((I broke this chapter up into several parts since it is very long. Hang tite, there's lots of stuff coming down the pipe))

"Yeah. He tried pulling that 'I want respect, waah' crap on me a little bit ago," I told her, taking the bottle and uncorking it.

"Yeah, he was bitching about that here, so we sent him off on an errand while we started knocking out the medical supplies," Bomber told me.

"How's it coming?" I asked, pouring the first drink.

"Eh, we're not in a big hurry here. It's mostly figuring out what all we used during that shit that went down with the psycho and what we still need," Bomber answered while I cracked the can of Coke and poured it over the Wild Turkey I'd stashed in my desk the night before when I'd gotten on after a nightmare where it had been Nancy laying on the lower helipad at Atlas, not Westlin. It had taken me almost an hour to wash that image out of my head with alcohol and cold as I paced the North and South Hammerhead Hall in the dark with a whiskey bottle and a cigarette.

"Roger that," I answered, handing him a drink and pouring the next. "How's your leg, Stokes?" I asked. The large Amazon walked with a limp she'd carry the rest of her life. She'd gone to a party, let her drunken boyfriend get behind the wheel, and he'd crashed into a van in less than four blocks. The crash had been brutal, trapping the sober and conscious Stokes in the wreck for two hours, killing a family of five and leaving a six month old child an orphan missing a leg. They'd pried Stokes out of the wreck with the Jaws of Life, and she'd damn near died in the ER. She'd broken most of her ribs on her left side, broken her arm in three places, broken her jaw, and shattered her left leg. It had taken nine hours of surgery and six metal rods and forty-two pins in her leg to put her back together. Her boyfriend had gone partly through the windshield and took almost two weeks to die in the hospital.

She'd been ready to plead guilty at her court-martial, but instead of doing what she had expected and court-martialing her, sending the second woman to ever graduated NBC Warfare Field Specialist school to Leavenworth, the Army had quietly put her in 2/19th rather than lose out on over two million dollars' worth the training and surgery to put her back together.

The pain in her leg with every step reminded her every day that she'd let her boyfriend drive and he killed a family. She took her time at Alfenwehr as a penance, and to her the knowledge she'd die when the Red Steamroller rolled through the Fulda Gap was nothing more than what she deserved.

Nothing less than any of us deserved, from what I'd learned about my fellow inmates of 2/19th Special Weapons Group. Murders. Thieves. Drug addicts. Child molesters. Rapists. Not to mention just plain fuckups like me and Bomber.

"It's not bad," she told me with a smile. "How's the head?"

"Aches," I admitted, handing Nancy's drink to her. I hefted the bottle. "How much?"

"Three fingers. And your eyesight?" she asked.

The bottle gurgled as I put about three fingers of Wild Turkey into the glass. "Same ol' same ol'," I admitted. I handed off her glass and poured myself a drink. I popped my neck, leaning my head first one way, then the other to ease off the ache I could feel, but the ache right above where the lizard lived hung around. Just like it had since the maniac with the axe had popped my skull.

"Any news about our lost lamb?" Nagle asked.

I told them what I'd seen. There was no mocking, no doubt, just questions about details, each of them taking their time to see if they could tease something out of my memory that I'd missed at the time. It was Stokes who asked several times if I'd seen any blood drops on the pavement. Nancy asked whether or not I could spot the Motor Pool through the snow and how bad the visibility was. Bomber asked pointedly about the lock, and I admitted to knowing how it had been done. Someone had put a chunk of tempered steel between the chain link and the top of the hasp and put pressure on it until the interior gave it up. Something my father had taught all of us kids.

"It's gonna get bad, ain't it?" Bomber said out of the blue. Hell, he was just saying what we were all thinking.

"Not if we keep our wits around us this time," I told them. "This time we've got the keys to the armory, there's more of us, and if we remember our training, it'll take the mountain itself or something like Tandy to kick our asses, not some asshole in a cold weather mask."

"Think it'll get bad?" Stokes asked. I could see the worry in her eyes. She hadn't been there the previous month, She'd worked out at Atlas a couple of times, had been with Nancy, Bomber and me in Iraq when we were advising the Iraqi government on chemical weapons during their war with Iran, and I knew that she was stable under pressure.

Plus, she'd been there at Atlas when Westlin was killed, fought back against the Russians, and to me that meant she was solid.

"Yeah, I think it's gonna get bad. We've got one missing, and I don't think we're alone in the barracks," I answered.

"Somebody tossed our room. If it had been Tandy in our room, he would have just flat out killed us, or killed one of us to let the other two know he could take us anytime he fucking wanted," Bomber added. "They got both of our pistols, about half the knives, and knew enough to grab the Claymores we keep in our rucks."

"Shit," Stokes said. "They knew to check your rucks?" Nancy nodded. "It sure as shit wasn't Tandy, he wouldn't bother." Her expression got grave. "That means that whoever it is, there's someone involved in whatever is going on who's familiar with our unofficial SOP and that some of us hot-site maggots pack Claymores. That means someone from the unit."

Bomber and Nancy's expression probably mirrored mine. I hadn't even thought of that. The thought that someone in the unit was behind the disappearance and our room being stripped made me feel strangely violated somehow.

"What do you think the plan is?" Nancy asked.

"If past experience has taught us anything, the plan is probably to kill us all," Bomber grunted, one hand going to his stomach.

I shook my head. "No. This feels different. I don't know how to explain it, but this feels different."

"Yeah. Something's brewing though, you can feel it," Nancy said.

Stokes nodded. "Hell, even I can feel it."

Nancy snorted. "So your Amazon ass stands where, Stokes?"

Stokes just shrugged. "With you guys." She finished off her glass and set it down. "We might as well get back to it, it isn't gonna get done if we just sit here drinking and bullshitting."

Sheldon chose that time to come through the door, looking like he had to pee and holding a scrap of paper like it was covered in dogshit.

"LT James gave me Parker's room number," Sheldon said, coming to a stop in front of my desk. Bomber, Stokes, and Nancy had stood up and moved over to the wall locker where the remainder of the medical supplies were.

"Give it here," I told him. He glared at me while he did so, but that was it. It was 288, circled twice, with a note to tell Parker he needed to move into room 261 with Lancer and LT James' signature below that.

"Help them inventory the medical supplies, Sheldon," I told him, standing up. "Stokes, you're with me."

"Why do I have to do that?" Sheldon asked.

"Because I fucking said so, that's why," I told him.

"What are we doing?" Stokes asked.

"Going to get the new guy and tell him he has to move in with Lancer," I told Stokes.

"Oh man, Lancer isn't going to be happy with that," Bomber laughed. "He's kind of a dick."

"Kind of, nothing, dude won't stop talking shit about his time in Cav and 82nd," Nancy said. She grinned. "I've thought about fucking him, but he's probably compensating for something with all his shit-talking about what a badass he'd be in combat."

Sheldon looked offended, and Nancy crossed her eyes and pushed her tongue against her cheek three or four times while Bomber burst out laughing. Stokes came over and stood next to me as I grabbed up my keys and took a last swig off of my drink.

"Let's go, Stokes," I said. We left the Mag Office and headed out down Near/South Hammerhead Hall toward the far end where Parker's room was.

"Why do you think he didn't show for formation?" Stokes asked as we pushed through the first set of double-doors.

I shrugged. "Might not have been told when it was, might have slept through formation, hell, Tandy might have eaten him." I suggested.

"I hate it when idiots pull this shit. If he went outside he'd be dead already and we wouldn't know till we found his body this summer," Stokes bitched. "We do morning formation for a fucking reason."

"I know," I told her, bouncing my keys in my hand. "He's out of the Big Red One, so God knows what kind of fucking attitude he has."

She shook her head at that. "What is it with 2/19th getting all these guys with serious attitude problems?" Her tone was half-teasing. "Thousands of motherfuckers in the Big Red One and we keep getting the rejects?"

"Same reason they shipped most people to us when the unit draft comes through. Their old units don't want them, they're hoping that by handing them off to us they'll get a good draw out of the PERSCOM lottery instead of the problem child they had," I half-explained. Hell, a lot of units considered themselves better off if they traded a problem soldier for a brand new E-1 straight out of AIT. The MOS was understrength enough that it made chaptering out actual NBC Warfare Field Specialists harder than chaptering out anyone else. Hell, from what rumor control told us, it was easier to knock an E-7 down to E-4, despite needing Congress to approve, than it was to throw out a Special Weapons soldier. Jameson from Second Magazine Platoon had slit his wife's throat during a drunken argument over her pregnancy and was only busted from E-5 to E-2 and sent to 2/19th instead of being court martialed, sent to Leavenworth, and then hung by the neck until he was dead. Personally, I'd slit his throat myself if they gave me 5 minutes alone with him, which is probably why he never worked with me.

The door to Far Hammerhead Hall screamed when we opened it, the cold having really done a number on the piston. A drop of hydraulic fluid dripped onto my hand and I wiped it off on my pants.

Another day in 2/19th.

When we moved past my room, I restrained an urge to go in and grab a bottle of whiskey, instead promising myself that I'd grab a bottle of Wild Turkey on our way back to share with everyone down in the Mag Office.

Once we were outside Parker's door, I glanced up at the nametag in the door. He was rooming with PFC Ngyn, out of Second Mag, who worked at FSTS-284 AKA Minotaur assigned to SGT Verek's squad. Ngyn was pretty chill and pretty much resigned to the fact that most of us couldn't pronounce his name properly, so instead went by his first name "Hu" even from superior officers.

From inside the room came the sounds of some type of music more suited to a breakdancing movie rather than the Beach Boys, Hu's favorite band. I knew that Hu had a kickass stereo system he'd put together over the last year that consisted of Bose 901's, Kenwood Infinities, and kickass amplifier and pre-amps. It was kind of a big deal what kind of stereo someone put together, and Hu's was his pride and joy. He'd been a little pissed off that we'd broken his windows and his stereo had frozen, but it still worked and a quick call to customer support for Bose and Kenwood let him know that the speakers were still covered by the warranties. Plus, he'd told me flat out that he understood why we did it and that he'd have done the exact same thing, stereo or no stereo. Speaking of stereos...

The way the door and floor vibrated let me know that Parker was using Hu's stereo, since the other man was either at Graf or Minotaur.

I didn't bother knocking on Parker's door. It was business hours and, as his squad leader, I could just walk in if I felt like it. Personally, I hated that someone could do it to me and usually gave my squad members the courtesy of knocking and letting them answer the door, but Parker had pissed me off the night before and it was coloring my interactions with him already.

When I walked in, Stokes behind me, I practically burst out laughing. Parker was doing straight up 'popping' in the middle of the room, facing the boarded up window. There were empty beer cans on the desk against the wall, and Parker was dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a sweater. I could tell by the sloppy movements as he tried the whole "robot" bit that he was already pretty far into feeling no pain.

"Parker!" I yelled over the music.

The other man turned around and flushed as soon as he saw me, whether in embarrassment of his piss poor breaking or that I was in his room or that he remembered Bomber slapping him to the floor I didn't know or care.

"What the fuck are you doing in my room, asshole?" he asked. "And what's this bitch doing in my room?"

"First of all, it's 'Corporal Asshole' to you, second of all, her name is Stokes, not 'bitch', and lastly, why weren't you at formation this morning?" I tried being nice.

"I don't give a shit, get the fuck out of my room," he snarled.

I stepped forward and spun the dial on the amp, dropping the volume down to something we could straight talk to each other over instead of yelling.

"LT James assigned you to my squad, meaning I want to know why you weren't at formation and what you think you're doing out of uniform." I decided not to push the whole drinking on duty, since I had been not too long before and probably reeked of booze. Boozing like we were doing in the Mag Office was hand waved away, while sitting in your room and drinking after missing formation was Article-15 or ass kicking territory.

"I'm not taking shit from some corporal, not matter what some fucking looey wants," Parker sneered. "Get the fuck out."

I took a deep breath despite the lizard caressing the "Fight" button lovingly. The light pressure the lizard was putting on the button was already charging my system with combat chemicals. I was aware of how the air currents were moving in the room, that my blood was well oxygenated, that my right shoulder and where it attached to my chest was exquisitely painful and there was something sharp feeling deep in the joint, that Stokes had moved into the room and was two and a half steps to my right, and that the room was warm enough to keep ice from forming on the floor.

"Look, Private, LT James assigned you to my squad, and we're on a detail, which means you need to put on your uniform and come down to the Mag Office to help us out," I told him. "We'll talk about missing formation and sitting in your room getting drunk while the rest of us are working in a little bit."

"I ain't doing shit, punk" Parker said. "Your rank don't impress me." He gave me an ugly smile. "Unless you think you can fucking make me, you little punk?"

Stokes gave a mirthless chuckle from beside me. "Dude, trust me, you don't want to do this. Just get on your uniform and come with us."

"Fuck you, bitch," Parker spat.

"Private, I'm giving you a lawful order to put on your uniform and meet us outside your room in the next ten minutes or I'll be forced to write you up or even take this to the LT," I grated. It made my jaw hurt to keep from just punching him in his mouth. As an NCO I could only give him a lawful order. Direct orders had to come from commissioned officers. He looked like the barracks lawyer type that if I tried the 'direct order' route he'd whip out the fact that I didn't have that kind of authority.

"I don't have to listen to shit you say, you aren't my squad leader and I'm not listening to some jumped up Specialist," Parker said.

"Look, Private, since right now I am your squad leader you're right on the edge of a counseling statement or worse," I tried warning him. The little lizard put a little more pressure on the button and my vision expanded out.

"Then take it up the chain, bitch, or whip out that pen," Parker sneered. "I'm not afraid of what some little wet behind the ears punk has to say. How old are you, eighteen?"

Actually, I was nineteen, but that didn't matter. What did matter is I outranked him, and he was in my squad, giving me direct authority over him. I could tell that taking it to the LT or writing him up probably wasn't going to matter to him one bit.

"You're drunk. Get your uniform on," I told him. "Last chance before this gets ugly, Parker."

Parker answered that by reaching in his pocket. I stood there, knowing that he was about to go from being drunk and mouthy to being drunk and stupid. I was covered no matter what he did. I had a witness, he was a newbie, which was a well known problem in the unit, and I had the fact that nobody gave a fuck what happened in 2/19th.

The question as to what was in his pocket was answered when he pulled his hand out with a loud "Hah!" and clumsily opened a butterfly knife. I was half tempted to grab it out of his hand and backhand him, but instead I watched, amused, as he got it open and dropped into a crouch, waving the naked blade back and forth.

The lizard catalogued several things: it said "Made in Taiwan" on the bottom of the blade; he was holding it tightly in a fist with his thumb wrapped across his middle finger with the blade pointing up from his fist like a movie psycho-killer; he didn't bother flipping the catch closed on the handle meaning the handle could split open and pinch his hand; he'd locked his elbow; and finally he had it point down at an angle with a cocked wrist, putting him at a disadvantage.

"Woah, hold on now," Stokes said.

"Oh yeah, what now, huh, punk? Not so tough now, are you?" Parker laughed, waving the knife around like Zorro with a cratered head wound. "Looks like you ain't in charge of shit, punk."

"Don't do this, Parker," Stokes tried.

I just watched him, letting the lizard gather and process the data. He was off balance, he liked to whip it back and forth in front of him, and he was watching Stokes closer than me, probably because she was taller and heavier than I was and he thought she was showing exactly the kind of response he wanted: Fear.

"Two seconds till it gets ugly," I warned him, flexing my fingers. When I tightened them into a fist the knuckles crunched, pulling his attention to me.

"What now, huh?" he asked, laughing. "Maybe I should be the squad leader. Put you in your place so you know who's the man?"

"Put the knife away, Parker," Stokes tried again.

"Shut up, you fat bitch!"

...screw it...

I started to take a step forward when Stokes put her fingertips on my arm. "Let me, Corporal," she said.

"Oh, I'm so scared of the fat bitch," Parker laughed.

Stokes moved, and moved fast. She had some kind of hot shit martial arts training since she was about five. She'd mentioned it a couple of times, but I hadn't really thought about it until she moved in on Parker. Funny how we make these images in our heads, despite what we actually know about people, huh? Stokes was almost six and a half feet of martial arts trained bad news, with muscle hardened from working out at her team's site, but it never really dawned on me before that second that she might be just as ruthless, capable, and highly trained and motivated as Nancy or Bomber or even myself.

It was obvious that Parker had not considered her a threat at all from the way her movement shocked him into immovability for a moment. That moment was all Stokes needed as the threatening knife passed to our right, Parker's left. She stepped up into him, grabbing his right wrist and twisting as she nudged the back of his knee with hers while she turned in place. I was marveling how fast she moved, despite my bias of the opposite based on her sheer mass. Before I could take it in, she moved again and Parker was down on his knees, bent forward, his wrist twisted and bent, and he was gasping in pain. The knife was magically gone from his hand, held in the fingers of Stokes' left hand as she used the now-closed knife to put additional pressure on the outside of the elbow.

"Nagle would murder me if this dipshit hit you in the head and your vision got messed up again, Corporal," Stokes said conversationally, smiling at me. "Go ahead and talk to him."

"Let me go or I'll press charges," he whined.

Oh, when it's you, then the Chain of Command was something to be feared. When it was me, you sneered at it. Typical.

I knelt down on one knee next to him and smiled at him. "You're part of my crew now, newbie, so let's get a few things straight." I nodded at Stokes, who put more pressure on his elbow and he cried out in pain. "You ever pull a knife on me or point your weapon at me again, I'll fucking feed it to you. If it's someone else, or I have them take it away from you, you get your ass kicked on my authority. You ever disobey an order from me, and I'll have your arm broken in two places before I take it to an officer or a Section Sergeant. You'll find out at Atlas that there are no cameras, there are no witnesses, and everyone will swear you tripped."

Parker went to say something but I nodded again to Stokes. Still holding that gentle smile, she pressed even harder on the elbow and pulled his arm up further. Now his shoulder was getting close to dislocating in addition to his elbow, and was still putting pressure on the elbow with handle of the butterfly knife.

"When Stokes lets go of you, get up. Slowly," I warned him, nodding at Stokes, who was still smiling as she put additional pressure on his elbow and shoulder. He groaned, and I could see he was already sweating. I stood up back up as Stokes guided Parker up by his arm.

"She's going to let go and you'll get your uniform on. Specialist Stokes will turn around while you get changed, but I'm not going anywhere," I told him. When I stood up and stepped back, I nodded to Stokes and she let go of Parker's arm and wrist.

Instead of doing the smart thing and getting dressed, he took the chance to spin around, aiming a looping roundhouse at Stokes' head. Rather than do anything fancy, she just stepped into him, inside the punch, hooked behind his ankle with her foot, and pushed him in the chest. He overbalanced and fell onto his back while he was still in mid-swing. His head bounced off the floor and he cried out in pain and surprise when his combat move failed him.

Before he could get up, I stepped forward and kicked him in the face.

"I trust we understand each other now, Private?" I asked, staring down at him and stepping back. He just moaned and I shook my head in disgust.

"Nicely done, Ant. You might have killed him," Stokes said, stepping up and kneeling down to rest her fingers on his neck. "Nope, still got a pulse." She looked over her shoulder at me. "You gonna finish it, or are you done? Step back a bit, let me handle this part." I blushed at her rebuke of letting my temper get the best of me. She stood up and nudged Parker with her toe. "Wake up, dipshit."

I stepped back, letting her take over, automatically obeying her despite our ranks. The lizard hissed at my automatic obedience to female authority and struggled a bit, but the chains on us both were too strong, literally forged over my entire life, for us to resist strongly.

Parker was only out for about ten seconds before he groaned and put his hands on his face. Stokes nudged him in the side with her boot again.

"So what did we learn?" she asked in a slightly mocking voice. Parker groaned again and rolled over, spitting blood on the scuffed floor. "Yup, you learned that Stillwater here is perfectly willing to tune your ass up himself or have someone else do it. You also learned that you just slipped on the icy floor and landed on your face and are lucky we were here before you froze to death."

"Bitch, you hit me. I'm going to tell the CO," he moaned.

Stokes laughed at that. "You think anyone cares, newbie? Nobody cares in 2/19th, as long as someone doesn't kill you and get caught doing it." She nudged him with her boot. "Get up, he's going to be pissed if you keep screwing around."

He looked up and his eyes were already swelling. He already had fat lips at the corner of his mouth. "I'm going to have your ass arrested, you little bitch," he said. The tough-guy attitude was ruined by the slight whine in his voice and his previous mocking of the same chain of command that he thought didn't apply to him.

Stokes put her arm in front of me as I moved forward, my fist cocked and ready to plant a punch in the middle of his face. Keeping me back, she looked down at him. "You're a real dumbass, aren't you?" she asked. "Trust me, I've seen Stillwater here fight for real, and you'd last about a second even if he was blackout drive drunk and you surprised him." She shook her head. "You wouldn't do much better than you just did against almost anyone in this unit. Now get up and get dressed before you piss Stillwater off even further."

She back up next to me and turned around while I stared at Parker. "You think he learned anything?" she asked in a soft voice.

"Fuck no. As a matter of fact..." I said. I knew what he'd say just before he said it.

"You're lucky you sucker-punched me or I'd have kicked your ass, bitch," he said.

Stokes shook her head as I stepped forward. He was staring right at her and sneering as I got between him and the Amazon he was busy pissing off.

"Parker, you don't want to do this. Just get dressed, and let's go down to the mag area." I half sighed. My shoulder was really starting to hurt and the constant trickle of adrenaline was making my stomach twist and my head pound. I was tired. Tired of people like Parker. Tired of 2/19th and the stupidity. Tired of all the Cold War Bullshit. Tired of just everything. I already wanted this crap over so I could go back to drinking with my friends.

I just wanted to survive Alfenwehr without too much more hardship and not screw up badly enough that the Army would keep me here another year.

"Fuck off, pussy," he told me, going to shove me by pushing his hands against my chest. Before I could stop myself, the reflexes hammered into me in hand to hand training kicked in, my arms coming up between his before he could touch me and pushing his arms to the side. He countered that by punching me in my left temple when I went to try and step back to diffuse the situation.

There was a bright flash and a ringing in my ears.

In front of me stood the massive hulking figure of a man dressed in full extreme cold weather gear. The eye behind the extreme cold weather mask was bloodshot and red, the lids swollen and he was missing a tooth. He'd lost the knife he'd been carrying, but I'd lost mine too in the fight on the stairwell.

...I'm out of gas...

...run! Run!...

...Anthony, I love you...

With a roar I lunged forward, grabbing the front of his uniform and kneeing him in the balls. I knew the cold weather gear would blunt the blow so I drove my forehead into his face with a crunch, then held onto the front of his parka as I started driving my fist into his face. Someone was yelling, grabbing at me, trying to pull me away

...they must have come back down the stairs...

"Stillwater, stop!"

...I've only got seconds before he finishes me off and kills them...

"Stillwater!" Whoever it was hauled me backwards, and the ringing in my ears cleared up as Stokes dragged me backwards from Parker, who had collapsed on the floor. Stokes had me by my BDU top, dragging me backwards. She grabbed my belt and lifted me up in the air, my feet a good foot off the floor.

"I'm all right, let me go," I told her, relaxing slightly. She waited a second and slowly set me down on the ground.

Parker was twitching, blood running from his mouth, and he sat up as Stokes let me go. My vision still had bright white sparkles floating across everything and my ears still buzzed. The lizard was snarling, the information he was getting scrambled.

"You all right, Stillwater?" Stokes asked me as Parker got up.

"Yeah, I think so," I answered, shaking my head. I wobbled and almost fell over as my vision went all liquid on me. Stokes steadied me as my knees buckled.

"No, you aren't, and Nagle's going to rip my tits off if you've reinjured your brain," she told me as Parker turned and glared at me. "I think he's..." She sighed as he jumped forward and tried to karate-chop me at the point where my neck met my shoulder. "Oh well."

I brushed the arm aside and waded into him, this time fully aware of what I was going to do. A broken nose would work to remind him when he looked in the mirror just how stupid he had been. He kept flashing in and out, switching places with the maniac I'd fought in a frozen barracks a month back. His follow up, a wild punch, caught me again in the side of the head and everything flashed. The maniac spit blood out and tried to back away as I bulled in close. I roared at him and grabbed him by the throat. I bulled him back to pin him against the wall and hit him three times in rapid succession in the nose, the lizard making pleased noises at the feel of the nose crunching with each punch. I had him by the neck and tightened my grip to the point that I felt his trachea deform before turning and throwing him on the floor.

The lizard wanted to hurt him, needed to hurt him. I should have restrained my impulses, when he hit the floor I should have left him alone, but I was angry, my system flooded with combat chemicals, and I kept seeing the guy in the cold weather mask.

Plus that was a lethal or at least paralyzing move he'd tried on me.

Instead of following the lizard's suggestion and kicking him in the throat or the side of the head, instead I kicked him hard in the balls.

"Get up, get dressed, or I'll fuck you up instead of just showing you that you're a goddamn moron," I told him when he was done retching.

When he looked up, I knew what he was seeing. Yeah, I'd lost weight since my head injury, but I was still six foot tall and one hundred ninety pounds of raw bone and heavy muscle. When I leaned down to help him up, he flinched back and Stokes laughed.

"Let me help him." Stokes said, and I move back and let her haul him to his feet. "Get dressed before you end up on the floor again." He nodded and moved away and Stokes came over and stood next to me, watching as he dressed.

He was whimpering as he got dressed, and I cursed inside. Guys like Parker weren't exactly common, but they happened with enough frequency that the Chain of Command knew what was going on. As soon as it came down that he'd pulled a knife on me, they'd just quietly let Parker know that he could go jail for pulling a knife on an NCO and I'd be told that next time I shouldn't leave any visible mark.

Other units constantly tossed their trash like Parker at us. I knew from his attitude that whatever squad leader and platoon sergeant he'd had in the Big Red One had probably suffered a reign of terror from the guy until Parker didn't have to do anything at all but hang out in his room and drink.

He looked like the type who ran with a pack of other assholes and liked to terrorize his fellow soldiers to get what he wanted.

I'd give him one thing, he was tough enough to get shakily to his feet after the beating I'd given him, but he wasn't as tough or as good at hand to hand as he thought he was, and he'd paid for it. Stokes tossed a roll of toilet paper at his feet and I told him to clean up his face before he bled all over his uniform.

When he was dressed, his nose and mouth had pretty much stopped bleeding. He glared at me, and I let it slide. If we were out at Atlas I'd punch him in his face again for glaring at me until he learned to act right, but we weren't out at Atlas and I couldn't keep him from going to the LT until the bruises healed.

When he opened his mouth, I held up my hand and interrupted him before he could even start speaking. "If you start talking any shit again, I'll break at least one of your ribs," I told him in a flat growl. "If you keep annoying me, I'll knock out a few of your teeth and make you keep them in an earplug container to remind you not to be a big mouth."

He closed his mouth and Stokes smirked at him. When he opened his mouth, I held up my hand. "You don't want no more of her than you already got, newbie. She'll tear off your arms and legs and beat you to death with them." He got a look of disbelief on his face and I laughed. "She's a hell of a lot stronger than you, and didn't just have her ass kicked, plus she's got a couple of belts in some hot-shit martial art."

Parker flushed and glared at Stokes. I knew that it wasn't over and I knew by Stoke's amused snort that she knew the same.

"It's Eskrima, you Hammerhead, and it doesn't have belts. Anyone who declares themselves as a master or black-belt is immediately beaten within an inch of their life. I'm just teacher qualified." Stokes laughed. "You know some of it, since I've seen you do some of the knife-work we're taught."

"The Sergeant-Major taught all of us kids to defend themselves," I told her, shrugging. "He's picked up all kinds of shit. You coming, Parker?"

Parker looked a little nervous, it finally registering through his beer buzz just how massive Stokes' Amazon ass was. She blew him a kiss and smiled, which made him flinch slightly.

"Dude, don't show fear, she gets off on it. It makes her wet," I told him, waving toward the door. I ignored Stokes' outraged 'hey' as I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. "Come on, there's a lot of work to be done."

"I need to see a goddamn doctor," Parker whined.

"Fine, we'll let you see a medic," I half-lied. Nancy wouldn't mind setting his nose and giving him an ice pack, plus she'd probably check to make sure I hadn't broken anything inside of him.

Once she got done yelling at Stokes and me.

As we walked down the hallway, Parker holding his side and wincing every few steps, Stokes pulled out the butterfly knife and began messing with it. She'd open and close it so fast it was a blur, whipping the knife through more than a few quick and close maneuvers.

"Damn, this is a cheap-ass balisong." She sighed. "The blade's low quality steel that barely holds an edge, the handles and latch are cheap and loose, and it uses pivot pins instead of a ball-bearing," she complained.

"So it's no good?" I asked. Parker looked insulted at her observations.

"I guess it's OK if you just want to look cool, but it's a piece of crap to fight with. Like the difference between your Gerber and a five buck blade from the PX." She flicked it and it closed. "I really need to get out my good balisongs and practice. I haven't practiced since..." Her voice trailed off and I knew it was because she'd wandered near her car wreck. She sighed again. "Mine were made by Jody Samson with scrimshawed ivory on the handles, bigger than most but then I'm kind of a big girl with man-hands."

I chuckled at that. "When we get to the office, toss it in the garbage then." I shrugged. "I don't want the damn thing, I'd probably cut off my fucking fingers." She smiled at me, knowing good and damn well I was lying. She'd seen me playing with one after the barracks fire and corrected my technique until she felt confident I wouldn't do what I'd just claimed.

"Or accidentally stab yourself in the neck," she offered as we pushed through the mid-point doors. I chuckled at the mental image the lizard provided of me trying to open it and it flying out of my hand and stabbing me over and over again in the throat. She shook her head, then grabbed me when I went unsteady again, sparkles shooting across my vision.

"That's why I want you to train with me after this," she told me, sounding serious. I gave a couple of dry heaves, bringing up nothing but spit. "Your reflexes are all shot, I'm not sure how bad your balance is screwed up, how damaged your muscle memory is."

"I'll be OK, Stokes," I told her, pulling away from her and starting to walk again. Parker was next to me as Stokes caught up with just one long step. I ignored Parker's curious look. I knew it had more to do with any weakness I might have than wondering what had happened. I knew the type, he'd ignore everything except my injuries.

"I'm serious, Stillwater, that guy damn near killed you," Stokes told me, and I knew she was starting in again with the same lecture she'd given me a couple of times. "He broke your damn skull and you didn't get medical attention for more than a week. Your reflexes, muscle memory, all of it will be..."

"I want to talk to the CO and file a complaint," Parker said suddenly, breaking into our conversation.

He squawked as I suddenly tripped him, speeding his descent to the floor with a shove against his back that made him slam into the fire extinguisher hanging on the wall. He hit hard, knocking the wind out of him, and the fire extinguisher then fell on him, bringing another cry of pain.

"You shouldn't drink during duty hours, you might fall," I told him as he raised his head from where his face had hit the tile and spattered blood. "Don't worry, I'll have CQ come up and clean up the blood from where you fell as well as put the fire extinguisher back."

"Asshole," Parker choked out, blood running out of his mouth. He pushed himself up and I kicked one of his arms out from under him, dropping him face first into the floor again.

"Be more careful, man. Shit, don't let the LT see you drunk like this, he'll get the breathalyzer out of the CO's office and check your BAC," I warned him, this time letting him get up. Blood was spattered all over the tile, and a little pool formed from his mouth and nose. "Keep your finger under your nose and lean your head forward so it doesn't clog up your sinuses," I offered helpfully.

"Stillwater, cut it out," Stokes told me. "Now you're just being cruel."

"Just reminding him of certain facts," I said. I grabbed Parker's arm and pulled him along. "We don't want you falling again."

"Bastard," he gagged, and I knew he was choking on the blood.

I hated it when I ended up going all Colonel Kurtz on someone, but from the second he'd pulled that knife on me we'd gone past the point of no return. If it had happened out at Atlas I'd probably have forced him to put it through his own palm at worst, broken a few of his fingers or his arm at the least. That kind of shit couldn't be left to stand, not with all the discipline problems and problem children the unit was full of. All the same, I felt a flush of guilt at the way I'd beat on and then humiliated the other man as we walked down the cold hallway silently.

"You go to the LT about what happened between us then the fact you threatened me with a knife goes up the chain too," I told him as we approached the near stairwell. "But you need to remember that most of the officers and NCOs know good and goddamn well that I don't beat people's asses for fun."

"They'll believe him over you any day of the week, Parker," Stokes said. She waved at the stairwell door as we stopped next to it. "Go ahead, tell LT James that you pulled a knife on Stillwater, see what happens later." She smiled. "See, the LT might put Stillwater under lockdown, may even remand him to the MP's once the storm dies down, but that isn't going to help you when night comes and some of us come for you to remind you how you should write your testimony. Stillwater has friends, and there are other NCO's who will back him up because none of them are going to let anyone in their own crews think they can pull any shit without paying the price. There'd be nowhere you'd be safe." She paused for a second, then kept speaking, her voice as cold as the hallway. "I will come for you in the dark and cold, Parker."

Parker stared at her, the blood draining from his face.

"Look, Parker, let's go," I said, pushing open the door to the Mag Area. "Shape up and we won't have any more problems." When he started to go through, I grabbed his arm. "Listen closely, Parker." I waited for a second until he nodded. "I give everyone a few chances to realize things are different here, and you've pretty much used them up. I'll let it go for right now, but don't think I'll put up with any more shit. Don't ever pull a knife on anyone again. Most of the people here will slit your throat with it. I don't know what it's like in the Big Red One, but things are a little more... um... primitive here."

That made Stokes laugh.

"Trust me, Parker. Stokes and I won't go to the LT, but if you ever pull some shit like that again, on someone else, you better hope it goes up the chain of command and whoever you pulled the knife on doesn't just flat out kill you." I tightened my grip on his arm and pulled him toward me slightly to put him off balance. "And if you ever pull a knife on me again, I'll jack you up. Got it?"

He nodded again and I let him go. "Let's go meet the rest of your squad, newbie."

There was a sharp crack from inside the floor as we crossed the Mag Area and went into the Mag Office. Everyone turned and looked at us - Nancy, Bomber, Aine, and Sheldon. Nancy and Bomber had beer in their hands and they were leaning against the desk. When they saw us come in, Aine burst out laughing.

Nancy sighed. "I'll get an ice pack. Did you break his nose?" she asked me.

I shrugged and Aine laughed again.

"Goddamn it, Stillwater, can't you make friends like normal people?" Nagle bitched as she walked over the fridge.

She did pass me a bottle of beer as she walked by.

"Come here, idiot," she snapped at Parker, pulling an ice-pack out of the fridge and walking toward the open medical supply locker. "Goddamn it, I swear to God I've gotta clean up all the fucking messes you brainless idiots make." Parker was glaring at her. "Stop staring at my tits and get over here."

Parker opened his mouth and Nancy shushed him while I used the church-key on my d-ring of keys to pop open the beer and take a swig out of it. Nancy turned around with an aid bag in her hand. "How did it happen?"

"He slipped on the ice on the floor," I growled. Parker shot me a look, then looked down and mumbled something.

"How many times did you accidentally punch him in the nose on his way down?" Nancy asked me.

"Three." I shrugged, taking another pull off the beer and walking toward my desk.

"Goddamn it, I've told you before, any more than twice and you're just trying to break it off his face," Nancy bitched.

"Yup," I answered, taking a deep breath off the bottle. It tasted good, and I could feel the headache ease up. I needed the beer to steady out before I walked over and punched Parker a few more times in the face. The son-of-a-bitch had actually pulled a knife of me. Me.

I sat down in my chair, still fuming, as Nancy was telling Parker he'd need a butterfly bandage on the bridge of his nose to stop the bleeding from where I'd cut him open. Bomber handed me a bottle of bourbon he'd gotten from somewhere and then a can of Coke. While Nancy fixed up Parker's face, I poured myself a drink and then leaned back in my chair to sip it. I watched her work, admiring how quickly she took care of everything and cleaned Parker up. Sure, he was going to have black eyes, his cheekbones were bruised, and his nose was already swelling up purple, but he'd live. A broken nose is gory as hell and hurts like a son of a bitch, but it wasn't as dangerous as it was painful. If I'd hit his ribs with as angry as I was I'd probably have broken them. By the third punch, I'd have been running the risk of bone shards embedding in one of his lungs.

I'd done it before.

"All yours, Stillwater," Nancy said after she'd dropped the last of the gauze into the garbage can. Parker was sitting in one of the chairs, and Bomber pushed one over next to him.

I nodded and leaned back in my chair. "Take a seat, McCullen. Stay in your seat, Parker," I told them. Parker was starting to stand up but Stokes put her hand on his shoulder and held him in place. I took a drink and gathered my thoughts for a second while Nancy adjusted the med-locker's inventory sheet to account for the supplies she'd used.

"Welcome to first squad, Third Magazine Platoon," I told them, deciding to launch into a modified version of the basic speech I gave to newbies during the drive to Atlas. "I'm Corporal Stillwater, squad leader and NCOIC of FSTS-317 AKA NATO Site-93, which we refer to as Atlas." Nancy sighed and refilled her drink while Bomber just sighed and rolled his eyes. Stokes looked like she wasn't paying attention as she read the Penthouse Letters she'd been reading the day before, but the lecture wasn't exactly for her.

"That big blond Texan is Specialist Bomber, the assistant squad leader. The female soldier adjusting the inventory sheet is Specialist Nagle. At this time she acts as the crew medic since Specialist Westlin was killed by enemy fire. Specialist Stokes there is temporarily assigned to this squad." Aine had her lower lip held between her teeth and her eyes wide open, looking for all the world like the a brainless ditz, but I knew better than that.

"Enemy fire? There hasn't been a war," Parker said. Sheldon just nodded, he'd been in the unit long enough to know that bad shit happened regularly out at the sites. Sure, he worked at the cold sites with Second Magazine Platoon, but what had happened at Atlas had changed a lot of things in the unit, including security for cold sites.

"Tell that to the Russians. They saw a chance to take Atlas and went for it, and our protection detail, a bunch of dipshit Rangers, didn't arrive till it was all over," Bomber told him.

"It's true," Sheldon said. He looked at Parker and shrugged. "I've been here since April, and what happened at Atlas was a pretty big deal. My platoon now carries live ammo and we're locked and loaded out at the sites."

I nodded and turned back to Parker. "Rear Detachment isn't going to be easy like you might think, and any experience you have with Rear Detachment in other units is not going to help here. We're in charge of security for all of the Group's records, the unit weaponry, the war stock, the computer equipment, and the barracks itself."

Aine raised her hand, and I nodded at her. "What are War Stocks, Corporal?"

"Basically it's equipment so that even if the entire unit is caught without their TA-50 they can get a complete issue if we have to roll out," I told her.

"As if that'll happen." Parker rolled his eyes and I had to restrain an urge to put my fist in one of them. His fear and pain had dulled and now his natural asshole nature was coming out.

"Radiation or chemical exposure, TA-50 damaged through wear from normal use, or survivors from main post making it here," Bomber said. "DoD figures we'll take a tactical nuclear hit with less than fifteen minutes warning, so there might not be time to grab your TA-50 before we pull back to the War Fighter Tunnels." Aine's hand shot up and Bomber nodded. "Those are fortified and blast shielded tunnels designed to allow us to not only survive a direct nuclear hit but then coordinate the surviving forces in this sector. They've got full commo gear, armory, medical facilities capable of handling surgery, barracks, everything we need to survive and fight on the nuclear battlefield."

Parker looked like he was going to argue, but when he looked at Sheldon the other man nodded and Parker looked worried.

"Our lives depend on our equipment, especially up here on Alfenwehr," I continued. "Weather up here is unpredictable and savage. Altitude sickness is common, as is passing out from the lower oxygen levels up here during exertion, so if you get light headed you need to sit down and put your head between your knees and breathe deeply. The weather outside can go from clear and sunny with no wind to a full blizzard with zero visibility and sixty mile an hour winds in less than a half hour. It's winter time, which means that if you go outside without your cold weather gear, especially if you aren't acclimatized, you will start going into hypothermic shock within five minutes and will probably die in under fifteen."

Parker looked unbelieving and broke into my lecture. "I was in First Infantry in Kansas, and I think I know how dangerous blizzards are, and they aren't that bad."

"Fort Riley isn't thousands of feet above sea level, in the German Alps, with the fucked up weather pattern of the Fulda Gap making everything worse," Sheldon answered instead of me. "I've seen a blizzard hit out of the blue in late August and drop four feet of snow on everything in under two hours, and in October a storm dropped over a foot of ice on everything. Stillwater's telling the truth, the barracks are the only thing between you and death."

"To top it off, the barracks itself will try to kill you," Stokes broke in. "There will be ice on the stairs, lights fail when you least expect it, your radiator in your room will quit functioning, you can suffer altitude sickness while you are sleeping..."

"You can suffer chronic altitude sickness living up here, either way you can suffer from hallucinations, delusions, dementia, unconsciousness, and even death," Nancy broke in. "The altitude and low oxygen levels also make you less resistant of the extreme cold weather."

I waited a second and when nobody said anything I kept going with my lecture. "We're five miles by road from any help, we're one hundred vertical feet below a goddamn glacier and nearly two thousand vertical feet above main post and over a thousand vertical feet above the top of the ski lift." I shook my head. "Make no mistake, this mountain hates you and wants you dead, and will do its damndest to flat out kill you. To top it off, the Soviet Union will kidnap for your operational knowledge of the Group's METL or flat out kill you if they get the chance to increase their odds and improve their strategic situation. The Army will put you in harm's way with the mission taking higher priority than your survival. There are terrorist organizations, some sponsored by the Soviet Union and used for covert deniable wet-work that will kill you and your family."

The bottle thumped on my desk as I set it down. "Parker, McCullen, you might be assigned to my crew on a permanent basis, and if that happens, you'll be working at Atlas, and the 1K Zone begins at the outer fence of that site. The Soviet Union maintains an 'observation post' that includes anti-aircraft, anti-tank, and heavy weapons. We've also got a badass sniper out there who lets us know he's out there with at least three shots per day."

"As long as he doesn't hit anyone or any of the ammo, it's within the rules and V Corps, the DoD, and probably even God have forbidden us from any retaliation," Nancy added.

"And he's really fucking good," Bomber tossed in.

"Why don't you get rid of him?" Parker asked.

"Because then they'll send us another asshole like the one who shot Westlin, and then I'll have to cut his goddamn throat too," I growled. "Accident or not, I don't give a damn what V Corps, Dick Cheney, or fucking God says, I don't give a fuck if it starts World War III, you kill one of my crew and you die, simple as that."

"Plus the guy they sent is fucking incredible." Bomber grinned. "Sometimes we'll put a playing card on one of the stakes out there and watch that guy shoot out the pips from the 1K Zone. We don't have to worry about him shooting one us by accident."

"Besides, it's nothing personal. He's just keeping us honest, and it's part of the game we play out here. We harass each other, act like we don't have NBC weaponry on the site, the Soviet Union doesn't accuse us of SALT violations, and we all kill each other when we get the chance."

"Sounds scary," Aine breathed.

"It is," Stokes said.

"You get used to it. It's life," Nancy said at the same time.

"Look, I'll give you the whole briefing if you end up out at Atlas, but just remember: don't go anywhere by yourself; don't go outside unless you're in your extreme cold weather gear; do not go anywhere but the first and second floor unless you have someone who's been here with you; do not believe anything you hear; do not go to anyone's aid no matter who they sound like; and follow extreme cold weather and extreme altitude protocols." I stared at Aine and Parker. "Failure to follow those can and has been fatal."

Aine nodded, her eyes going to the windows behind me and I knew all she was seeing was nothing but white. Parker glanced and then the stubborn look he kept getting was back. I made a mental note to keep checking on him until it sunk in he wasn't in Kansas any more.

"Lieutenant James wants us to finish inventorying the medical supplies and told me that he's going to authorize the medication replacement and wants me to look up something called 'lerps' in my books so I can pack the bags according to their listing. He also wants double the amount of medical supplies, or as close as will fit, packed into the lockers." Nancy gave me a big grin. "He told me to pack a kit for my room." She flushed a little. "He also told me to put one in your room."

Bomber laughed at that and Nancy gave him the finger.

I made a motion at the locker. "All right. Nancy, give Bomber the inventory sheet and you handle that. Stokes, go with her. The rest of you, inventory the locker." Bomber nodded and pulled his keyring out, the nylon string whirring from the container on his belt.

Nancy had returned with the medication and stocked the bags, then started going through the Special Forces medical book. When she'd asked I told her that 'lerps' meant LRRPs, Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol, and she found the section in one of her manuals in only a couple minutes.

"Ant, honey, tell me what you think this diagram means," Nancy said suddenly after awhile, pulling my attention from a rather difficult incident report. As I looked up she turned the book around, holding it out to me. "I can't figure it out."

The book looked like it had three pages and that Nagle was holding it with two hands as well as being blurry enough that the pages just looked white. I cocked my head a few times, trying to get a better look, but the third time I did it the world vanished in a high pitched wind and a liquid snap. I blinked several times, trying to get anything but sparkles to appear in my vision. I could feel someone moving behind me and I tried to turn around, but someone set their hand on my shoulder.

"It's me, Stillwater," Stokes voice said from the darkness. "Can you see at all?"

"No," I told her, and suddenly shivered as it felt like I'd been splashed with cold water.

"Are you cold? Stillwater? Honey?" Stokes asked.

"It got cold in here, did someone open the doors?" I asked. I tried to stop shivering, but for some reason my usual trick of consciously relaxing my muscles didn't stop the shivering.

"Bomber, help me," Nancy said, and I could hear her standing up and coming closer, her boots thumping against the tile. "McCullen, get me one of the stacks of blankets out of the locker and bring them over here."

"What's wrong with him?" I heard Parker ask.

Nancy's voice was closer when she answered. "He's either suffering a major seizure or he's having a fucking embolism from a previous head wound." I heard her boots squeak and knew she was kneeling down. "Son of a bitch is lucky he's not dead, he got his skull cracked really badly a few weeks back."

"Anthony, honey, we're right here. I've got you," Stokes kept talking. "We're right here, we've got you, just concentrate on Mamma Stokes' voice."

"Sheldon, call hash two four two and tell Lanks to have the Duty Driver prep," Bomber snapped. "Now, Sheldon, move!"

More hands took ahold of me as the shivering got worse. I went from cold all over to pins and needles as I could feel the hands moving me. The voices got distorted and I could hear banging noises. My mouth filled with the taste of peaches, pork grease, and sour candy. I could smell hot pumpkin pie and the bitter bite of tear gas.

"Dammit, little brother, you gotta quit getting your ass kicked," my brother's voice told me.

The lizard was snarling, hammering at its control panel while raking its claws across the brushed steel floor. The screens around him showed nothing but static. It started pulling the panels off from the front of the consoles in its work station and started chewing on the wires.

After an unknown amount of time, the lizard jumped up and hit a yellow button and I groaned as I could feel my missing body suddenly erupt in pins and needles. I groaned again and tried to roll over, but hands held me down.

"Easy, Corporal Stillwater." The LT's voice came out of darkness. "You suffered a grand-mal seizure and lost consciousness for almost ten minutes."

"Let me up," I groaned, trying to roll over.

"Not until Specialist Nagle states how severe your injuries are," the LT said.

Something sharp poked at my foot and I jerked it, followed by my other foot.

"Can you feel that?" Nagle asked. When I told her I could I felt her prick first one palm, then the other. "All right, hold still so I can take the tape off your eyes." I winced at the pain when my eyelashes went with the tape. When I opened my eyes, I could still see nothing but black with a few white sparkles shooting across it.

"He's still blind," Nancy said.

"How can you tell?" the LT asked. I felt a hand rest on my chest.

"He didn't stare at my tits, he didn't look me in the eyes, and he didn't track my penlight," Nancy said.

"Can we move him? The floor is cold and I do not want him losing body heat on top of whatever else is wrong with him," the LT asked. It sounded his usual precise and computer emotions self, but the lizard noticed something in his tone that I missed. "With his injuries I do not want to put him at any other risk if it can be avoided."

"No. I don't know if it's bleeding in his brain, if something caused his brain to swell, or if it's a combination of the injury and the altitude," Nancy said. "I'm worried about the fact he wasn't blinking for awhile, since it happened for a few days before the Rangers rescued us."

"Get me on my feet," I managed to get out.

"Just relax, Corporal Stillwater," the LT told me, and I could feel his warm hand press on my chest slightly.

"Your balance might be shot, and sitting up might make you vomit, which will increase the blood pressure in your brain, which might make you stroke out," Nancy said.

I grabbed the LT's forearm and tried to pull his hand off my chest, but couldn't budge it. "Get me on my goddamn feet," I snarled.

"No. We'd have to hold you up, and I don't want to risk your body weight pulling at your right shoulder and tearing everything in there apart," Nancy snapped.

"Get him on his feet," the LT ordered. His hand pulled back off my chest and slid into mine, squeezing tight. "Walk it off, soldier." His voice was stern, authoritative on the last part.

"Sir..." Nancy started.

"He's a McDaur'n, he needs to be on his feet," Aine said softly.

The LT pulled me smoothly to my feet, steadying me by my elbow when my balance went out from under me.

"Specialist Stokes, Specialist Nagle, take Corporal Stillwater to his room and make him comfortable. I will attempt to get him med-evac'd to main post, but with the blizzard it is doubtful that he will be given treatment in a hospital or at the dispensary," the LT said. "Specialist Nagle, use whatever resources you think may be necessary to keep Corporal Stillwater alive and let me know if you think there is any type of assistance that I may provide or acquire to facilitate that task."

"Yes, sir," Nancy said. I felt myself get handed off to Stokes, who pulled my left arm up over her shoulder and put her right arm around my waist. "I don't have much to work with."

"If it proves necessary, I will authorize an excursion to the Dispensary via the War Fighter Tunnels so that you have the required medical equipment and medication," the LT promised.

"Mamma Stokes' got you, honey. Come on," Stokes told me softly, guiding me out of the room.

"How bad off is he?" I heard Parker ask.

"Mind your business," Bomber growled.

"Corporal Stillwater was critically injured defending Rear Detachment from a determined psychotic who was out to murder the entirety of Rear Detachment," LT James answered as Stokes guided me through the room. "He was nearly killed during the fighting to ensure the remaining members of Rear Detachment's successful survival."

"Hang on," I managed to say before I tried to lean forward so I could start retching. I heard a garbage bin move in front of me as I heaved but nothing came up.

"I'm good," I mumbled, trying to straighten up. Everything tilted and the lizard held on to his console so he didn't slide across the floor.

"I know," Stokes told me. "Slowly, don't straighten up."

We had to stop twice before the midway doors for me to dry heave. The last one left me limp and trembling, forcing the two female soldiers to physically carry me the rest of the way to the room. The keys sounded loud as hell and made my ears ring as they pulled me into the room and laid me on the bottom bunk bed.

"Lay him down carefully, let me put his pillows under his head," I heard Nancy say. I was shivering again, but my hearing was back and the lizard was working to get the wires fixed.

It's just neural wiring, you can fix it. I know you can fix it.

The pillows slid under my head and Stokes followed Nancy's instructions and put my quilt on top of me and tucked it in around me. Nancy told Stokes to hang the IV bag on my bunk then put the IV into the outside of my left wrist. The lizard ripped out a handful of wires and a board full of microchips and the trembling stopped.

"His seizure is over, that's a good sign, right?" Stokes asked. Her fingers were on my neck and I could feel my pulse against her fingers. "His pulse feels like a hammer."

"How many beats?" Nancy asked. She'd pulled my boots off and put my feet up on something.

"Twenty, isn't that low?" Stokes asked.

"Not for him, that's about 80 beats a minute and Ant's a marathon runner, so his heartbeat is elevated right now from his normal resting point," she snarled. "Feel the back of his neck, are the muscles tight or loose?"

I felt Stokes' other hand move around behind my neck. "Tight."

"Goddamn it. Look behind his ears, are they bruised?" I felt her hands on my face. "His right eye looks like REM sleep, but his left isn't moving, and he has fucking raccoon eyes. That idiot Parker didn't punch him in his eyes, did he?" Stokes told her no, and her voice dropped to a growl. "Stillwater is my boy, if he fucked him up or killed him, I'll kill the son of a bitch slow with Stillwater's fucking knife. I'll cut the goddamn life right out of him."

I tried to tell them that I would be all right, to get me back on my feet, but all that came out had nothing to do with what I wanted to say. "It's dark, Innie. I want my bunny."

"Dammit, he's in shock," Nancy snarled. "Stokes, get his stuffed rabbit off the bunk, put it on his chest." I felt something soft get tucked under my blanket and I knew it was the brown stuffed animal. Charlie. The lop-eared bunny.

"Bunny," I mumbled.

"What next?" Stokes asked.

I heard the chair scrape across the tile as the lizard tore out more wires and gnawed the insulation off of them before twisting them together.

"Nothing. We wait," Nancy said. "It's up to him."

"That's it? Can't you do anything else?" Stokes asked. "Come on, Nagle, you've got to be able to do something."

"I don't know what to do, Miranda. I'm not a medic, remember?" Nancy laughed. "I'm Special Weapons, not a ninety-one alpha. He's tougher than you'd think, Miranda; he had cerebral fluid leaking out of his nose and ears last time and he didn't die. He can make it through this. We'll just stay with him, hold his hand, and wait."

"Shit," Stokes said softly.

They sat quietly for awhile. The whole time the lizard kept pulling out wires, switching them around, working with little tools designed for lizard hands. Every now and then pins and needles would shoot through my body or limbs, sparks would appear in my vision, and for a moment I tasted my grandmother's home-made peach candy, saw bright flashes of light, heard Nancy scream my name down the stairwell, and smelled my sister's perfume.

"What do you think is going on?" Stokes suddenly asked. "Do you think it's like last time?"

"No. It feels different," Nancy told her. "There's something going on though. I don't know what, but there's something going on."

'Oh. Fucking figures," Stokes said softly. 'Everything's just going to shit right now, isn't it?"

I knew Nancy was shaking her head. "Not yet. Right now it's the calm before the storm, you'll know it when everything goes to shit."

"I got knocked up," Stokes suddenly blurted.

The lizard looked up and made a soft crooning noise. I wanted to reach out and take her hand, to hold her tight and tell her that everything would be OK. Instead, I mumbled something softly.

"Aw, shit. When did you realize you were pregnant?" Nancy asked.

"This week," Stokes answered. "I mean, I've missed two months, and was going to go in and get tested so that the unit wouldn't send me out to the site any more."

"What are you going to do?" Nancy's voice was full of warmth and empathy, much different than what I was used to hearing.

"I don't know. Keep it?" Stokes chuckled bitterly. "Of course, the baby probably would have been born with fetal alcohol syndrome or a waterhead baby, knowing my luck."

"Did you tell William yet, Miranda?" Nancy asked softly.

"God, no," Stokes said. "You know his family, they go apeshit over kids."

"Yeah, I know that." Nancy reached out and gently stroked my forehead.

"I hate this place. We're going to die here," Stokes said.

"We'll just buckle down and drive on. We're special weapons, not some brain damaged line slime, we'll make it," Nancy chuckled. I struggled for a second, something in my brain thinking there was a large predator stalking me, and Nancy put her hand on my forehead. "Easy, boy, just take it easy. We're here."

"Mama Stokes is here, baby," Stokes told me, and someone grabbed my hand.

"Rest, Ant. We'll keep an eye on you," Nancy told me.

I dozed slightly, the lizard working hard on rewiring my poor abused brain while I napped so he didn't get zapped as often by the neural wiring he was working with.

In my dreams, I was chased through the barracks by a maniac wielding a fire axe, reduced to a small kitten sized lizard that scrabbled on the icy tile trying to escape.

Until Nancy scooped me up and hid me inside her sports bra, where it was nice, warm, and safe.