The bike that won the war . . .

The Koreans were advancing . . . I need to get out fast.  My trusty 1952 WLA has lead me through countless battles as I relay information from the front lines to an army outpost at the beach-head.  My Firestones have the perfect tread pattern for speed and stability on these sandy, island roads (more like paths).  The torque of my flathead carries heavy loads, and seems unaffected by intense island heat. As sounds of gunfire became crisp to my ears - I had to get moving to relay important information back at camp. I let the clutch out in 1st gear . . . and the bike kinda jumped, stuttered, jumped ahead again.  I rock'd the clutch back, rev'd the engine and somehow kept the motor running.  I tried again - and the bike took off.  I shifted to 2nd and away I went - WHEN SUDDENLY - the motorcycle surged - jumped out of gear - and the rear wheel locked up, killing the engine.  SHIT !  I almost went down !  One kick and the WLA was running again.  I nervously took off -and it was a repeat.  DAMMIT !  When I shift to 2nd gear - this thing surges . . . then the motor dies and locks up the rear wheel - it dug deep into the packed sand.  I can hear machine gun rounds singing through the trees . . . time is wasting.  I fire it up, again - jam it in 1st - let the clutch fly and I'm off.  I build the revs and this time SLAM THE TANK SHIFT Past 2nd - into high gear !
I'm suddenly building speed to 40,45,50,55mph - pulling away from the advancing enemy.  All they can hear is the sound of my cigar muffler straight in their faces.  In broken English I hear a Korean solder screamin' FROCKN HAWREY DAV'SOMS . . . bam bam bam bam bam bam.

In reality - it blew out leaving Casey's General Store with a tall can of Miller Lite 
in my back pocket.