It was a long, steamy uncomfortable wait, but we knew the hot sun increased our chances of success. The shade disappeared as the sun rose higher. Ants paraded across us. Flies kept zooming in to examine our nostrils and flit in and out of our mouths. A very long morning.

Patience, however, was rewarded. A little after eleven, a truck chugged to a stop and the sound of cackling chickens was music to our sun-blistered ears. Out and down underneath the bridge trotted our two blissful sheep, little knowing how costly todays skinny-dipping would be.

As soon as they disappeared under the bridge, Denbeaux and I ran out and across the road heading for the truck. Green stayed where he could see us and still watch Connelly. While Denbeaux climbed up into the cab behind the wheel, I, very quietly, opened the door on the passenger side and left it that way.

Holding our positions for about ten minutes. Denbeaux and I could hear the two guys splashing around. Connelly waited until they were well out into the river, on their backs, playing seal. Then he signaled Green, and then us.

Denbeaux started the truck.

Until then I dont think I ever appreciated just how noisy those big bastards are. The engine kicked over with a deafening roar. Connelly and Green were off like a shot. They dashed down the embankment and under the bridge. They raced across and scooped up the clothes and boots of the startled truckers. Arms full, they came scrambling back up the bank again on the other side. All without a pause.

For maybe four or five seconds our swimmers just stood there, the water up to their chests, watching the whole thing in horror. Taking in Connellys, Hi, you fuckers! Hows the water?

Then, with howls of anguish the truckers exploded into action, trying to yell, swim for the bank, run across the water and fly all at the same time. Jesus, what an uproar!

In the truck, Denbeaux was revving the engine and bellowing at Connelly and Green, Come on you bastards! Run!

Connelly and Green looked like they were coming up the bank in slow motion, their arms full of gear, their feet going out from under them on the slippery rocks. Stumbling. Laughing and swearing at the same time. I leaped off the truck, ran over and grabbed Connelly by the shoulders as he neared the top. Hauling him up. Then I did the same for Green.

Jesus Christ! I could hardly believe my eyes! The taller of the two truckers, a big rangy, black guy, who clearly knew what running was about, had already rounded into sight and he was eating up the distance as he started up that bank in great bounding strides. His howls of rage must have been heard back at Fort Bragg!

By the time I got a hand onto Green, pulling him up onto the flatter surface of the road, Denbeaux had the truck in gear. It was already rolling. Heading out and onto the bridge. Beginning to pick up speed. Green, gasping for breath but breaking into nervous laughter as he looked back over his shoulder at the furious, naked man swarming toward us and nearing the top of the bank.

Connelly had one foot on the running board and was trying to hop to keep up with the truck while he threw in the stolen clothes and kept his balance. Jumping aboard and shouting, Hold ithold it, Denbox, you dumb bastard! Not so fast!

Denbeaux hitting the brake too hard. I saw Connelly disappear headfirst with one great crash, landing inside on the floor under the dashboard. A pile of ass and legs.

I leapt on then, trying to keep the open door from slamming into me as I turned half around. Letting out a squawk of surprise! That naked trucker was coming fast! No more than twenty yards behind Green and charging like an enraged bull.

The truck, in fits and starts, was only going about ten miles an hour and we were only about a quarter of the way across the bridge. Green was running headlong right at me, clutching his armload of clothes.

Oh, my Christ, step on it! I yelped. Hanging onto the door with one arm, and making a desperate grab for Green. Catching him by the shirtfront and jerking him toward me, pulling with all my might.

All I remember is falling backwards into the cab on top of Connelly, with Green on top of me, clothes and boots flying everywhere. Bedlam. Denbeaux slamming down on the accelerator and yelling as we surged forward, Were off, were off!

Tires squealing, motor roaring, and above everything else, the squawks of a truckload of terrified chickens! We careened across the bridge like a great mad thing. I know Denbeaux had the accelerator right on the floor because in no time we were disappearing up the road on the other side. The door finally slammed shut with a crash! Denbeaux, hanging onto the wheel and laughing uproariously, was cheering the truck on.

Yahoooooo! Roll, you mother humper, roll!

The trucker who had come closest to catching us was left stumbling in our wake. He staggered to a stop halfway across the bridge, standing there alone as we roared off, his curses lost in the swirling dust and general uproar.

Oh what a sweet feeling it was! When I finally righted myself and leaned out the window to look back. I could see him way back in the distance. Shaking his fist. His mouth working soundlessly. All I could hear was our own laughter, Denbeaux whooping and the steady throb of the truck engine. In addition, of course, to the delicious din from our captured booty.