It smelled like old diesel and sounded like the apocalypse. Its bench was a wooden plank bolted to an aluminum frame that felt purposefully designed to make your back hurt and your legs go numb. The canvas overhead snapped in the wind like it was trying to get the heck out of there, and who could blame it?
If you ever climbed into the back of a 2˝-ton M35 cargo truck, you remember it. The shaking and flying off every bump. The guy across from you, knees touching yours, both of you pretending not to notice. The grab strap overhead, because whoever was driving had apparently never heard of a smooth transition between gears.
The Deuce and a Half. Not a tank, nor a helicopter. Nobody, anywhere, ever, said, “Hey, let’s make a movie about her.” It was just a big, ugly, loud, diesel-chugging, unbreakable truck that carried more American soldiers to and from war than any other vehicle in U.S. military history.
Across eight decades and every American conflict from World War II to the Global War on Terror, the deuce did not care what war it was. This baby just showed up, loaded soldiers in the back, and drove toward the problem.
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