"To my shame I admit two facts about how I fought.

Make them hurt as bad as life had hurt me.

Hurt them quickly, horribly and savagely so their friends

can see what I'm going to do to them in seconds.

Both rules caused fear and the split second hesitation

I needed to start on them too."

2/19th Special Weapons Group

Restricted Area, Alfenwehr West Germany

Late Winter- January, 1986

Day 12 of Repairs

Day 4 of the Second Incident

Early Morning

The guy stepped over my cousin, still silent, a large man, taller than me but leaner. He was dressed in Soviet camouflage, his face blackened and his hair hidden by a cold weather cap. He wore gloves, and his country's version of the LBE was taped down for silence. He broke into a smile when I yelled my cousin's name, taking another step forward, halving the distance between us.

...never fight fair in combat, son... My Father's voice.

My left hand shot out, grabbing the vodka bottle, and I shattered it against the edge of the counter. His smile grew larger and I knew he hadn't seen the knife in my hand. Thought I was unarmed except for the broken vodka bottle.

A track of thought tried to emulate his thought process. He was taller than me, might not realize that I probably outweighed him by at least 10 pounds or figured that because I was American I was probably fat. He knew he was Soviet Special Forces, where NBC Warfare wasn't a line MOS and didn't train extensively for combat operations in most cases. It didn't matter if he'd read my file, even if he'd seen the picture that was clipped inside my 201 file according to unit SOP, the picture inside my file was from spring, before the growth spurt that left me 6' tall, before Atlas had put heavy muscle on me. He had a knife that he'd undoubtedly had extensive training in using, specializing in silent takedowns and close quarters combat.

He was Vympel. I was just some Army scrub.

He figured he had me.

I jabbed the broken bottle at him, the last of the vodka in it splashing at his face. He turned his head and I finished the movement by letting go of the broken bottle. He raised his left arm up to block the bottle, twisting at the waist, and brought back the knife.

...first rule of a knife fight, son, is you're gonna get cut...

Before he even finished keeping the broken bottle top from hitting him in the face, I came in fast, using my bandage wrapped left forearm to push his arm out at the wrist, and stabbed him hard just under the sternum.

"Up! Get up! Get up! Ambush!" I bellowed out as I started moving, using my best battlefield voice. "Two Nineteenth, alert alert alert!"

I drove my forehead into his face as I yanked out the knife. He started to scream and I stabbed him again in the same spot. Something crunched under my skull, blood spattering my face, and I twisted the knife as I brought up my knee and slammed it into his crotch.

His scream went high pitched and he fell back, off the knife, his knife falling from his hand and bouncing across the tile floor. I grabbed Cass' weapon as I moved forward. I kicked the enemy soldier in the underside of his jaw as I moved forward, still bellowing.

"Two-Nineteenth, contact! I have enemy contact!" My voice was echoing, the sound coming back to me from the stairwell and the dark and cold hallway of Titty Territory, mocking me with the echoes.

Somebody screamed, there was a burst of M-16 fire, someone else screamed, and there was more gunfire. My thumb automatically switched the fire selector from safe to semi as I looked around the CQ Area. PFC Jessup was missing, not at his post where Sergeant Butcher had told him to stand near the pool tables so that he could see down the hallway and into the stairwell.

...god damn that slacking bastard...

Even I knew that you doubled up guards in a high threat environment, that you made sure that there was at least one set of eyes on every access point, and that stupid arrogant son of a bitch had reduced the guard duty that the LT had set up from eight men to two and then gone back to bed. He should have been behind the CQ desk with me, or wandering between the guard posts; instead he'd acted like we were on a fucking camping trip and went to bed.

My brain slid him halfway into the same category as I was keeping Major Mallory and the late SFC Tashton, the other half of him in the 'incompetent fuckhead' category.

"CEASE FIRE!" the LT's voice was impossible to deny and the sounds of weapons fire from the Day Room stopped.

My hand dropped to my waist, looking for my LBE and a grenade, but came up empty. I remembered that my LBE and Kevlar were behind the CQ Desk and I was coming around in front of it, Cass's weapon at high ready. I was standing all alone in the middle of the CQ Area with an assault rifle and no clue where the fuck the enemy were attacking from.

The Day Room door opened up and I glanced over to see Bomber, King, Nagle, and Stokes coming out, their gear slung on but not completely. Bomber went by me and ducked down behind the pool table, looking at me, King hitting the floor and sliding on the slick tile until he came to a stop in front of the open doorway to the stairwell.

Goddamn King, he looked and moved like he belonged on a fucking recruiting video. I couldn't have done that with a dozen retries and a coach.

"Cass is down, check him out, Nagle," I snapped as Stokes moved up next to Bomber, putting her back against the underside of the pool table. The LT moved up and past me, his .45 in his fist, and he used the barrel to hit two of the light switches that were down. Several of the bulbs blew out, but the lights went on in the CQ Area.

"Lanks! Lanks!" Nancy yelled. "Grab my aid-bag and hurry up!"

People in the Day Room were shouting when the LT turned to me. "Corporal Stillwater, take some men and make sure the Orderly Room area is secure." Lanks came running into the room, almost tripping on the dead guy in Russian camou.

"King, Bomber, Stokes, with me," I snapped. "Lanks, throw me my battle rattle and my '16."

"We need six men in CQ Area, make it snappy," the LT called out.

Lanks popped up, putting my XM-16E1/M-203 on the counter and then hefting my Kevlar and LBE. I caught it with one hand and shrugged into it. I grabbed my rifle without bothering to buckle my LBE, then motioned at her.

"Bandoleer."

She tossed that over and I moved over toward the stairwell. Aine came running in with her rifle and slid to a stop next to me, her LBE and Kevlar vest. I dragged the bandoleer over my head as I headed for the stairwell. The LT was snapping out people's names to cover the hallway and stairwell.

"Same call signs!" the LT yelled as I turned the corner.

"Let's go, Actual!" I called out. I took the steps in one long jump, bouncing off the far wall, turning, and jumping down to the bottom. My boots slipped and I windmilled for a moment before getting my balance.

PFC Warrant was down, on his back. His eyes were open, staring up into the stairwell, with a puddle of blood around his head and upper chest. Someone had slit his throat and lowered him to the ground. Next to him was Pv2 Queens. Someone had slit her throat after pulling her down the stairs and laid her next to Warrant.

Silent takedowns while I dozed behind the CQ desk.

"Stokes, secure their weapons," I said, ducking down and looking around the corner. It was clear, the window still broken, still blowing snow into the hallway. Only two lights were on, and the darkness was pressing on them, trying to extinguish them. I pointed at Bomber and then pointed at the Ready Room. He nodded and dropped his NVG's down, turning them on. I pointed at Stokes and pointed at the split off to the Orderly Room. She nodded and moved out, having opened the weapons up and slid the bolt out so she could drop it in her pocket before tossing the weapons sling over head to body-sling them.

I pointed at King, pointed at the far door, and moved out, knowing he'd follow me without bothering to check. The most we'd done is hang out and drink together, but one night when I got jumped by six box-heads he'd been right there swinging fists and helping me out. That's all I needed to know someone would have my back.

We moved up to the window and I glanced out, hitting the light switch for the back alcove and getting nothing. I reached up out of habit for my NVG's and only found my soft cap.

That's right, my helmet had fallen off during the lightning strikes and now Tandy was probably wearing it or some dead Nazi was putting on my NVG's, or the Abominable Snowman was pawning it for Jell-O pops.

"Whaddya see?" I asked, watching the stairwell entrance.

"Jack and shit except snow. It's really blowing out there," he told me.

Bomber came out of the Ready Room, shaking his head. I pointed at the Orderly Room and he nodded, going after Stokes. I heard him say "One coming in, Actual" as he came up to the corner that would lead him into the Orderly Room.

"You see the Day Room?" King asked me, still keeping eyes on the outside.

"No," I told him. "I was a little busy with one of the Spetz."

He shook his head. "One of them got in with us, we've got people down. Two of them just did more damage than we took up in the motor pool." He took a step back from the window, frowning. "Bomber mentioned their assassination section, I think we just met two of them."

"Yeah." I looked around and moved close. "Sergeant Butcher cut the guard force from eight men to two and then went in and went to bed," I told him.

"You thinking he's in on it?" King asked, looking at me. "You do, don't you." He rubbed his cheek, the rasp of bristles audible suddenly as the wind died for moment. "Dammit, I hope we're just moving into paranoia." The wind picked back up and thunder boomed off in the distance, making us both wince.

"It's 2/19th," I told him. He nodded, I rubbed my scalp through my soft cap. "I just wanted to be a normal soldier, you know?"

King laughed bitterly. "Yeah. So what did you do to end up here, man?"

"Beat up a cop," I admitted. It didn't bother me as bad as it would have when I first got there. The LT outing it to the entire Rear-D had seemed to take the sting out of it, making it just a fact, with no emotional ties. I could still hear him telling everyone that if it had been him it wouldn't have been assault charges, it would have been murder charges.

"No, what did you do after you came in that got you sent here? You were part of the initial draw," King asked. He laughed, a self-mocking sound, "I know what I did. I mean, I'd do it again, but I know what I did."

"Nothing," I told him.

He shook his head. "Bad luck, man. Getting sent here." He sighed. "This place is a goddamn nightmare. I've been with 10th Mountain, Alaska, and First Infantry, and nothing prepared me for this." He looked at me. "Nagle ever tell you why she landed here on her ass?"

"No," I answered.

"Want to know?" he asked. I looked at him and he grinned. "Believe me, everyone knew about it."

"Sure," I told him. "Won't change how I feel about her."

He shook his head. "No. It wouldn't. She walked into a barracks room with a loaded M-16 and put a whole magazine into the guys in the room. I knew a guy in the unit who was in the room next to that one, said that she didn't hose them with full auto, said she used single shot all the way. Think about it, Stillwater. She put thirty fucking bullets into four motherfuckers, one bullet at a time, and took like ten minutes to do it after the first few shots."

...fuck you and your snowmen...

"I can believe it," I told him. "She's hard, but that's what it takes out at Atlas and to survive here."

He nodded. "I did a tour in Alaska, arctic survival trainer, this place is worse."

"Actual, coming back." I heard Bomber's voice.

"Anything?" I asked, turning to look at him.

He shook his head. "Nope," Stokes answered. "Checked the blast shields, they're still down. They didn't come through here."

I slapped the wall between the door and the broken window. "No, they came through here."

"Drop the blast shield?" Bomber asked. I nodded. King flipped up the red case cover, turned the key, held down the button until the display lit up, and then threw what looked like a breaker. Sirens went off and we watched the steel shutters drop down over the window and the door. The hit with a pretty heavy thunk. The wind vanished and it seemed to warm up.

"Let's head back, let the LT know that it's clear down here," I said.

We stopped at the two dead soldiers. I didn't know either of them, they were both in a different platoon than me. King looked stricken while he stared at Queens and I suddenly remembered they were in the same squad.

Bomber knelt down, patting the two dead soldiers until he found their softcaps. He put them over the dead soldier's faces, then we carried them up the stairs. Bomber and I carrying Warrant, King carrying Queens in his arms. Stokes led the way, her M-16 held up in high ready.

"Echo-Five Actual, coming up!" we shouted up the stairs.

SPC Marchant and PFC Wimmels were kneeling in the stairwell. Both of them were sweating, looking nervous, but Wimmel's face grew pained when he saw us carrying Queens. It reminded me that she was a sunny girl who often sang while she worked putting up tents, running electrical or commo lines, or hell, even while she loaded up vehicles. It suddenly struck me that she wouldn't be singing any more, and suddenly field exercises seemed a lot darker.

The lizard snarled and helped me push away the sudden grief that she was gone.

When we went into the CQ Area, the LT moved over and walked beside me as we took the two dead soldiers into the Rec-Room. Someone had put down ponchos on the floor, so we set Queens and Warrant down on the ponchos.

...Warrant's wife was at Graf with the rest of Group, which meant my brother would have to tell her as the Red Cross Rep...

...his wife was pregnant, they already had one kid...

I turned away from them and the LT grabbed my elbow, gently guiding me into the CQ Area with a murmured: "A moment, Corporal."

Aine was standing in the CQ Area, a small smile on her face. Bomber, King, and Stokes followed me out. Stokes was asking King if he was OK, but he just grunted and reminded her to put the weapons she'd recovered in the Day Room.

"Corporal, I need to know if you can put your personal tragedy behind you," the LT said.

I closed my eyes, reaching behind my glasses to pinch the bridge of my nose.

...swimming at the river with Cass...

...Cass and me swinging on the tire swing discussing Star Wars with the seriousness only kids can muster...

...going Trick or Treating with Cass...

"On line, on time," I said, pushing away the memories.

...grieve for the dead after the battle, son, or join them...

...Yes, Father...

"It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that your cousin, Private Cassius Stillwater, was killed in action during a surgical strike by enemy forces. Despite the best care available to him at the time of his injury, the wounds proved fatal and he was dead within seconds," the LT said, his voice cadenced and remote. There was the snap of a rubber band again. "I have already informed the other member of the family present and will inform both the Red Cross and other family members within the unit as soon as I am able."

"Nothing you could do, sir," I told him, turning away from and facing the windows. "I know stab wounds. He was dying when he hit the floor."

The snow was pressed against the window, despite the alcove, the window nothing but white, blameless, a curtain hiding everything.

A shadow moved and I watched it, the LT's continuing words just flowing past me, meaningless, just random sounds that didn't make sense.

...we all know the risks...

"You all right, brother?" Bomber asked me, putting his hand on my shoulder. The LT took a step back, giving us some distance.

"I'll be fine," I told him.

"Ant, I... I tried," Nancy said, coming up next to me.

"He was gone before he hit the ground," I told them. "He knew the risks when he put on the uniform, just like we do."

"Ant..." Nancy tried.

The shape outside split into two. I tightened my grip on my XM-16E1. The need to hurt something, to smash something, had grown into a consuming need. I wanted to run into the Rec-Room and take my boots to the guy I'd shanked. Just brutalize him, hammer on him, take my knife to him.

I wouldn't. He wasn't to blame. Yeah, he'd killed my cousin, but I'd have done the same thing to his cousin if situations had been reversed. Hell, I had killed him, so I didn't hold it against him personally.

Fucking Cold War Bullshit had cost me my cousin.

I just wanted to break something.

The two shapes moved up, getting larger, and they materialized into two men, dressed in Soviet cold weather gear, both holding weapons. The one on my right was holding an AK-47, the other a RPK light machinegun. They didn't raised their weapons at the glass, but rather both reached for the doors.

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" the LT bellowed out as my weapon came up at the same time as Bomber's, Stokes', and King's. Aine stepped to the side, unslinging her weapon.

I could see one of the men look behind him, then suddenly turn around, the RPK falling from his hands as he flattened himself against the glass.

Another shape materialized out of the snow and I went cold all over. It may have only been a dark blurry figure in the snow, but I knew who and what it was.

"No," Bomber whimpered.

"Nononono," Nancy whispered.

I made a small wordless noise of fear as my brain filled in every detail of the newcomer's shadowy form.

The lizard knew the new figure was wearing a parka, heavyset, tall, a cold weather over his face. The mouthflap would be unsnapped, revealing that he was missing in a tooth. One eye would be bloodshot, red and glaring in the harsh lights of the outside alcove.

In his hands would be an axe with 2/19th Motorpool burnt into the handle.

The figure shifted, still only a dark shadow in the snow, and an axe swung out of the snow, coming from the side into the guy in Soviet cold weather gear, hitting the guy center mass, and the man hit the glass with a thunk. Even through the double set of inches thick glass I could hear him scream, could hear the sound as the axe hit the guy. The guy lifted up, his arms falling. I heard Bomber make a pained sound and knew he was reliving when that axe had hit him in the stomach.

Stokes and King were yelling. The LT was yelling for everyone to hold fire.

The guy folded over the axe and the figure grabbed him with one shadowy arm by the head and dragged him into the snow.

The other man was pulling at the doors frantically.

"Get him inside now!" the LT barked.

Aine lunged through the inner door, King and Stokes behind her. Bomber, Nancy and I were stepping backwards, and I was shaking my head in denial of what I saw.

"I killed him. I killed him," Nancy was saying just loud enough to be heard.

Right as Aine reached for the door, a single hand shot out of the snow. A familiar hand that I knew a split second before it appeared that it was too late for the Russian.

The hand grabbed the top of his parka hood, the sharpened fingerbones punching through the cloth. The guy let go of his AK-47, grabbing at the arm, and suddenly vanished, yanked into the snow. I knew he was screaming as he was pulled away from the glass and into the snow, knew that he had probably been screaming when he reached the alcove and glass.

God knows I would have been screaming if I wasn't already frozen up.

"What was that?" was the majority of what was being screamed, yelled, hollered, and swore.

Aine stopped dead, her hands on the pushbar to the door. Stokes had slid to a stop and scrambled backwards, screaming "Tandy!" at the top of her lungs. King had just froze, staring, his weapon dropping.

"Everyone in the CQ Area now!" the LT barked. "Fall in, 2/19th! Private McCullen, get back from the windows!"

Aine stood stock still as Stokes and King backed out of the inside of the 'airlock', staring off into the snow. I was backed up against the trophy case, my inside frozen ice and my head feeling like it was going to split down the back.

Before I could say anything, while people were piling out of the Day Room, Tandy slammed against the glass to the left of the double doors.

His hands were open and pressed against the glass. We could see how the ends of his fingerbones were devoid of flesh, looked razor sharp. How the skin was white on the hands, blackened on the fingers; how the fingers were too long for anything human. His BDU cuffs were only halfway down his forearms, the cuffs frayed and smeared with frozen mud. His BDU top was rimed with frozen mud and ice, torn across the left shoulder, the buttons on the bottom torn away so the bottom of his BDU top was open, exposing the dirty brown T-shirt underneath. His pants were unbloused, his boots scuffed, muddy, and dirty. His short hair was wild, chunks of frost and frozen mud in his hair.

His face was the worst.

His jaw seemed elongated, his mouth was full of black and broken teeth, the corners of his mouth torn so that his smile extended into his cheeks. His eyes were glittering malice, in the middle of deep sunken black pits.

Above where his heart would be was the tag "US ARMY" and above his right pocket was a simple nametag: "TANDY"

Everyone screamed.

Out of the snow, on the right of the doors, loomed the shadowy figure again. He raised the dark shape of an axe over his head and smashed it against the glass.

The glass was multiple layers, thick tempered glass, easily two or three inches thick of quarter inch layers. Where Bomber's bullet had hit, it had only put a shallow cratered hole and a small web of cracks you could cover with a palm.

The axe hit and, instead of rebounding, the outer pane shattered, falling around the axe in tiny squares, cracks extending out from the unshattered panes as the axe bit deep.

Everyone screamed again.

Everyone but Aine.

Aine stepped forward, in front of Tandy, her tiny hand coming up to linger across the glass and stop in front of Tandy's hand.

"Oh, you're beautiful," she said, loud enough to be heard.

The figure on the right had bunched his shoulders to tear the axe free and possibly shatter the glass but at Aine's words he stopped, his head slowly turning toward Aine.

Tandy pushed his nose against the glass, blackish blood oozing from it.

Aine leaned forward, closing her eyes, and kissed the glass in front of Tandy's face.

"Oh, my beloved," she said softly.

Tandy vanished, whirling around and diving into the snow. The figure with the axe stepped backwards, disappearing into the whiteness, leaving the axe behind.

The remaining bulbs in the CQ Area exploded, showering sparks and broken glass down onto the tile, plunging the area into darkness.

"Go to NVG's. Private McCullen, get the fuck away from the windows!" the LT shouted.

I couldn't see anything, my eyes dazzled by the exploding bulbs.

"McCullen, what the fuck are you doing?" the LT shouted. "King, Stokes, cover that little idiot. Goddammit, everyone fall in, get it together. Stillwater!"

"Sir!" I called out.

"Get over here, get Actual formed up!" he shouted.

"Lost my NVG's in the storm, sir, I can't see," I told him, moving toward his voice. I bumped into someone in the darkness and they grabbed my arm, steadying me.

"Corporal Lancer, retrieve a pair of NVG's from the deceased's gear," the LT snapped. "Corporal Stillwater, stand fast next to me. What the hell is she doing?"

"Bomber, what's she doing?" I asked. The purple spots in my vision from where the bulbs blew out were fading.

Bomber was silent for a moment, then leaned into me. "She just used her knife to cut some of her hair and is using that hair to wipe up the black shit Tandy left on the window."

"Sir, I need to rearm Actual, some of our weapons are damaged, we've expended ammunition, and I don't think I'm going to replace anyone. Six should do it," I told him.

"If you are sure," the LT said, his voice returning to the dispassionate monotone. I knew he was watching everyone form up. "Get with the rest of Actual and then wait behind the CQ desk for me so I can plan out our next steps."

"Yes, sir," I told him in the darkness.

Someone bumped into me, and pushed a helmet into my hands. I plonked it onto my head and found it fit, a little loose, but my softcap helped. I snapped the chinstrap and reached up to drop down the NVG's. My fingers found the little dime sized button and I flipped it to ambient IR.

The CQ Area came into focus, all dark greens, with highlights where other soldier's IR lamps added to the light. Aine was outside the doors, scooping up the two Russian weapons and slinging them. She grabbed the axe with one hand and tugged on it. I saw frustration and anger appear on her face as she tugged on it again. She grabbed it with both hands and pulled on the double-bitted axe, but it didn't budge. She let go and came inside, pulling the outside doors shut behind her.

"Actual, over here," I called out, moving over by the desk. I checked my XM-16E1, noting that the chrome coated bolt needed cleaning off. The buttstock crack hadn't gotten bigger, and the battered square front handgrip wasn't in any worse shape than it had been. I'd lost the sight for my M-203 somewhere, but it didn't really matter since I didn't use it even when I was at the range.

Bomber tromped up, and in the green light he looked almost surreal. He had a pair of butterfly stitches under his eye. Missing half of his mustache made him look weird as hell, and the side of his face was covered in Silvadene. Stokes, King, and Nagle all looked weird, bruised faces and a spot of Silvadene on their jaw under their helmet straps. Aine looked perfectly calm and was playing with something in her fingers after she dropped the weapons in front of the LT and came over.

"King, go down and replace that M-60 with a new one. Get another gunner's bag and bring up two or three boxes of seven point six two. Bomber, grab .45's for everyone." I shook my head. "Stick together, don't fuck around, anyone even looks at you funny, any shadows clump up really weird, any noises sound wrong, hose the whole area down full auto and blow it all in place." I looked at them all. "Grab extra NVG's from the extras, double basic loads, any extra 40mm's you can find, and bayonets all around. Stokes, secure us a radio and an extra battery."

"Roger that. Let's move, Actual," Bomber said, taking the keys I was holding out to him. I moved over around the CQ Desk and stood there, staring at Major Mallory, who was asleep.

I had to restrain an urge to go over there and take the knife to him. Just cut on him, not to get any information, but to bring pain.

He was the reason my cousin was dead. He was the reason Queen was laying dead. He was the reason Warrant's wife was a widow and his kids had to grow up without a father.

I took one slow step forward when I heard James say my name. I turned and looked at him. He was standing in the opening.

"What?" I asked, my hand still on my knife.

"About Cass..." he started. I held up my hand.

"Just stop," I told him. He looked startled. "We don't have time, James. We're still in a shitload of trouble." I felt that singing emptiness inside, the rage inside of me the only thing filling it. "We'll talk about it if we survive."

"Will we, Ant?" he asked. He looked worried. Not afraid, just worried.

"I will do everything in my power to ensure that as many as possible from Rear Detachment survive, Private Stillwater," the LT said, coming up behind him. "However, we have engaged the enemy in combat and that means that chaos and uncertainty reign." James looked at him, startled, and I saw goosebumps raise on James' arms. "Move to the Rec-Room, that is where Rear Detachment is forming up."

James looked at me and I nodded; the LT didn't say anything. James headed for the Rec-Room and the LT came in and sat down, motioning at me to take the other chair. When I did so he was silent for a long time.

"Corporal Stillwater, I am in need of your advice," the LT started. I almost said 'me?' but then closed my mouth. The LT nodded and continued. "Indeed, you. You survived over a week in conditions worse than this, without weapons, without leadership. There are too many access points to this area, and we've taken serious casualties already." I nodded. "What would you suggest?" He noticed my doubtful look, smiling under his NVG's. "Suggestions from you will give me a better tactical and strategic picture, allow me to formulate a plan of action that will increase our chances of surviving this challenge that faces us."

I sighed and rubbed my cheek under the helmet strap, jerking my hand away from my cheek when the edge of my palm caught the spot under the snap. Nancy had cut away the skin before dabbing on the Silvadene in order to prevent infection.

"We're going to have to pull back to the War Fighter tunnels, sir," I told him. "They're highly defensible, secondary armories, communications equipment that might enable you contact someone to come to our rescue, and a morgue as well as a medbay." I shrugged. "Just one problem..."

"That gives the enemy the run of the barracks as well as access to whatever equipment and-or data they might have been assigned to capture and/or destroy." He nodded. He sat silent for a second, holding up his hand for silence. "That is our best option, sadly. We'll have to pull back to the War Fighter tunnels and hope that the security mechanisms work."

I nodded, thinking. The lizard was tossing up plans, and one seemed like a good one.

The LT stood up, looking at Major Mallory. "We will take the prisoner with us. Perhaps some questioning can shed some light on our situation."

"I can do that," I growled, drawing my knife. I expected him to stop me, but instead he just stood up and followed me.

I slapped Major Mallory across the face. He jerked awake and said something that was muffled.

"What are those assholes here for and where's the Colonel?" I asked, grabbing the gag and pulling it free.

"Fuck you, you little punk," was all he said.

"Major Mallory, I regret to inform you that it is my responsibility to ensure that the men and women under my command are led to safety, and at this time circumstances had made it impossible to post a guard upon you, nor am I able to relocate you to a place of safety," the LT said, standing at parade rest. "At this time, sir, I believe that leaving you with Corporal Stillwater during the withdrawal of Rear Detachment is your best chance at safety."

"What? You can't leave me with him..." Mallory said.

"Major, you are currently a prisoner suspected of collaborating with enemy forces, and I did not give you leave to speak," the LT said, that cool and detached tone coming back to his voice.

I just punched Major Mallory in the face. He screamed and sagged forward when I buried my fist into his gut and stepped back.

"That is acceptable at this time," the LT stated, waving me back. I moved back. "Now, as to my first question: who are you working with?"

"Fuck you too, James, you think I'm going to..."

"Corporal Stillwater?" The LT waved at me.

I stepped forward and slapped him hard enough to almost knock him and the chair over, quickly slapping him from the other direction, and then punching him in the thigh.

"You fucking dick..." Mallory said.

"Who are you working with?" James asked.

"What the hell, sir?" Sergeant Butcher asked. He moved quickly up to us and grabbed me. "What the hell is going on?"

"Major Mallory has given aid to enemy forces that have since killed multiple members of my command, and has proven himself to be a traitor to the United States of America's government, citizens, military services, and his comrades in arms," the LT said. There was the snap of the rubberband. "He has information that is time sensitive and vital to our survival." I started to get an uneasy feeling and sheathed my knife.

"You can't beat it out of him," Sergeant Butcher said.

I turned and looked at him. "Let go of me, Sergeant," I growled.

He looked at me, his unreadable behind the NVG's. "Shut up, Stillwater."

I grabbed his thumb and bent it backwards, staring at him as he grabbed my hand with his other one even as I kept bending his thumb back. "Don't fucking touch me," I snarled at him.

"Release the Sergeant, Corporal," LT James said, still staring at Major Mallory. "Sergeant Butcher, gather up Rear Detachment, assign personnel to transport the deceased of our detachment. We're falling back to the War Fighter tunnels."

I let go of Sergeant Butcher, who balled his fists.

"Stand down, Sergeant!" the LT snapped, not even turning around, and I heard the snap of the rubberband again. "Carry out my orders, or I will find someone who can."

"Sir, I protest your using physical force against a superior officer of the United States Army," Sergeant Butcher said. He was shaking slightly, and I knew he was angry as hell, but I was willing him to try to jump me. Behind me, the rubberband snapped.

The rubberband snapped. "Carry out my orders, Sergeant," the LT repeated, his voice becoming heated.

"Not unless you guarantee Major Mallory's safety, sir," Sergeant Butcher said, still breathing heavy. There was a pop of the rubberband on flesh again. I turned to look at the LT, the lizard hissing at something.

A muscle was twitching on the side of the LT's jaw. "You've got your own problems, Sergeant," he grated. The rubberband snapped twice as he spoke.

"Like what, sir." The last part was said almost with a sneer.

There was the snap of a rubberband again. "Like you should consider (snap) what answers you will (snap) have for me when I formally (snap) question your decisions (snap) regarding the (snap) guard force (snap) that was on (snap) duty when (snap) two (snap) Soviet (snap) covert (pop, I saw the rubber band break and fall to the floor) action specialists killed my goddamn men. you fucking incompetent shitheel!" The last part was shouted, and the LT spun in place. His face was furious and I could tell it was darkening even though it was just shades of green. "Those are my goddamn men lying dead in there, you puffed up shit gobbling moron! Mine!" He took a step forward, reaching toward Sergeant Butcher. "It was your fucking decision to alter my goddamn guard roster, yours! And now MY FUCKING MEN ARE DEAD!" The last part came out in an enraged bellow.

Without understanding why, I stepped between LT James and Sergeant Butcher, putting my rifle against the LT's chest to stop him as the LT reached for Butcher, the tendons standing out on the back of his hands. "Sir! Sir! We don't have time for this!" I yelled. "They're regrouping right now, if they aren't launching an attack. Sir, we need you."

I didn't want him to throw away his career. Officers didn't need to dirty their hands like that. When the LT stepped back, I turned to Sergeant Butcher, who was standing there with a shocked look on his face.

"You want him, fine, go get him," I growled, waving at Major Mallory. I turned back to LT James. "Sir, I'll get Actual together, we'll go ahead of you, secure the entrance to the War Fighter tunnels," I told him.

Sergeant Butcher moved past me, pulling his pilot's knife off his LBE. I secretly hoped he tried to turn on us, but instead he just cut Major Mallory's bonds.

"Thank you, Sergeant," Major Mallory said, standing up and rubbing his wrists. He glared at me. "I'll remember your actions, you little shit."

The LT started to turn and I grabbed his arms. "Sir, please, sir."

LT James straightened, acting as if I wasn't holding onto his biceps. "You are right, Corporal. Please, pardon my outburst, I was not thinking clearly. Let my actions and words serve to instruct you that combat fatigue can strike anyone." He shrugged slightly and I let go, moving to the side as he went past me and stopped in the CQ Area.

"Sergeant Butcher, please escort the prisoner to the Rec Room," he said calmly. I saw his hand move to his wrist, and that muscle rippled along the side of his jaw when his fingers found nothing but bare skin. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his winter BDU's and rolled his shoulders as if he was shifting his Kevlar vest and LBE to a more comfortable position. Sergeant Butcher and Major Mallory moved past me and I put one hand on my .45 as they did so, smiling at them. Sergeant Butcher sneered, but Mallory couldn't see me in the darkness.

The doors to the Rec-Room closed behind the three of them and I stood by myself in the cold dark of the CQ Area. I'd left my XM-16E1 on the table, and I picked it up again, noting again how it felt weirdly wrong in my hands. The lizard hated it, I could tell. He hated the feel of it, the weight, the shape.

Someone had tried to mop up the blood from where Cass had been killed and I'd stabbed the Spetz to death, leaving dark streaks on the cream of the tile. It was weird, the tile was a pale green, the dark streaks from the mop a dark green.

The door to the stairwell banged open and I whipped my weapon up, aiming at the stairwell.

Bomber ignored my aimed weapon, M-60 ammo across his chest from right to left, the bandoleer of 40mm grenades going from left to right. Aine came next, the M-60 gunner bag bouncing on her right hip, opposite of her mask, two belts of 7.62mm crisscrossing her chest, Stokes' ruck in her right hand and an ammo can in the other. Stokes had three Claymore bags hanging from her neck, tucked into her LBE, a radio on her back, and two boxes of M-60 ammo in her hands. Nancy had her aid bag, two padded fag-bags around her neck, and two ammo cans used to hold grenades in her hands. King came last, a new pig in his arms, climbing cord with multiple D-rings hanging off of them around his neck, his thigh cargo pockets bulging out, belts of M-60 ammo across his chest, and like everyone else, two .45's jammed into his LBE.

"Actual, over here," I told them. They gathered up and I looked at Stokes. "That radio already set?" I asked.

"Did a commo check downstairs, Corporal Lancer answered," Stokes said.

"Good. We're going to go first and secure the War Fighter tunnels. Let's move out," I told them, heading for the door. We went through the stairwell, cutting back into Titty Territory and heading toward the mid-way stairwell.

We were silent till the mid-way point, where I slowed down. "The LT and the others are going to fort up in the War Fighter tunnels..." I started, then told them my plans.

I went first, making sure the way was clear, since I was the only one who had their hands free. The stairwell was dark, with wind sweeping down around us and carrying snowflakes. At the bottom of the stairwell we checked under the stairs, found nobody, and I waved Stokes over.

She knelt down next to me and I grabbed the mic, keying it.

"Echo-Five Alpha, this is Echo-Five Actual, do you read?"

The radio hissed, crackled, then Lancer's voice came. "We read you, Echo-Five Actual, what's your status. Over?"

"At rendezvous point. Holding position until further notice. Over." The static echoed through the stairwell.

"Roger that, Actual. We're enroute. Over," Lancer said.

"Roger. Actual clear," I said, then dropped the mic into the frame.

"We'll hold here. Stokes, King, go up and hold the landing, I don't want them walking into an ambush," I said. Both of them set down what they were carrying in their hands, hefting their M-16's and heading up the stairs.

When the echoes faded, Nancy moved over next to me. She touched my arm lightly. "You all right, Ant?" she asked. "I'm sorry about Cass. He seemed like a good guy."

"He was," I said. Nancy nodded, kissed my chin, our helmets clonking together and our NVG's clicking, then stepped back.

Bomber socked my shoulder, and things were all right.

Time seem to drag by. The cold seeped into my skin and bone, the darkness seemed to get closer. Bomber tried the light switch three times and got nothing. Finally the door to the stairwell opened above us and I heard: "Echo Five Alpha coming in."

"How many?" King asked.

"Twenty-two," PFC Metzger said. "We've got a lot of dead."

Nancy bowed her head and I saw Bomber flinch. There had been thirty-eight of us counting my cousins and Aine. I'd lost three men at the motorpool, four had vanished, Cass had been stabbed in front of me, the two men on guard had been killed. That was ten right there. Which meant six people had been killed in the Day Room, or seven if they were counting Major Mallory in the twenty-two.

We were getting nickel and dimed to death.

Metzger was first down, and he was helping Lancer carry a body. I knew by the size it was Queens even though the head and torso were wrapped in a poncho. They set down her body and at Bomber's hand signal went through the door to secure the hallway. Under the stairwell wasn't that big. Big enough for the door to swing open and maybe a half dozen people, but not much more. Nancy caught the door before it could close and dropped the chock, moving back over by me afterwards. She leaned slightly against me, her arm warming mine. Major Mallory's hands were zip-tied behind his back and Pv1 Crespin had a .45 pointed at the back of the Major's head.

The LT came down last. He looked around for a moment and then waved at the heavy vault door at the back of the stairwell. "Corporal Stillwater, I could not find any of the keycards behind the CQ Area. Do you have a suggestion on how to open the door?" The angry, bellowing man was gone, as if he had never existed, and the cool, remote officer had returned.

I pulled out my green notebook and flipped through the pages until I found the list of codes I'd written down. I showed it to him. "Emergency codes." He nodded.

"Those are secure codes, Corporal, how did you get them?" Major Mallory asked.

"I don't know. Maybe the same way some dipshit handed off all the secure site data to a bunch of..." I started. The LT put his hand on my forearm.

"This does no good, Corporal. The door, if you would," he said.

I nodded, moving over to the control panel. I flipped up the black plastic cover and stared at the revealed controls. I flipped up the switch, then held my thumb on the button until the shitty LED readout lit up. I held the codebook against the wall with one hand and punched in the code with the other.

Backwards and lowered by one.

Not much of a code, but the best I could do.

There was a snap as the bolts retracted and a siren cut loose in the distance. The one under the stairs gave a squawk and blew out in a shower of sparks that had the speakers drop onto the tile.

The LT stepped forward, grabbed the wheel, and spun it until it clanked. Once he finished he pulled on the door, obviously expecting it to be extremely heavy. Nobody snickered when the counter-balanced door swung easily open and he almost busted his ass. The cylindrical hallway, flattened on the bottom, lit up as the lights came on with an audible clack. I wondered briefly if there was some device that made that noise, since lights shouldn't make that sound.

"Everyone inside, double-time it," the LT said. Everyone went by, and my little group, Echo-Five Actual, stood there and watched.

Finally only we were outside the door. The LT stepped inside and then turned to look at me.

"Come on, Corporal, we have a lot of work to do," he said.

"Sorry, sir, but you have your duty, we have ours," I told him.

"What?" he asked, frowning.

"Good luck, sir," I said.

Bomber pushed off from the far wall with his legs against the heavy steel door, the door quickly slamming shut with an echoing boom. Nagle grabbed the wheel and spun it, locking it in place with a clack that echoed through the steps. I stepped forward and pulled down the little breaker, the snap it made echoing loudly in the stairwell. That cut the power to the panel, and the penny I jammed into it would prevent it from snapping up if the breaker on the panel on the inside of the tunnel was snapped up. If both of them didn't pop up, the only way to unlock the tunnel was to use the control panels in the master control stations.

And it would take a while for someone to figure out how to do that.

Long enough to do what needed to be done.

There was three feet of case hardened steel vault door between the rest of Rear-D and us. They were safe inside the War Fighter tunnels. It would take a nuke to dig them out of there.

We were in the dark and cold, in a barracks that had the winter let in.

"Well, this was a good idea," Bomber said in the dark.

"2/19th. Finish the fight," Nancy said softly.

"Finish the fight," the rest of us joined in.

"Kurt Russell time," I said.

"Hooah," they answered.

Somewhere above us the sound of tap-shoes on tile sounded, and a little girl's giggle floated down to us.

We stood in the darkness of the bottom of the middle stairwell in silence for a long moment, just the sound of our breathing and a clicking sound coming from somewhere far above us. Our breath steamed out in front of us, and everything was painted in shades of green from my NVGs, turning the breath into bright whitish-green plumes. Aine held her lip between her teeth, her empty headed look gone, instead an intentness around her eyes. King was looking down at the pig in his hands, toying with the charging lever. Bomber was looking at me with a grin below his NVG's, one arm thrown over Nagle.

The sight of Aine caused a twinge inside of me as a memory of her, Cass, and I playing together with my brother and James, building a fort out of cardboard boxes, jumping off the roof and into Aunt Jolie's swimming pool, Cass and me tying a great big Irish Setter to the wagon and riding around behind him while laughing.

I crushed the memories and the pain under boiling red hot rage.

"The LT's gonna be pissed," Bomber said.

I made a non-commital grunt.

"He'll live," Bomber said. "We need a place to store our extra gear, and we need to gear up properly."

"How about our room?" Nagle asked, bending down and picking up the two ammo cans.

"No way, they've got to figure we'll head back there," King said. "They had to have stationed men there to take us out."

"It's what I'd do." Bomber nodded.

"Yeah, we walk into your room and they'll be waiting to kill us," Stokes said.

"Like they did to Cass," Aine said, and sniffled a little. "Poor Cassie."

"So they'll be waiting," I growled, clenching my hands around my M-16. The square forward grip crackled. "I think I'd like that."

Aine sighed with pleasure.

"Actual, let's move out," I said.

We moved out.

We had our duty: "I will not allow secure data or items to fall into enemy hands. I will destroy or remove all secure items and data to the best of my ability, and resist with force any attempt by the enemy to acquire that data or items."