CHAPTER 41
“I can’t eat another one. These things are nasty. Who are they kidding?”
Jeff flipped through the box of MREs on the black marble, kitchen counter reading the labels on the brown plastic bags. The wrong shade of brown. Gravy-too-thin brown. Overage-hamburger brown. The stark halogen lighting from under the cabinets didn’t make them look any better. It was a guy’s kitchen of black and stainless steel. There should be some soft woods, gentle prints, something. There should also be some food other than cases of Meals Ready to Eat.
“Pork Rib. Beef Ravioli. Sloppy Joe. This isn’t food. How can our soldiers eat such crap?” Shelley sat on a bar stool at the kitchen’s central island and looked at him as he might inspect a roux where the flour had lumped in the butter.
“We eat milli
