he left and we did the paperwork to put the car in my name. Wendy was a basket case. The day they drove him down to Frankfurt (which was a 3 hour drive on the autobahn no less!!) he left me the keys to the car at the CQ. It was early, about 5 o’clock and I went to the CQ to get the keys and drive myself to PT (physical training). I put the key and ignition and nothing. It was dead. Shit! I was going to be late to PT! So I ran like the dickens to the PT field and made it with just a second to spare. After PT, I returned to the CQ to ask him what could have happened? Did Sergeant Melby actually drive the car to the barracks?

The CQ offered me a sympathetic frown. “Mrs. Melby was pulling wires left and right under the hood when Sergeant Melby went to over to the male barracks to say goodbye to the guys.”

I raced to the car and opened the hood. It was a hot mess of wires under there.