"We learned that even God hated us. We learned

that we were small and insignificant. I took pleasure

at Aine's instruction at the hands of Alfenwehr.

I had learned a lesson she had not.

Small and insignificant I might be...

but I refused to die easy."

2/19th Special Weapons Group
Restricted Area, Alfenwehr West German
Late Winter- January, 1986
Day 11 of Repairs
Day 3 of the Second Incident
Night

Bomber hit the wall next to me, dragging Levins. Lanks crawled up next, followed by Nancy and Stokes carrying Johnson's stretcher. Meeks came up next, supported by Aine, and King came last.

I hammered on the door, trying to get it to open, yelling at the barracks for someone to open up.

"We'll never make it to the CQ, not with the mountain trying to kill us!" Bomber yelled. The barracks was cutting down on the wind, so we could hear one another, but it was still brutal. "That last hit almost killed me!"

"King!" I bellowed out. King moved over to me, a gust of wind staggering him.

"What?" Another lightning strike blotted out whatever else King said and threw us bodily against the barracks. I groaned, rolled over, and slapped the door. Nancy and Stokes had dropped to their knees and the stretcher tilted dangerously. If they hadn't had used cargo straps to secure Johnson's body to it he'd have fallen off.

"Use the C-4, blow open the door!" I yelled at him, pulling myself to my feet.

"Negative, I open my blasting cap pack, strip the foil, and..." Thunder and lightning, throwing King against me as the air boomed.

We weren't being hit by lightning strikes. We were inside the cloud anchor of the bolt. It surrounded us, making the lightning all consuming.

Aine lunged against the wall. I could see her eyes through her goggles, wide and staring, and I realized I was seeing something I'd never seen before. She was terrified.

"Why aren't we going inside?" she screeched.

"Doors locked," I yelled back.

"We'll never make it to the CQ door!" Bomber yelled back.

Aine stood there for a moment, then squirmed out of her LBE, rucksack, and parka.

"What are you doing?" I yelled.

"I can make it! I'm uninjured!" she yelled back, pulling off her helmet, mask, goggles, and Kevlar. She stood there in her winter BDU's only for a moment, then whirled and vanished into the snow.

"What's she doing?" Stokes yelled.

"She's running for another entrance!" King shouted back.

"Spread out, along the building, five meter inter..." I started.

Purple bloomed, I was airborne for a second, and I hit the ground in convulsions, my chest burning and heart hammering. I rolled onto my stomach and managed to get on my knees before the purple hammer of Thor slammed into us again, crushing me against the ground, sending me convulsing again.

I was losing feeling in my legs and arms. My shoulder was on fire, and my left arm in the middle of the forearm. Weirdly enough my gums and teeth hurt.

"The mountain's going to slaughter us, we gotta get inside!" Nancy yelled.

I turned and began slamming the butt of my weapon against the door in a steady rhythm.

"What about a window? Climb into someone else's window?" Meeks asked.

"None of the ground floor windows have been fixed. We'd have to get through the plywood and..." The hair stood up on my body, giving me a split second warning before the lightning bloomed around us. The convulsions racked me and my helmet fell off, hitting the pavement and rolling into the fog the surrounded us. Blood ran down my throat and I swallowed, knowing that my nose was bleeding behind my cold weather mask.

Bomber beat me to standing up, hammering on the door with his weapon. Meeks and Lanks were still on the ground. Nancy and Stokes managed to get to their feet before King, who almost fell but managed to keep his feet when Stokes steadied him. Levins managed to get up, stumbling back a step or two till he was just silhouetted in the fog.

"We're going to have to go for the middle stairwell!" Bomber yelled, turning from the door.

The door chose right then to slam open. Aine was still in the motion of kicking the door open, her boot extended out. She stumbled out and Bomber caught her, sweeping her inside.

"Get in, get in, get in!" I yelled, reaching down and grabbing Lanks, who was crawling forward, and throwing her into the building. Stokes and Nancy moved past, each holding one handle on an end of the stretcher, the other end grinding on the pavement as they staggered forward. Meeks staggered, half falling over Lanks.

I turned, waved at King, and looked. Who else was left?

Levins stumbled out of the fog, his helmet missing as well as his cold weather mask, blood covering his face. I grabbed him, pulling him with me into the building. As soon as I grabbed him, he turned to dead weight.

Aine was screaming as the door slammed right before outside turned purple again. She was backed up against the far stairwell door, her eyes wide, screaming in terror, her hands pulling at her hair.

"What was that? What in the name of Ankou was that?" she screamed.

"Nancy, Levins is hurt!" I yelled. I was still half-deaf. I was still holding onto him and he was convulsing, one hand slapping against my chest and his foot kicking my leg.

Nancy moved over to him, rolling him onto his back and pushing me away in the same motion. I got to my feet, using one hand against the wall to steady myself. My shoulder burned, my back teeth throbbed, and my left forearm ached.

"Can you move him?" I asked Nancy, looking down the darkness of Queer Country. Maybe three lights were on, and the darkness was pushing in. "We need to get moving right now."

"I'll carry him," Aine said, her voice still shaking with fear.

"Are you... oh," Nancy said. I looked back and saw that Aine had slung Levins across her shoulder. Blood was dripping onto the tile from his head.

"Lets go, double-time it," I said. I managed to break into a shambling jog. I could hear the others following, their boots echoing in the hallway. There was another peal of thunder, outside at least, and the heavy cinderblock walls muted it to a dull rumble instead of the world consuming crash that almost knocked us out from the sheer force of it.

The middle doors screeched when I went through and something broke in the hydraulic cylinder on the right door, a chunk of metal pinging off of the frost covered floor in front of us.

Ahead of us the double doors leading into Titty Territory were open, one of the pool tables tipped over on its side to block it. I could see craters in the felt of the table, exposing the heavy slate underneath. Someone popped up underneath.

"Halt! Who goes there?" Corporal Lancer called out. I could see that he had his weapon over the top of the table.

"Echo Five Actual, coming in with wounded!" I called out.

"Lieutenant James, Stillwater and the others are coming back," Lancer yelled. Four more steps and Lancer called out to us. "Use the stairwell doors, sending some out."

Six more steps and I saw the door to the stairwell open. PV2 Davies led the way, in full battle rattle and his assault rifle held at port arms. Cassius and James followed him, both in full gear with rifles.

"What the fuck happened?" Davies asked. "Christ, Stillwater, are you OK?"

"Get the wounded. Bomber, you're with me. Stokes, you're with Nagle, try to keep them alive," I snapped, pushing past the other three men. Tables had been put against the stairs leading up, braced with two four drawer filing cabinets that had obviously been taken out of the small office behind the CQ Area. PFC Osterhaus and PFC Richardson were standing on the landing, both in full gear with their rifles. They stared as we staggered past them. My ruck, the claymore bags, and my cold weather gear felt like they weighed a ton, were bogging me down, but there was nothing that could be done about it.

The CQ Area was dimly lit. What was left of Rear-D was gathered up in the Day Room, although the LT was standing up from behind the CQ Desk, motioning at me to move over by him.

"Corporal Stillwater, come here please," he said calmly.

I staggered up to the CQ Desk, half falling against it. I pulled my cold weather mask off with the goggles in one smooth movement. I pulled my rifle over my head and dropped it on the CQ desk. The LT's eyes opened wide. I noticed that he had a bloody cut across his temple, the blood clotted, the skin on either side of the cut was swollen and upraised, with bruising around it.

"I think I'm going to need a full report, Corporal," he said. He turned to SPC Davis. "Report to Specialist Nagle, see what kind of aid you can give her."

Major Mallory was sitting against the far wall, the wadded up paper in his mouth replaced by a cravat. He glared at me as I staggered around the pillar and grabbed a chair, half falling into it and sitting down heavily.

LT James reached out, pulled open the CQ drawer, and plucked a bottle of vodka out of the drawer. Without saying a word, he uncapped it and handed it to me. I took a deep pull off of it, noticing that the LT reached over to his wrist and plucked something, the snap of a rubber band against skin popping.

"We're in trouble," I told him. "We took heavy casualties. Shit, we got hammered." I took another drink and shook my head. "Something's not right."

The LT pulled a chair around and sat down in front of me, waiting.

"We hammered the Vympel, but then everything went to shit. " I took another long drink. "The mountain started bouncing us around with goddamn lightning. The rear door was locked." I was silent for a long moment. "My men trusted me, and I fucking blew it."

Stokes came up, putting her hand on me. I looked up after taking another drink. She shook her head. "Johnson's dead, so's Levins. Everyone else has electrical burns and Nancy is worried about internal bleeding and burns from the lightning. Nancy says that Lanks and Meeks aren't critical." She turned at Nancy's call and moved away, staggering slightly as she did so, her limp much more pronounced.

The LT put his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers, leaning forward slightly. "Corporal, I need a report. Get out of your cold weather gear and start at the beginning."

My fingers were clumsy when I stripped off my battle rattle and extreme cold weather gear. When I went to switch my boots one of the bootlaces snapped, looking melted somehow. I cursed and just resigned myself to my left boot being loose.

When I'd folded up my parka and dropped it on top of my ruck, my cold weather mask and goggles landing on top of them. I collapsed back into the chair and rubbed my face, the left side of my face burning.

I told the LT what had happened, starting at arming everyone up and finishing up with grabbing Levins when he came out of the fog and snow.

The LT didn't interrupt, didn't scoff at the part where Tandy drug Needlemeyer into the fog, didn't change expression or make any disgusted noises when I admitted to taking a round at the top of my helmet that shut me down. I noticed that several times he glanced at the bottle of vodka in my hand that I kept drinking out of, and a few times he reached to his wrist and snapped a rubber band he had there.

When I lit a smoke and leaned back, he nodded slowly.

"Corporal Stillwater, you've led men in combat before, correct?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," I answered.

"Then you know that victory is not merely ours to command. The enemy has a vested interest in obtaining victory, in surviving the combat," he told me. He wasn't looking at me, with a chill I realized he was paying attention to something only he could see. "One of the responsibilities of military command is to attempt to minimize your casualties, but you will take casualties, that is part of combat. Men, and now women, will die under your command." There was the snap of the rubberband again. "You will give orders that will result in fatalities, but you will make sure that those lives were not wasted, that any blood or lives spent were to accomplish an objective of strategic or tactical advantage." He reached out and patted my knee. "Go to Specialist Nagle, I want her to check you out and make sure that your injuries aren't life threatening."

"Yes, sir," I said, pushing myself up. I offered him the bottle of vodka.

"Share it with your fire team, Corporal," he told me. "Draw replacements from Rear Detachment, bring your fire team back up to strength." He motioned at the pool tables in front of the entrance to Titty Territory. The one against the entrance had its legs removed and a second one braced against it.

Unlike movies, a couch or a chair wouldn't stop an assault rifle round, but one of the reasons that pool tables were so heavy was they usually had a half inch to an inch of slate under the felt. That meant that there was two layers of slate, separated by thick wood and plastic, with another layer of wood and plastic on our side. It would work to stop AK-47 rounds for awhile, until constant fire shattered the slate too much for it to stop the bullets.

Davies and Lancer were crouched down behind it, looking over it and down the hallway. The stairwell door was open and I could see Oberhaust and Richardson were standing in the hallway, keeping watch on the stairwell. PFC Littles and Pvt Spaklin were keeping an eye on the glass entryway.

Nancy, Stokes, and everyone else were in the Rec Room, where the pool tables had been pulled from. The ping pong table was laying out, and Meeks was laying on it, stripped to the waist. His brown skin looked ashy, and he was shivering. The Donkey Kong JR video game had been pulled over next to the ping pong table so that Nancy could hang IV bags from it.

Bomber was standing next to the pool table, an FM in front of him, and he was flipping through the pages. The side of Bomber's face was blistered, half his mustache burned away, and one eye swollen closed. Where the snap to his helmet had been there was a blister the size of a quarter on his jaw.

Lanks was sitting against the wall. Her hair looked crisped, a blister like Bomber's on her jaw, and she'd suffered a nose bleed and there was dried blood under her ear. She was drinking from her canteen and I noticed that her rucksack and parka both looked scorched, the nylon of both of them shiny in patches.

Aine was standing next to King. King was still holding the M-60 but had shed his cold weather gear. Like everyone else, he had a blister on the side of his jaw, around his rank on his collar his BDU cloth was scorched and the rank below the blister was missing the black paint/enamel. Aine had suffered a nose bleed, her hair was singed and she was missing an eyebrow as well as the eyelashes beneath that eyebrow. She was rubbing her hands, still shivering, and she looked frightened.

Part of me took a lot of joy in the fact that she was scared.

Levins and Johnson were both moved to the side. Both of them had their cold weather masks over their faces and their necks covered.

I'd lost them both on the fucking mountain. Neither one of them was even 20 years old, and I'd led them straight into the goddamn morgue. The fucking Soviets had killed one, and Tandy had killed Levins in the fog less than three paces from the door to the barracks.

Rage roared up inside of me, pushing away the pain.

Meeks cried out in pain as Nagle wrapped a cravat around his left wrist. I noticed his right arm was already wrapped in gauze.

"Stokes, hold him down," Nancy ordered. She bent over Meeks and smiled. "This is going to hurt, honey, but your shoulder is dislocated. The longer I wait to set it, the worse it'll be."

"Just do it," Meeks grunted, sweating. He squirmed slightly as Stokes laid half on the ping pong table and grabbed him around the torso. Stokes nodded at Nancy, who set her feet.

"On three," Nancy told him. "One. Two." She yanked the cravat, pulling Meeks arm straight out with a loud crunch. Meeks screamed through gritted teeth, and Aine licked her lips, staring at the suffering man. The fear left her face, and I saw a flicker of obscene hunger in her eyes before her smile appeared. Shy, demure, a little thing, but I knew that Meeks' pain made her feel better.

"You said three, bitch," Meeks groaned.

"I know, baby, I know," Nagle said, pushing against his pectoral. Meeks hissed in pain. "Describe the pain when you inhale."

"Sharp."

"Any tightness?" Nagle asked, her fingers pressing along his rib.

"No. Just hurts to breathe," Meeks answered.

"Cracked rib, deep tissue bruising, but I don't think you're in any danger," Nancy told him, slapping his stomach. "Sit up, troop, get dressed." She turned to King. "Get on the table, King."

King nodded, moving over to me and handing me the pig. I cradled it in my arms, passing the time while Nancy checked over King with running a function check on the pig. The right hand bipod strut was damaged, the paint missing, and the metal scarred. It was jammed up, and when I pulled on the charging handle it barely moved. Six rounds were expended but were still in the belt. The lightning or the ambient charge in the air from the strikes must have cooked them off somehow. We were lucky nobody was hit by the 7.62mm NATO rounds.

When she was done checking King, she checked Bomber. Bomber had a burn on his back the size of my palm, and another burn on the back of his right hand, not counting the burn on the side of his face that looked like a bad sunburn and the quarter sized blister on his jaw. She used her knife to slice the swollen flesh under the eye, an old boxers trick to let him see out of it again. She slapped two butterfly stitches to the slice and moved on to the blisters. When she was done working on him, she urged him to get up, get dressed, and then she turned to me.

"Ant, strip to the waist and get up on the table, I need to check you out," she told me. I handed the pig back to King, who took it and set it down on the other ping pong table and began pulling it apart. His hands were shaking slightly as he worked.

When I took off my BDU top, her eyes narrowed. "Did you take a hit?" she asked.

"No. It's not mine," I told her. She nodded, watching as I took off my T-shirt. I had a little trouble, since it hurt a lot to try to raise my arm above my head. She looked at Stokes while I climbed onto the ping pong table. "Davis, get that manual out of my SF bag, open it up to the electrical burn section." She turned her attention back to me. "Lay on your stomach first."

She touched a spot on my back, to the right of my spine and just above my floating ribs. I winced and she turned to Bomber. "Hand me the Silvadene." I felt her rubbing something into my skin that cooled the hot and burning patch on my back that I hadn't noticed until she had touched it.

"All of us so far have burns and we all have blisters from where our dogtags were on our chest," Nagle said. "So far I'm pretty sure none of us took direct hits from the lightning. Damndest thing."

"We were in the ion haze," King said, looking up from where he was using his Leatherman to tear apart the feeding mechanism. "I was initially in 10th Mountain, I remember someone mentioning that at high altitude the lightning strike expands into an ion haze when it jumps to the ground or from cloud to cloud." He twisted his Leatherman and a melted spring popped out of the weapon. "Lightning isn't a single bolt, but about a half dozen that happens in less than a second, but because we were up in the ion haze it was one long stroke.

"How come it kept hitting us?" Meeks asked, rubbing his chest and shoulder.

"It just felt like it was hitting us. The ion haze is pretty damn big, and it doesn't help that the barracks has an electrical charge." King slid his blade into something in the top tray and twisted. "We were just surrounded by juice."

"Roll over, Ant," Nagle told me. I grunted and managed to roll onto my back. She grimaced. "Goddamn it. Davis, in the bag there's an instrument pack, open the damn thing up and set it next to me." I closed my eyes and tried to relax as she began prodding at my shoulder. It hurt like a motherfucker.

"Corporal Stillwater, why are you not on convalescent leave if you still have staples in your shoulder?" the LT asked suddenly. I opened my eyes to see him looking down at me. Behind him, Sergeant Butcher and Sergeant White were standing there, staring at us.

I noticed neither one of the E-5's were carrying their weapons.

"They cut our convalescent leave short due to mission essential status, and he had to have the staples replaced last week when the doctors had to go back in," Nagle told him, rooting through the instruments until she pulled up a thing that looked like a three pronged needle nose pliers.

"Why does he have blisters and small burns seemingly at random upon his shoulder?" the LT asked. I noticed he had moved a step back.

"The electrical discharge went through our bodies, and those burns pretty much match up with the implants the surgeons put in him," Nagle said, taking the needle nose and opening them. There was two prongs that slid underneath, the middle one went over the top of the staple. She squeezed the handle and the middle prong pressed down on the staple, lifting the metal prongs out of my skin.

"Should you be removing those staples, Specialist?" the LT asked. His voice was disinterested, almost aloof. "I am concerned that removing the staples will put Corporal Stillwater at risk of tearing open that wound."

"The skin around the staples is burned, if I don't remove the staples he runs the risk of having necrosis from dead flesh around the staple, infection, and further tissue damage," Nagle said, removing two more.

Davis was examining my left arm. She looked up. "He's got a burn on his forearm, Specialist Nagle, around a scar."

"He's got an implant in his forearm. They had to put a chunk of steel in his arm to fix where the ulna was broken in May after that shit at Atlas," Nagle said. "Smear Silvadene on it, hopefully the muscle and bone aren't too damaged." She dropped two more staples next to me.

"I apologize for this inquiry while you are giving Corporal Stillwater medical care, Specialist, but seeing as his injuries do not appear life threatening I would prefer to have you brief me so that I may quickly write up a report while you finish tending to the wounded." The LT's voice was still dispassionate, remote, aloof. "What was the cause of death for Private Johnson?" the LT asked.

Nancy's shoulders slumped slightly and I saw the pain in her eyes. The LT surprised me by putting his hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently. "I have the utmost confidence that the deaths of those soldiers who were slain was not due to any negligence on your behalf, Specialist Nagle, nor any negligence on the behalf of Corporal Stillwater. I am not seeking to place the blame upon anyone, that will be for a formal inquiry that will undoubtedly focus more on my decisions than the decisions Actual made during combat. My apologies for distracting you, Specialist Nagle, but my duty requires me to gather this information as soon as possible."

Nagle popped another staple out of my shoulder before speaking. Her posture straightened and her voice firmed up.

I also noticed, with a slight twinge of jealousy, that she didn't tell the LT to remove his hand.

"Private Johnson was hit by multiple bullets from an AK-47. One struck him in the left shoulder, exiting just to the right of his spine at the fourth rib. Another bullet struck him the throat, to the left of his larynx, exiting from the back of the neck at his spine. The last hit him under the nose, exiting from the back of his head and lodging in his helmet." She shook her head. "At first I thought he had bled to death from the throat injury, but when I checked him out after our return I'm pretty sure that death was instantaneous." A single tear fell from her eye and tracked down her cheek. She'd removed six more staples while she had been speaking. "It was during our clash with the Vympel team, and while he was killed, he was able to kill the man who killed him." Another tear, from the other eye, rolled down her cheek. She dropped two more staples into the gauze.

Davis finished putting a layer of Silvadene on my arm, the paste turning the burning pain to a cool feeling with a slight throbbing.

The LT gave Nagle a minute, during which she pulled out the last of the staples, and held her hand out for the small tub of Silvadene, which Davis handed her. She began applying it to the half-healed scar across my shoulder, and dabbing it on the dime sized burns that were starting to appear.

"Specialist Needlemeyer was taken by the entity referred to as 'Tandy', am I correct?" the LT asked. Nagle nodded. "Thank you, Specialist Nagle." He glanced over at where the two bodies were laid out. "Have you determined the cause of death for Private First Class Levins?"

Nancy bowed her head slightly, the tongue depressor she was using to apply the Silvadene to the burn on my collarbone from where a clip was put into it.

"I don't know what caused the wounds," Nancy admitted. "He suffered a loss of most of the epidermis on the left side of his face, the loss of his left eye, most of the soft tissue of his throat." She closed her eyes, her hands going still. "He suffered eight deep puncture wounds, four above each collarbone."

There was silence, just breathing, broken only by King grunting as he kept working on the pig and the snap of metal breaking free.

"In your estimation, Specialist Nagle, what caused Private First Class Levins' fatal injuries?" the LT asked. I heard the snap of the rubber band.

"Tandy killed him and pushed him to us to let us know he could have taken us at any time if he wanted," Nagle said. "He did it on purpose; he wants us to know what he can do in only a few seconds. He grabbed Levins, just like he always does, at the shoulders, pulled him into the fog, and ripped his face and throat apart just because he can."

Sergeant Butcher scoffed at that. "You seriously expect us to believe that this Tandy bullshit is real? Come on, Nagle, we're all a little old for scary stories." Nagle's scar went from a light pink to a deep purple and her eyes glowed with fury.

The LT went rigid, and I saw his right eyelid twitch before his calm mask hid his anger. He turned around slowly, a slow motion parade ground perfect about face.

"Sergeant Butcher." His tone was cold, clinical, but I could feel the animosity and malevolence rolling off of him. "The entity known commonly as 'Tandy' is a well-documented event. It has killed or injured over a dozen soldiers since it began snowing in September. That entity has been the subject of investigations by Criminal Investigations Division, one visitation by an aide of a senior member of the United States Senate Committee on Armed Services, and other investigative bodies. It is not rumor, he is not an urban legend, nor is it the product of mass hysteria or delusion."

Sergeant Butcher had stepped back from the LT, but I lost sight of the two men when Nancy put two fingers on the side of my jaw and moved my head so I was staring straight up and then removed my glasses.

"You have a burn where your glasses were touching your skin, honey," Nancy told me. "And I want to check your head, you took a pretty bad hit to your skull and I want to make sure that nothing is wrong. I don't want you dying on me, honey."

She began applying the burn cream at the top of my cheeks, between my eyebrows, and at my temples, while the LT kept speaking.

"Our situation is extremely tenuous, Sergeant. We are cut off from any support or reinforcement. We have no options for withdrawal and cannot obtain extraction at this time. We have no communication with anyone else due to weather conditions and what I believe to be deliberate sabotage. We have enemy elements with an unknown agenda who have killed one soldier under my command, aggressed us less than an hour ago with the intent of killing or capturing us, as well as what I believe to be infiltrators in our command structure." His voice grew hard. "If you have any objections to keeping an open mind, following my orders, or supporting our operations at this time you are free to remove yourself from the chain of command, act under protest, or whatever you feel the UCMJ requires of you." He paused for a second. "However, any objection you have, will be dutifully recorded and you shall be required to sign off on the paperwork in order to ensure its accuracy."

There was silence as Nancy began pressing on my skull, starting a few finger widths from where they'd put stitches in my scalp after operating on my skull to relieve the pressure. I'd suffered a radiating skull fracture due to all of the impacts I'd taken to the back of my melon head during the struggle against the killer in the cold weather mask. I'd been blind for almost a week before the swelling in my brain went down enough, and I knew that Nancy was making sure I hadn't rebroken my skull.

"Sergeant White, Sergeant Butcher, are you ready to carry out my orders?" the LT asked. The malevolence was practically a physical thing, and I heard Aine sigh with desire a little ways away. There was a snap as King managed to break free another part in the feed mechanism of the M-60 from where the electrical current had spot-welded it.

"Yes, sir," Sergeant White said, but I could hear the petulance in his voice.

"Yes, sir," Sergeant Butcher said. He sounded reluctant to me.

Nancy pressed on the spot that should have made me start to throw up after the hit I'd taken to the top of the helmet, but other than a little discomfort and a faint twinge it didn't hurt at all.

"Sergeant White, wake up the next shift of guard duty and make the rounds. You were assigned Sergeant of the Guard and have duties to perform. Dismissed." The LT's voice brooked no argument. "Sergeant Butcher, I advise you to get some rest as I have assigned you the next shift as Sergeant of the Guard and Sergeant White will need you to relieve him in the next few hours. Dismissed."

I heard Sergeant Butcher leave, his boot steps thumping on the tile. "Close the door, Sergeant Butcher." The doors closed and there was silence, broken only by King working and the gurgle of a canteen as someone took a drink.

"Have you checked the female soldiers yet, Specialist Nagle?" the LT asked after Nagle slapped my bare chest and told me to get dressed.

"No, sir," she answered.

"The male soldiers and myself will leave the room. Ensure that the female soldiers are suffering from no crippling or potentially fatal injuries," he told her. Nagle nodded, and the LT turned toward the door. "Gentlemen, let us withdraw and give the female soldiers their privacy that is their right under the UCMJ and their due out of respect for them as people."

Bomber, Davis and Meeks started to follow, King picking up the pig and shoving the pieces he'd pulled off of it into his thigh pockets, and I turned away from Nancy.

"Ant, I need you to stay," Nagle said. The LT turned at the same time I did.

"I do not believe it is appropriate for a male soldier to be in the room at this time," the LT said.

"He can have his back to us, but I need him in here to act as a guard," Nagle said.

"Do any female soldiers have any objections to Corporal Stillwater remaining to act as guard?" the LT asked.

None were raised, and I watched everyone else leave. Behind me, Nagle told Aine she was first and to strip down to her panties. From what I could overhear Aine was fine, no frostbite, no bruises, just a burn on her fingers around and under her rings and a burn between her breasts where her dog tags had rested. Nancy told her to get dressed, and had Lanks get up on the ping pong table next. Lanks had bruising on her stomach, but Nancy was sure she didn't have anything ruptured inside of her, checking her appendix three times just to be sure. When Nagle mentioned that she'd prefer to check her appendix with a rectal exam Lanks told her in no uncertain terms that it wasn't going to happen. Lanks was excused and Stokes was next. Stokes had the same burn on the chest we all did from our dog tags.

"You've got mild frostbite on your pinky and ring finger on your left hand, Miranda. Soak your hand in cool water, then warm water, hopefully that will take care of it," Nancy told her. "Did your bra have an underwire?"

"Yeah," Stokes answered.

"That explains these thin burns under your breasts. Looks like all of us females have the same blister where our bra clasps were," Nancy told Stokes. There was silence for a minute, then the slap of her hand against bare skin. My mind furnished the image of Nancy slapping Stokes' plentiful ass cheek and leaving behind a red handprint. "Get dressed. Ant, I need you to check me out."

"Wait a minute before you turn around, all right, Stillwater?" Stokes asked.

"No problem," I told her. A vision of her large breasts popped into my head but I shoved it and the temptation to sneak a peek away. I heard Stokes gasp and Nancy tell her to be quiet.

"All right, Ant." I heard Nancy say. I turned around and she was laying on the ping pong table, shivering slightly. She'd stripped down to nothing and was laying on her stomach. She was bleeding from her butt cheek, a slow trickle of blood from a hole in the meat of the left cheek.

"Some of the rounds in the 20-round magazine I keep in my back pocket cooked off," she said softly. "It really hurts. How bad is it?"

I moved up and touched the swollen and puffy skin. She hissed in pain, but I kept examining it. "No exit wound, I can't feel the round so it's gotta be in pretty deep."

"In the instrument box there's something called a probe. Get a thin one, and slide it into the wound, that'll tell you how far in it is," she told me. She looked over at Stokes. "Miranda, open up that manual to gunshot wounds." She shivered. "This is really going to hurt."

I found the probe pretty quick, and following Miranda's instructions I found out it was embedded about two and a half inches into Nancy's bubble butt. She ground her teeth and whimpered once, but other than that she didn't make any noise as I probed at the wound.

"Tell me what to do, Stokes," I said.

"You're going to have to widen the wound enough to get a pair of forceps in there and remove the bullet," Stokes answered. "Umm, there's a sidebar here."

"What does it say?" Nancy asked, her body covered in sweat.

"It says that bullets heat up enough that they are sterile when they lodge into the body. It remarks that we should leave it unless it is life threatening," Stokes read off.

"Well, Nagle, do I remove it?" I asked.

"No. No offense, Ant, but I'd prefer to avoid you performing surgery on me," she said. I chuckled. "What does it recommend."

"Clean and bandage the wound, stitch it closed if necessary," Stokes said.

"Do it," Nancy said, breathing deep.

It took three stitches to close the wound; my stitches weren't very neat. Nancy didn't say anything, just laid there relaxed like she was on the beach. She had a few burns on her back, but I applied Silvadene and bandages like what all of us had gotten. When she rolled over I took a look at her. She had a burn on top of her right breast, probably from her dog tags, a long thin burn under her breasts from her bra's underwire, a burn between her shoulder blades from the bra clasp, a burn on her finger where her two rings were, bruising over her right floating rib (she admitted that when she dove to the ground it had driven her ammo pouch into her) but the rib was fine, and the blister on her jaw from the button of her helmet strap.

She got dressed and stood next to me, leaning against me. I put an arm around her and hugged her tight.

"I love you, babe," I told her. I saw anger flash across Aine's face as Nagle purred low in the throat and rubbed the top of her head against my shoulder.

"I know," she answered. A victorious expression showed on Aine's face for a split second, and I knew what the tiny woman was thinking.

...she loves me, bitch, we both know it, so don't think it means you can take me...

"We need to get some rest," Nagle said.

"I'm fucking wiped out," Stokes admitted.

"I'm all right," Aine tossed in.

...bitch...

"Get some sleep, keep your gear an weapon within reach," I told them. "We'll go through everyone's gear in the morning and see what was damaged in the lightning strikes." I looked around the Rec Room. "I would say we'd bunk in here, but I think..." I waved at Levins and Johnson's bodies.

"I know," Nancy said, hugging me and letting go.

"Go bed down in the Day Room. I need to talk to the LT," I told them. When I left the Rec-Room, I saw the LT behind the CQ Desk, looking at some paperwork. I went around the pillar at the end of the desk, taking a look at Major Mallory to make sure he wasn't getting loose, and went to stand next to the LT.

He was looking at the maps of the barracks that were always in the back of the CQ Log. The LT had drawn on the map. Crosshatching the Orderly Room, Ready Room, and those areas, the CQ Area and the rooms attached to it. On the margins of the map he'd written everyone's name and ranks, putting marks in front of the name to denote something. I figured the ampersand in front of the names of myself and the other soldiers that had gone with me meant we were on QRF. Seeing Needlemeyer, Johnson, and Levins' names all meticulously lined out hurt inside, but I shoved that feeling down. There were additional symbols in front of the survivors of QRF, as well as a couple others, and I assumed those marks meant we were injured.

When I stopped next to him, he turned his head to look at me. Once again I noticed the dried blood on the side of his head and the injury from what I was assuming was a graze from a bullet.

"You and your, what is the vernacular you use, crew?" he asked. I nodded. "You and your 'crew' are all in need of a shower and clean uniforms." I nodded. "However, at this time, because I am unsure of where the enemy commander may have stationed elements, that is not an option." His hands moved and I heard the snap of the rubber band again. "Right now our morale is shaky. When elements of the enemy attacked this position, thankfully after we had already fortified, a few soldiers forgot their training." I opened my mouth to protest and he held up his hand. "I do not look down upon a soldier who displays normal human reactions to sudden violence. It merely highlights that their chain of command has been remiss in their duties and the training of that soldier."

I retrieved the vodka bottle from my thigh pocket and opened it, taking a drink off of it as he continued. "In the morning I want the Quick Reaction Force to do maintenance checks of their weaponry and replace any damaged components or replace any weapons that have suffered any damage that cannot be easily repaired."

"Yes, sir," I answered. "PFC King is trying to repair the M-60, but I would feel better if he simply swapped it out for another one. I don't want it failing when we need it."

The LT nodded. "Since you are armorer trained I will be advised by your expertise." He tapped the map on Titty Territory. "Last time they aggressed from this direction." His finger moved to the stairwell. "This is a likely point of aggression, the same with here." He pointed at the front doors. "Tomorrow we will come up with a plan to repulse the aggressors, regain control of the Group Area, and ensure that we can hold out until an extraction team arrives." He shuffled the maps together and put them into a vinyl covered folder normally used for vehicle dispatches. I saw a lot of paperwork in there and caught the phrase: 'recommend posthumous promotions as well as Meritorious Service Medals for the deceased' before it snapped shut. He turned back to me. "Get some rest, Corporal, that's an order."

"I'm a little wound up, sir," I told him, digging out my pack of cigarettes and lighting one. "I'll go to sleep once I calm down a bit."

He nodded and began moving toward the Rec Room. "I, myself, will be bedding down with the others. Tell Sergeant White, when he returns, that you are not his relief, and I assigned you to guard the prisoner for a set period of time."

"Yes, sir," I answered, turning to face Major Mallory and smiling at him. The other man's eyes widened in fear. "Rest well, sir."

"I shall, Corporal. I hope that you are able to do the same." The Rec Room door closed after him.

His stilted way of talking, formal, correct, was off putting, but now that I was used to it it didn't bother me that badly. While I didn't like him, and he still gave me the heebie-jeebies, I found myself trusting the man.

Besides, he was willing to back me up against Sergeant Butcher and Sergeant White, both men who seemed to have a serious problem with me.

If either of them posed a risk to Bomber, Stokes, or Nancy's safety, I'd shank them myself and throw them out into the snow.

Another long pull on the bottle left less than a third of it left, and when I was recapping it the doors to the Rec Room opened up, Bomber closing them after Nancy and Miranda came through.

"Plan, Ant?" Bomber asked. He looked at Major Mallory. "Don't think I've forgotten about you, traitor."

"At ease that shit," I told him. I stretched, winced when my shoulder popped, and ignored Nancy's glare when it did so. "Get some sleep. If there's food..."

"There's MRE's in the Day Room," Stokes said. "Catch." I turned in time to catch the brown plastic bag. Chicken ala King, AKA Catshit ala Crap. I tore open the bag.

"Did you guys already eat." They nodded. "Good. Get some sleep, we need it. Any of your sleeping bags get ruined out there?" They all shook their heads. Bomber picked up the vodka off the counter, unscrewed it, and took a drink before replacing the cap and putting the bottle back. "I think the LT is planning something for tomorrow and we're probably going to be the head of the spear. We need to be sharp."

They nodded, standing up. Bomber reached forward and squeezed my shoulder. Nagle gave me a kiss and a hug, and Stokes just smiled and patted my shoulder before they all went back into the Day Room.

My helmet had gotten left behind, but my ruck was behind the CQ Desk. In the top flap pocket I found a softcap where I always put them. I tugged it on, took another pull off the vodka, and put my feet up on the desk. The lights were dim, which was nice, and I could see where more than a few of the light sockets were empty. The bulbs were in an empty MRE box under the long counter that served as the CQ Desk.

I lit another cigarette, tilting back in the chair with the bottle in my lap. Hell, I couldn't remember where I'd left my XM-16E1, but the bandoleers of 40mm grenades were under my flak vest and LBE, which were under my ruck, and all piled on the counter.

Bomber's gear was over by one of the other chairs and I spotted the fag-bag he'd stuffed full of everything he'd taken off the enemy soldiers. I got up and grabbed it and the flashlight off his LBE, sitting back down. My flashlight was shot, the plastic casing slightly warped and the blue lens cracked.

I opened the bag and began going through what we'd taken off the deceased Russians up in the motorpool. They had the Soviet version of the Geneva Convention Card, identifying them as military personnel rather than spies. Bomber had grabbed all the dog tags and I looked at them. I knew the big Texan, and knew that he hadn't grabbed the dog tags as souvenirs or more intel, but rather so when it was all over their families could be notified.

Even if Tandy had dragged away the bodies and eaten them.

I recorded all the letters and numbers on the dog tags in my green notebook, which I'd transferred from the back pocket of my Levi jeans to the pocket of my BDU's. Unlike most troops I didn't leave my green notebook behind; even in civvies, I always kept it on me.

After recording the numbers I made rubbings of the tags, managing to fit three tags per page. I took the time to outline the upraised parts in case the pencil lead smeared too much.

Bomber had the stuff we'd pulled from the fake SEALs, and I grabbed the billfolds and opened them up, copying them to the best of my ability into my green notebook. The letters across the ID's pissed me off to no end.

Despite the rage inside of me directed at the Spetz I didn't hate them. I was angry that they'd come to kill me, angry that they'd almost killed me personally, had killed one of my men, but it was part of the deal. We all knew the risks when we put on the uniform and took the money.

No, the hatred was for the fake SEALs, the 'Colonel' and 'Captain Duloc', just as much as it was for the dead SFC Tashton and fucking Major Mallory sitting tied to the chair.

The Russians were doing their duty. Following the lawful orders of their superiors. What they were doing was legitimate, as we were a legitimate pre-hostilities military target. There was nothing underhanded, really, definitely nothing to hate about what they were doing, and no reason to hate them.

My hatred was reserved for the men who were betraying their country.

Major Mallory started making noises, rocking the chair, and it pulled my attention to him. I scooped everything, including the billfolds, back into the fag-bag and clipped it onto my LBE, apparently ignoring Major Mallory's struggles.

When I stood up and walked toward him, I drew my knife between my first and second step. Major Mallory's eyes widened and he stopped struggling in the chair, drawing back from me.

I pulled the gag from his mouth, kneeling down in front of him. "You wanted my attention, pumpkin?" I asked. I knew I was smiling again.

"I gotta piss," Mallory said.

"Then piss," I told him.

"I'm not pissing myself, you little punk," the Major said. "Untie me so I can use the latrine."

"Let me help you out, traitor," I snarled. I punched him hard in the gut and, with a cry of pain, the crotch of his BDU's dampened. "There, now you don't have to piss."

"You little bastard."

I laughed at him and went to put the gag back in. When he tried to turn his head, I put the point of my knife against his lower eyelid. "Go ahead, pumpkin," I told him. "I'll just shank your fat ass." He let me put the gag in and I went back over to my chair after checking the zip-ties. One zip-tie around the arm or leg of the chair, another zip-tie on the Major's wrist or ankle, a third and fourth used to connect the two together, both of them looped together rather than in a chain. Safe, secure, and hard to break.

The vodka was warm when I took another swig. I set it down on the CQ Desk and headed over to the soda machines, pulling out my wallet and getting a dollar bill out. I bought two Mountain Dews and wandered back to the CQ Desk, cracking one open and starting in on the MRE Stokes gave me.

When I was finished I swept the wreckage into the waste-basket and dropped the empty Mountain Dew can after it. I sat for a long time in the semi-darkness, sipping on the second can of Mountain Dew. I was dozing off and on, my stomach full of food, the alcohol doing its work, and exhaustion and injuries all combining into a seductive lullaby.

Sergeant White came in, ignored me, and wrote in the log that everything he'd checked was secure and everyone was accounted for. He went into the Rec-Room, waking up Sergeant Butcher, who woke up the next guard shift.

Both NCO's ignored me. I ignored them. It worked.

Butcher and White probably figured I was asleep. I heard them talking about how they figured that it wasn't Russians who had attacked the CQ Area earlier, but probably me and the rest of the QRF, or maybe those SEALs since we'd already pissed them off. Butcher told most of the guards to go back to bed, that there didn't need to be more than one by the pool tables to watch the hallway and the stairwell landing, and instead of one in the Ready Room, one at the bottom of the stairs and one in the Orderly Room, just one at the bottom of the stairs should be able to cover for them.

I didn't say anything, but the lizard updated his map and hissed with displeasure.

The lights dimmed further. When I checked on the clocks I figured it was around two in the morning by guessing between the clock that was ahead the most and the one that was behind the most on the minute hand.

About five minutes after the guard shift changed, Cassius came out of the Rec-Room, holding an XM-16E1 and looking nervous. He'd dropped his battle-rattle in the Rec-Room, but it did make me happy to see he was carrying his weapon. My feet were up on the desk, my chair tilted back, my hat pulled down, and the soda cold in my hands.

"Hey, Anthony," he said. He leaned against the pillar at the end of the desk. "You awake?"

"Hey, Cass. How you liking 2/19th so far?" I asked him without looking at him, lighting a cigarette.

"Since when do you smoke?" he asked.

I laughed, then yawned. "Dude, you saw me smoking last night, did AIT damage your brain?"

"Didn't remember. All that booze we drank probably gave me brain damage. Still, when did you start smoking?" he asked me.

I shrugged. "Sometime after they handed Atlas to me." I took a deep drag, that nagging burning and tingling feeling fading every time I took a drag.

...goddamn you for contaminating me, Aine...

"Some of those others don't seem to like you," Cass said. I stared at him but didn't say anything. "I tried to tell them you're a nice guy, kind of shy, but still a good guy. They don't believe me." He laughed nervously. "What's their beef with you?"

I shrugged. "I don't spend much time with the unit, so I don't know." I waved at the Day Room doors. "Don't much care, either." I yawned again, stretching and feeling my shoulder burn slightly. My chest still hurt, but Nancy had assured all of us that it would fade. A good night's sleep would give our body a chance to heal the burns inside of us from the lightning.

The Day Room door opened quietly, but when I looked to the side, around Cass, I didn't see anyone. They'd probably went to use the latrine.

Still, the lizard hissed, and I paid attention. Something was bugging him, and he had millions of years of experience on me.

Right now, he was grumbling angrily to himself.

"Christ, I knew you'd written that the Army was different than you thought it would be, but fake SEALs executing people? The Russian trying to kill us? You guys getting hit by lightning? Is it always like this?" Cass asked.

I dropped my boots off the desk. "No, sometimes it's worse."

"How the fuck can it get worse?" Cass asked me.

I turned around and glared at him, snarling at him. "Don't say that shit, you'll fucking kill us all."

His mouth was open and his eyes wide in shock. I didn't talk that much when I was younger, and I sure as shit didn't talk to my favorite cousins like that.

"You say that shit and God shows you how it can be worse," I told him.

I noticed his mouth was opening and closing in the dimness. He coughed and blood sprayed from his mouth and dribbled down his chin.

"Cass?" I asked, standing up. Cass jerked and reached out toward me, his hand shaking.

A worm of blood oozed out of his nose and his eyes rolled back in his head.

"Cass?" I took a step toward him, drawing my knife.

My cousin fell limply to the floor, exposing the man behind him.

"Cass!"