"Aine looked human, but I knew better.

And Alfenwehr stripped her of her meager disguise in

the dark and cold of the War Fighter Tunnels as we howled

our bloodlust and the metal met the meat.

Everyone in the cold and dark with her saw her as I saw her.

Something not quite human. Something as primeval as the

forests her bloodline dwelled in since humans wore animal skins."

Warfighter Tunnels

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 sound of automatic weaponry echoed in the tunnels and without thinking I broke into a run, heading down the hallway. "Let's go, Actual!" Bomber called out behind me and I knew they were behind me. I swapped out the APERS in my 203 for a Willy Pete round on the run, figuring it was better than the meat-axe I had loaded.

The tunnel was curved for blast deflection, but still led further into the mountain. The lights were still on, and our boots hammered on the steel grate and then the brushed steel plates that made up the floor. The gear I was carrying was heavy, but months of training made it so I barely even noticed it. I could hear the rattling of the gear that we hadn't or couldn't be secured as we hoofed it down the hallway. The hallway widened and narrowed around us; we passed the choke points and four sets of blast shields. Twice the hallway curved.

The Nazis had built the tunnels originally, the Army Corps of Engineers had expanded on them and fortified them, modernized them.

When we rounded the corner we could see the control center up ahead. The lights were on. I saw what looked like Corporal Lancer pop up from behind one of the ballistic shields, fire off a burst, and duck back down.

"Down!" King snapped, and we all dove to the floor a split second before bullets howled over our heads. I pushed myself up on my elbows and started crawling as fast as I could.

"Echo-Five Actual coming in!" I bellowed out, wishing I could get better traction on the steel with my boots. More bullets howled over us, and King swore, but we kept moving. I saw the LT come around the edge of one of the ballistic shields, on his stomach, waving us forward.

A grenade went off and several of the drop ceiling panels fell down on us, one shattering on my helmet. Someone started screaming up there, and I pushed it harder, scrambling as fast as I could.

Corporal Lancer popped up again, I could see that the side of his face wasbleeding and his helmet missing. He fired another quick burst and ducked down again. Weaponsfire came from the direction he was facing, my right, as well as on his left, across from me. The bullets whipped overhead and one of the lights shattered. My brain automatically ran the angle and I knew that whoever was in the tunnel across from us was laying prone.

I managed to get up to the LT and he nodded. "We're under attack from two directions. Not sure how they got in." I nodded, waving King forward. "We've got three down, one in that grenade blast, six wounded."

"Roger that. What do you want us to do?" I asked. King came forward, dragging the pig beside him.

"What happened out there?" the LT asked.

"We encountered and killed four of the fake SEAL team, three Vympel, and found out just what the shit is going on," I told him. More bullets howled overhead and Lancer popped back up, firing his weapon, and barely dropped back down before the return fire took his head off. He bobbed slightly, the top of his head barely coming up over the edge of the ballistic shield, and he dropped back down as bullets went by.

"Fuck you! I ain't no bitch!" Lancer yelled. "Thomson, gimme another mag! Goddamn it, Thomson, gimme another mag!"

"King, give LT James your bag of grenades," I tossed over my shoulder. "Where do you need us?"

"Take Bravo, we'll cover Delta," the LT yelled loud enough to be heard over the roar of the weapons. The fag-bag of grenades thumped next to him and he grabbed the strap and dropped the loop over his helmet.

"Roger that. Actual, follow me to Bravo tunnel!" I yelled out. I started crawling forward, trying to ignore the bullets flying around. We crawled around the control panels, and when I spotted Lanks tying a field dressing on Clemins' leg I waved at them. "Nancy, help out Lanks."

I saw Nancy alter course to help the other woman, pulling that SF aid bag around where she could get at. Lanks had blood all over her face and arms, the only clean skin where tears were tracking down her face.

Lancer popped around the side, fired quickly, then ducked back, stuck his M-16 over the top of the ballistic barrier, and held down the trigger, doing the old infantry spray and pray. "Eat it, bitches!" he bellowed out, pulling the weapon down and grabbing a magazine off the floor to reload. "Take Rummels ammo pouch and toss it to me, goddamn it, Thomson! He's fucking dead, he doesn't need the goddamn ammo!" A grenade landed next to him and without pausing he grabbed it and flipped it over his shoulder onto the other side of the ballistic barrier in a high looping arc. "No thanks, you keep it!" The grenade went off and he popped back off, firing a few times and dropping back down. "Goddamn it, Thomson, I'm shot too but you don't hear me crying about it! Hand me that fucking ammo!"

Lancer may have been a dick, but apparently that didn't mean he wasn't a good man in fight. He'd always said he'd kick ass in combat, funny that for once the big shit talker turned out to be a bad motherfucker.

I was glad to have him with us.

SPC Melkin and PFC Dobbs were behind the near combat shield. Melkin was pounding on the side of his weapon, trying to get the brass cartridge out of the chamber. It had only partially ejected when the bolt slammed forward and crushed it, jamming the weapon. Dobbs was reloading her weapon, her face pale but determined. Her face was puffed up around her right eye and it looked like she was bleeding from a dozen or so spots on her face. Shrapnel, either from a grenade or a bullet that shattered. Across at the middle shield was Pvt Sherry and PFC Artain, both of them ducked down and flinching as bullets hit the heavy steel plate that had a concrete core. I couldn't blame them, someone was hammering the hell out of it pretty steadily. If either showed an inch of skin around the plate they'd get it blown off in a hot heartbeat. On the other side one person were ducked down, the other sprawled face down in a pool of blood and I couldn't tell who either was.

"They've got at least six, they're at the first bend," Melkin yelled at me. I gave him the thumbs up and crawled forward. Dobbs leaned around the ballistic shield and pounded a half dozen rounds downrange, ducking back right before bullets hit the shield and the armored back of the console behind her.

"Melkin!" Aine yelled out. He looked over as Aine slid him one of the extra M-16's she had on her back. "It's loaded!" Melkins nodded in appreciation, grabbing out at it, yanking his hand back when bullets hit the steel flooring around it, then reaching out and grabbing it, yanking it back despite the bullets. I pressed myself against the wall next to the corridor. I pointed at King, then at the corridor. He nodded and moved up next to me.

"I'll give 'em something to worry about, you hammer them," I told him. "Actual, fix bayonets," I called out, pulling the bayonet out of the sheathe on my LBE belt and following my own command.

"Roger that," King answered. He laid down in front of me, the M-60 held up slightly. I reached down to my ammo pouch and pulled one of the frags off of it. A glance showed me everyone had fixed bayonets, same as I had. Aine bent down to slide King's bayonet on his M-16 that was slung across his back, leaving the sheathe on the blade so he didn't stab himself in the ass. I nodded, held out the grenade, held it to my chest, pulled the pin, and milked it.

"FRAG OUT!" I yelled, whipping it around the corner. It went off two seconds later and King rolled out in the hallway, socketing the M-60 against his shoulder and pulling the trigger as soon as it was settled. The LMG roared and the brass and links of the frangible belt bounced all of the steel. Aine scurried up behind him, grabbing his legs and dragging him back toward in the between two of the ballistic shields. He let it run through the short belt he had on it, not bothering with aiming, just throwing a shitload of lead downrange.

"Let's go, Actual! Give us cover fire, Alpha!" I shouted when the LMG cut out. King rolled next to Dobbs as I came around the corner and into the tunnel, belly flopping onto the steel and getting a good look at the hallway. There was two down, one squirming, and the lights were out over them with the drop ceiling tiles broken and fallen to the floor. The six soldiers behind us started banging over our heads as we crawled forward. Someone popped around the curve and blood spattered from him as someone behind us caught him square.

The tunnels were designed to hold, with choke points and barriers, a curve in it to keep any enemy coming down from having a straight shot at the control room. It widened and narrowed to allow defenders to have cover while keeping the aggressor from having any cover.

They must have hit with surprise, having already pushed all the way into the tunnels, otherwise you could hold the tunnel with six people. If they'd been trained to. The unit was supposed to train to hold the tunnels, use them, but from what I'd heard the goddamn things were never opened, nobody ever trained to hold them.

Someone held their weapon around the curve and pulled the trigger. The barrel looked as wide as a truck, the flame looked as if it was going to reach out and burn my face off. My weapon came up without thinking and I pulled the trigger on the M-203, the round flying out and I heard it clank off the wall, my brain computing the trajectory automatically, knowing that it bounced off the wall and further down the corridor.

It went off and the AK-47 vanished. There were shouts and someone started screaming. I knew that sound, someone was in agony and I knew that more than likely they just took a face full of burning white phosphorous.

...you knew the risks when you put on the uniform...

No animosity, not hatred like I felt for the CIA goons, but I did feel sympathy for whoever was screaming. I had little white specks on my left arm around the scar where they'd put in the plate. Only we'd had mud to slap on the wound, but it still hurt like hell. My left arm throbbed in sympathy as he kept screaming.

Bomber wiggled ahead of me, having rolled to the other side of the corridor. He tossed a grenade ahead of him, yelling "FRAG OUT!" as it wobbled through the air and vanished around the corner. We kept crawling forward even when it went off with a loud crack. Shrapnel whined around us, not many fragments, but I hated shrapnel. Bullets had names on them, shrapnel read "occupant" and didn't give a shit. The screaming stopped, but the hallway was filling with smoke.

"Move up, Actual!" I yelled, scrambling for the corner. "Keep up the pressure."

"Cover!" Bomber yelled. Stokes echoed him.

"Moving!" I yelled back out of reflex, hearing Aine answer from behind me. We reached the first chokepoint and I cracked open my 203, pulled free the expended shell casing, held it up for the others to see it, yelled "FRAG OUT!" and threw it around the corner. I followed it, rolling into the middle of the hallway.

I heard boots pounding behind me and King slammed down the floor next to me into the chokepoint cover, the M-60 bouncing as he grunted. He had about a foot of ammo hanging off of it. The smoke was stinging my eyes, but no worse than the cordite from the weapons.

Up ahead the tunnel banked the other way and the lizard hissed as I saw someone roll out into the middle of the corridor through the gathering haze of the WP smoke grenade. I pulled the trigger on my rifle and knew I'd missed him. Bomber had hit the chokepoint cover on my right and banged out three shots. The Russian didn't stop when he rolled onto his stomach, instead rolling half again, his arms out loose and legs kicked out.

We had a long way to push them back, I had no idea how many were left. There were five dead in the corridor already, counting the one Bomber had just killed, and I knew there was a guard point up ahead, which opened up into an arrowhead that pointed toward us. This one led to the chowhall, which meant it ran a quarter-mile under the ground before arcing sharply outward to terminate beneath the chow-hall. I could see the smoke swirling in the top of the passage, where the broken ceiling tiles revealed the vents. I cursed.

What little cover the smoke had given us was going to be sucked away by the goddamn ventilation system, and we'd be charging back into superior numbers. The lizard was tracking my progress through the tunnels, constantly updating the status of Actual, the probable status of the enemy, and distance we'd managed to retake.

We'd gone less than a hundred yards according to the lizard's map.

Five of the Russians were down, that meant there were supposedly two left. The smoke curled around us and when I pushed myself to my feet my hand stung, burning, but I ignored it. The lizard made another mark on my silloutte.

...sometimes you got no choice but to charge, boy...

"Let's go, Actual!" I yelled, running up to the next curve. I didn't stop at the cover position but instead came around the corner, clamping down the trigger and just spraying as I moved, the lizard adding his hissing to my howls of blood lust. Both of the Russians were running for the far end, but my fire missed them completely. Bullets went by me from someone crouched at the arc of the next curve but I ignored them, bulling forward.

"Come on, you apes, do you wanna live forever?" King bellowed, and I knew he and Stokes had my back.

One of the bullets howling down the corridor hit me in the upper right chest, feeling like a horse had kicked me, but I gritted my teeth and powered through it, still moving. The lizard added that to the outline of my body too, but according to the lizard it wasn't that big of a deal so I ignored it.

Bomber howled something in Russian, but all three men vanished around the corner as we pounded after them.

"TWO NINETEENTH!" Dobbs yelled out, her voice hoarse from the cordite.

"FINISH THE FIGHT" we all called out after it, the lizard screeching for blood. I could hear the LT's voice joining us and the sound of boots hammered behind us.

We came around the corner and it was a straight shot with a multiple chokes where the hallway opened up and tightened in inverted arrowheads. I heard Bomber grunt and King yell "Takes more than that, motherfucker!" as we kept hammering down the hallway.

"PUSH 'EM INTO THE SNOW!" My voice was loud in the tunnel, my best 'be heard over everything' voice I'd learned in Basic Training.

They were ten paces away, trying to close the door, when the one pushing went down with blood spraying from his neck. Bomber put on a burst of speed and hit the door with his shoulder, bracing his boots. I hit it next, putting my back into it, then Stokes hit, then King was there. We strained, the lizard slapping a button on his panel and a sudden surge of strength filling me as we all pushed back against the Russians. The door began moving the other way and I dropped back, darting through the gap and whirling.

Two men were pushing on the door and the lizard snarled at the sight of them. I shoved my bayonet into the side of the first one and pulled the trigger to blow him clear. The other one was pulling his weapon around but I lunged forward again in another perfect form hit, pulling the trigger out of reflex hammered into me during Basic Training. I guided him down with the rifle, putting my foot on his torso and yanking the bayonet free.

"Let's go, Actual!" I howled, spinning and heading for the stairs. On my left was the tiny room where they kept the cook's extra rifles, masks, NVG's, and whatever else they might need.

...get thar firstest with the mostest...

The stairs took us up to the storeroom; the door to the storeroom was wrenched open with a crowbar that had been left on the floor. The crowbar clanged on the floor when I caught it with the toe of my boot and it skipped across the concrete and bounced off the wall.

"Going right!" I called out, pivoting and heading out past the cooking line, and into the main part of the dining facility. The chairs were upside down on the tables, the plastic covers on the juice machines and soda machines. The buffet was covered in plastic and plywood covered the windows to protect them from the pounding wind and the storms that wracked the top of the mountain. Three tables had the chairs pulled down, scattered Russian ration containers in the trash can next to it and the ashtrays neatly circled in the middle table. On one table was cold weather gear, climbing gear, a radio, and maps held down by salt, pepper, and Mrs. Dash containers. The lizard scanned the room, watching through my eyes, searching the dark shadows that were barely lit by the four or five lights that were lit up.

The room was clear.

...Kurt Russel time...

The double doors at the far end were chained, I had no idea where the keys to the locks were, but that didn't matter. I cracked open my 203, dug out the shell and dropped it into a thigh pocket, and slid a new one in.

"203 out!" Accompanied the 'bloop' from the underslung grenade launcher. It hit the doors and they burst open in an explosion, the heavy steel deformed and the windows shattered. I loaded up another HE round, aimed it at the ceiling at the far end, and pulled the trigger. The roof exploded out, the snow swirling in through the door joined by the wind and snow from the dark sky. The lizard danced around, delighting in the destruction, in the sheer joy of breaking shit. What can I say, he was a little primeval.

Crashing came from behind me and I knew that Bomber, King, and Stokes were kicking open doors, making sure that the dining facility was useless for shelter. That means kick in the doors, break the windows, ensure that the wind and snow can get in, that it can't hold heat.

Dobbs came up the stairs, panting, the side of her face still bleeding everywhere.

"Stand fast, Dobbs," I snapped. She pulled up short, pulling her weapon up at port arms. I grabbed her field dressing off her LBE and torn it open with my teeth. "Your eye, still work?"

"No, Corporal," she said. The eyelid was closed and I could see two cuts in it oozing blood as well as blood seeping from between her eyelid. That whole side of her face was bleeding and swollen. She was grinding her teeth. "I'm fit to fight, Corporal."

"Just hold still, soldier," I told her, pushing her Kevlar off. Melkin picked it up, moving to the side, as I put the pad against her eye and started winding the cloth around her head. "Best I can do, get checked by Nagle when we get back."

"Roger, Corporal," she said. Her back was ramrod straight, she was reloading her weapon without looking at it. I tied a knot with the end of the cloth strips on either side of the bandage, right over the pad, to put some pressure on her wound. The lizard wanted to throw her on the floor so we could tear each other's clothing off and breed right on the floor. I ignored him and slapped her shoulder when I was done. Melkin put her helmet back on her head and then tilted Dobbs' head back so he could snap her chinstrap into place.

"Get back down to the Ready Room down there, wait for us. Hold that position."

"Yes, Corporal," she said, Melkin followed her without any prompting. They stopped Sherry from coming up.

Bomber came back, grinning under his helmet. He had a hand pressed to his side and was panting heavy. "This place is fucked, let's clear the Dispensary tunnel." He slid the crowbar he'd picked up into his LBE. The lizard updated the map, showing me how it would go. He tossed up options, but we didn't have many. I chose the most basic one.

Charge into them again.

"Actual, let's go!" I called out. The wind whipped around us, carrying heavy snowflakes. Aine, Stokes, and King came in, Aine panting, her face flushed across the cheeks and her nose.

"I know why you boys do this now," she panted as we headed down the stairs. The lizard snarled in hatred at her voice, but I ignored his urging to tear her throat out and leave her in a pool of her own blood.

"Freak," Stokes said, but laughed. So did Aine, so I didn't bother turning around. My side hurt, but I blew it off; the lizard said it wasn't that big of a deal and I believed him. I couldn't feel heat around or below the impact point so I knew that the bullet hadn't penetrated my Kevlar, but goddamn did it hurt. The vest stopped the bullet, but the kinetic energy still hurt really bad. Dobbs and Melkin were in the Ready Room downstairs and I pointed at the stairwell hallway we'd just came down.

"Smash that panel, pull back into the corridor, close the door," I told them. Dobbs nodded, turning and driving the butt of her weapon against the heavy plastic lid, shattering it. The lizard admired her BDU clad butt as I went by. Melkin followed us into the tunnel as I heard Dobbs drive her the butt of her weapon into the panel twice.

We jogged down the hallway, through the smoke, past the bodies. The command center was lit up, the 'egg' that formed it up to speed. Lanks was crouched over someone laying on their stomach, her hands moving quickly as she slapped gauze down and then grabbed the roll of medical tape out of her mouth. The LT was helping her, holding down whoever it was she was working on.

Lancer was still bobbing, weaving, and shooting, using the ballistic shield for cover and never coming up in the same place twice. Nancy was crouched down next to him, and when he dropped down after firing a handful of spaced shots she reached for him but he slapped her hands away and reloaded his weapon. "Quit fucking grabbing on me, Thomson, and find me some NVG's," Lancer snapped, popping up and snapping off a few shots before ducking back down before the return fire could tear him apart.

His helmet was off, blood running down the side of his face and neck from what was left of his ear. He had a field dressing sloppily tied around his neck, the pad on the opposite side of the neck already bright red from blood. Blood was sheeting off his brow and down his face, turning his face into a mask of blood. He was dripping blood from the elbows of both arms, even as he leaned around the ballistic barrier and fired a quick burst with his M16 and pulled back.

"Goddamn it, Thomson, give me another mag, you fucking crybaby!" he yelled, popping up over the top of the barrier and shooting. Sitting next to him Linderman was bent over, one arm around his stomach where I could see bandages wrapped, but he held out a magazine to Lancer in one shaking hand. Lancer grabbed it out of his hand after a few fumbling tries. "Find me a set of NVG's, goddamn it, Thomson, I can't see shit."

The lizard pointed out that Thomson was on his back, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling. His LBE were open, his T-shirt and BDU shirt ripped open to expose his bloody chest. He hadn't been wearing his body armor and had paid for it. Four bullets had penetrated his chest and I knew by those staring eyes that he hadn't rolled the slim chance he would have had to make it.

...how long has Lancer been like that?...

I hit the side of the tunnel entrance, looking at Lancer's ballistic shield. He was holding the corridor on his own. "Lancer, how many?"

"At least fifteen or twenty more, I'm pretty sure some are down! They keep on fucking coming," Lancer yelled back. "Let me know when you need cover fire, I'm reloading. Goddamn it, Thomson, find me some fucking NVG's!"

...he's blind...

"Coming with!" Nancy called out, crawling around the ballistic barrier and moving up next to me. I nodded.

"Cover! Cover!" I yelled out. Lancer leaned around the ballistic shield and hosed a long burst out of his M-16, letting the whole magazine rattle downrange till the bolt locked back.

"Move!" he shouted. "Thomson, where's that mag?" The LT vaulted over the computer console behind him, firing his pistol one handed, rolling forward and ending up against the back of the ballistic shield, lifting his pistol over the ballistic shield and emptying the magazine. The lizard clapped at the sight. He handed Lancer another magazine as he was firing his pistol, but that was all peripheral as I came around the corner as soon as the LT's pistol's slide locked back, firing from a weapon I didn't remember reloading.

One of the Russians was leaning around the first curve, his weapon in his hands and getting ready to shoot. Bullets hit the steel around him, clanking off the metal walls, and he ducked back before he was hit. There were three dead men in the corridor, one in the middle with an RPK that had a drum under it. He'd obviously tried to roll out in the corridor to put down suppression fire and Lancer had tagged him. Two were only a dozen running paces down the hallway, and I passed them at a dead run.

I swapped the magazine at a run, dropping the depleted mag into my magazine pouch. The lizard informed me I had two left in the left hand pouch but all four in the right, then one in my helmet band, and a twenty round backup magazine in my back pocket. I was still good on ammunition. It seemed like I'd fired off a lot more, but the lizard was always right.

When we rounded the sharp edge of the curve there were two Russian's crouched down in the corridor by the far curve. I threw myself forward and down, intending on getting prone before they could hit me. Something hit my helmet, ringing my bell, something else hit me in the right side of the chest, but I still hit the ground alive. The sharp pain tried to take my breath away, wanted to force my body to curl up around the injuries, but I ignored it and started banging back as King and Bomber landed on either side of me. The lizard painted the entire right side of my torso a strobing amber, but I still ignored the feeling of a steel band around my chest.

Both of the Russians had gone prone, my fire missing them. Bomber popped off a few shots, then King cut loose with the pig, the roaring of it punishingly loud in the corridor. Links flew into my face, the burning metal stinging as it bounced off my skin. Both men went limp as King hosed a burst into them both, blood spraying off of them.

The hallway ahead was long, a hundred meters at least.

My fingers pulled the empty 203 shell out of the weapon and I slid in my second to last WP smoke after tucking the empty into my thigh pocket. "203 out!" I yelled, slamming the weapon shut and shifting my hand so I could yank back the trigger. The lizard ran the parabolic arc, aiming at the far wall so it would ricochet and keep going. I dropped my hand from the magazine and the 203 trigger and back to the pistol group. The WP went off with a crack and someone screamed.

"Let's go, Actual!" I shouted, pushing myself back up. My ribs complained but I pushed it away. The hot coppery taste was back, wrapped in with that singing emptiness that I'd spent my childhood with.

We hustled after the round, smoke starting to bloom from around the corner. I could hear someone coughing as we rounded the corner. There was a shadow in front of me and I stepped forward, driving my bayonet in front of me. The lizard was running my reflexes, my movements, and I acted on hammered in training and pure driven reflexes. It went in smoothly, the shock of the muzzle hitting making my already sore arm scream. I pulled the trigger and the screaming stopped. Bomber materialized out of the smoke at the same time as someone else and his bayonet thrust went high, hitting the guy high, and Bomber did the same thing I did, pull the trigger to blow them off the bayonet.

It got hot and furious, almost blind from the smoke. Weapons fire brightened the smoke in strobing flashes, shapes loomed, people screamed. A blade grazed my upper left arm and the trigger pull didn't blow my arm off, the weapon twisted, and instead just burnt the fuck out of me with the muzzle flash. I thrust the bayonet forward and the weapon pulled out of my sleeve. The lizard put a red circle around my upper arm.

Someone yelled something in Russian and Bomber yelled: "They're pulling back!"

"Keep up the pressure!" I bellowed out, pushing forward. Someone fired off a burst of weapon's fire that clanked off the wall. Something hit my stomach hard enough to almost fold me over around it. Something else hit my leg, again with the horse-hoof, but I threw myself through the smoke. I reloaded my M-203, the lizard guiding my fingers so I threw in a 40mm APERS round into my weapon. Nothing like a 40mm shotgun.

"Two nineteenth!" I yelled.

"FINISH THE FIGHT!" we all bellowed together.

The smoke was thinning, the air recirculation pulling the smoke out of the air, and it wasn't far before we came out the smoke, Bomber, Nancy, and me in the lead, all firing our weapons as we advanced. I dropped out a magazine and replaced it, leaving me with one left in the left hand pouch according to small and scaly from the back of my skull.

The corridor was empty and I reloaded as we kept moving, picking up the pace. As we reached the bent in the corridor Bomber pulled a grenade off his harness, lobbing it ahead of him with "FRAG OUT!" right before he threw himself across the hallway and pressed himself against the flat cover of the arrowhead section we'd just ran through. I hit my side and King and Stokes piled against me. Nancy and Aine slammed next to Bomber only a second before the grenade went off.

I came around the corner without a word, firing my weapon. More to provide suppression than anything else.

Two dead men were sprawled only a little ways down, facing away from us, obviously having tried to make it to the corner before the grenade went off. I went by them at a run, suddenly aware I was started to get exhausted. The band was tightening around my chest, robbing me of the ability to take a good deep breath, and getting harder to ignore.

Running 5-10 miles in full gear out at Atlas every day for the last year had given me good endurance, but my injuries and only a single month to heal had obviously left me weaker than I thought. Even with Aine contaminating me like she had, I was starting to flag. The injuries taking their toll on me, along with fear and just plain human exhaustion.

...twisted steel and sex appeal, all the ladies love a killer. A meat machine programmed for killing...

We rounded the corner and I saw three men kneeling down.

I dove to the left as they fired, another crushing blow to the right side of my chest and a smashing blow gut. Bomber crashed to the floor, his weapon flying free of his hands. King hit the ground, his helmet askew, and I saw two tears in the front of it. Stokes slammed, twisting as she went down, landing on her side with a grunt. Nancy landed on the floor, her breath exploding out of her in a grunt.

King pulled the trigger on the pig, expended brass and links of the belt flying out. All three men went down, blood spattering across the steel wall behind them.

"Two nineteenth!" I yelled. Was it just me or did my voice sound weaker?

"Finish the fight!" King sounded dazed when his voice joined.

"Push forward, Actual," I called out, staggering forward. We headed for the corner, hustling as best as we could. I was panting, short shallow breaths, desperately trying to pull in as much oxygen as possible. I couldn't seem to catch my breath.

The lizard screeched when a Russian soldier rolled around the corner, bringing up his rifle less than twenty feet from us. I dove forward and saw Bomber and King do the same. He wasn't fast enough and someone from Actual put a burst in him. He went limp, his arms spasming and throwing his weapon away from him.

Another Russian leaned around the curve, his arm cocked back, and Bomber and I both banged shots at him, King working the charging lever on the M-60 and cursing. We both missed, he threw the grenade, shouting something in Russian, and dropped back before we could tag him. The tearing from the smoke didn't help, but I knew that my shitty marksmanship with the fucking piece of shit rifle wasn't helping. It was goddamn aggravating. I could hit a running rabbit back home with my .30-.30, my brother's .308, or even my Father's .410; I could shoot goddamn gold with Bundeswehr weapons during Schutzenschnur. But give me a fucking M-16 and I couldn't shoot my own fucking foot off. I couldn't hit a Russian soldier at twenty feet when my life literally depended on it.

The lizard watched in horror as the grenade arced through the air, hitting the brushed steel and rolling toward me. I could see the Cyrillic markings on it, see that the spoon was gone, and knew it would come to a stop about three feet from in front of my face.

And then blow it off.

I groaned and reached for it, noticing that my hand was covered in blood, but it was too far away. I heard King curse, same with Stokes.

"Goddammit it," Bomber coughed.

I wasn't going to close my eyes, I'd look it right in eye when it went off. I couldn't do shit but take it. The shrapnel and concussive force would kill me even if I ducked my head.

With a banshee scream Aine hurtled over me, her hands holding onto a dead Russian's belt and the back of his shirt. He was a minimum six inches taller than her, and outweighed her by at least seventy-five pounds, but she held him up off the ground like he weighed about as much as a feather. Still screaming, she slammed the dead body on top of the grenade, rolling off the dead body, always screaming that banshee scream. The grenade went off in a fountain of blood and gore, the detonation ringing my ears and throwing Aine against the wall. She bounced off and came to her feet, her rifle raised over her head.

"MINE! MY BOYS! MY KELLYS! MINE!" She was shrieking, shaking the rifle over her head. Her helmet had come off, her bun was undone, and her red hair was a corona around her head. I realized she was screaming in Gaelic, the word 'kelly' meaning 'warrior woman', and that something inside of her had snapped.

She threw the rifle to her side, her right hand darting to her chest and coming out with a knife. The knife had a engraved bone hilt, carved brass pommel, no guard, and a cruelly curved thick iron blade. With a chill I realized that she'd stolen it, or been given it early, and she sure as shit shouldn't have been waving it over her head and screaming in Gaelic.

She was waving her goddamn athame over head and screaming in bloodlust and rage.

I scrambled up yelling "LET'S GO, ACTUAL!" at the top of my lungs, bellowing to be heard over the ringing in my ears that I knew everyone else had to be suffering from.

"I am Aine! I give your blood and spirits to Lugus but your hearts are mine!" Aine howled in English, breaking into a dead run with that cruel knife held over her head. "You shall serve me in death! Me! I will drink your blood and feast upon your flesh!" The lizard screamed in fear but I was already moving, following her as she kept screaming.

We pounded after her, Stokes yelling: "Stop, you little idiot!" as we followed Aine through the bend she'd just disappeared around. Her screams had risen in pitch, a ear splitting shriek that promised nothing but blood and pain and made my balls crawl up into my belly.

Around the bend just in time to see Aine duck under a bayonet thrust, her blade opening the inside of a wrist, weaving away from a buttstroke, the blade bringing a spurt of blood from the inside of a thigh. A throat opened up, spraying her with blood; another slash across the back of the knee, a slide across a pair of eyes. Still shrieking that banshee wail, her slim legs propelled her into the air with her legs open to squeeze tight to the hips of the biggest of the Russians, her hand shoving his helmet back, digging into his hair, pulling his head back...

And that cruelly curved blade opening the side of his throat, blood spraying into her face.

Right before she clamped her mouth over the wound, her jaws working as she rode him to the ground, the knife held up over her head in the air with blood running off the blade. He fell on his back and ended up with Aine straddling him with her ass in the air, her right hand waving the blade over her head.

The Russians had turned to stare, one grabbing his wrist, another grabbing the inside of his thigh as he sunk to the floor, another falling back with his hands over his face and screaming. The other three were just staring, the muzzles of their weapons dropping as they stared at Aine in shock or horror, the injuries she'd inflicted on them in her passing forgotten at the sight of the red-haired girl riding down one of them with her mouth on his throat.

God knew I was stopped, staring.

"WASTE 'EM!" Bomber shouted, breaking the paralysis. His weapon was up in high ready and squeezed the trigger. I didn't bother, knowing I more likely to blow Aine's ass off than hit anything I was aiming at.

It sounded like one long burst, but I knew that Bomber would be squeezing off bursts, and I trusted Stokes to do the same. The three that were still on their feet spun and went down, one clamping down on the trigger, the burst taking the guy on the ground in the legs. The one holding his wrist was hit, blood flying from his head as his helmet came off. The one slumping down holding his leg was hit last in the chest, pitching over backwards as his reflexes tried to save him.

I ran forward, up to Aine, who was still affixed to the Russian's throat like some kind of red headed leech. His hands were slapping at her, but she wasn't letting go, her butt wiggling back and forth as she hunched against his neck, looking like she was giving him a hickey.

Without a word I grabbed her loose hair, hauling her up into the air with one hand, pulling her off the other man. She kicked and screamed, reaching out of him, swiping her knife back and forth in the air, not at me, but rather at him.

"MINE! MINE MINE MINE!" she shrieked.

Still holding onto her hair, I yanked her around and slapped her across the face, hard, and pushed my face into hers.

"We don't have time for this bullshit. Retrieve your goddamn weapon, you little fucking psycho," I snarled at her. Her face was smeared with blood, her teeth bloody, and her mouth nothing but crimson. Her eyes were wild, and she was panting as she stared at me, uncomprehending.

"Your weapon, Private, now!" I snapped, twisting at the waist and throwing her back down the hallway behind us.

"Get up, Actual, get up!" I yelled. "ON YOUR FEET!"

King got up, swaying, his helmet scarred in three separate places from where bullets had hit his helmet. Bomber pushed himself up with his weapon, groaning. Nancy staggered forward, blood running from her mouth and nose. Stokes was limping heavily, one hand holding up her weapon by the pistol grip the other around her upper thigh.

"Push 'em out into the snow," I told them, turning and heading for the next curve. According to the lizard's map this was the last curve, after this was the dispensary. We didn't have any choice but what we were doing. Holding them off wouldn't be good enough, we had to take them all out, then get back to the barracks before the remainder of them accomplished their mission.

"Into the dark and cold," Bomber coughed.

"We gotta clear it," Nancy said, moving up next to me. The sleeve over her left forearm was cut away, exposing a bandage. She coughed.

"Fuck that, we close the door, disable the controls, fall back," I told her. I was still panting, unable to catch my breath.

"There's stuff I need," she said, grabbing my sleeve. "I'm out of painkillers, out of gauze, almost out of tape. I need stuff from in there."

"What about the War Fighter tunnel's med-bay?" I asked, coughing myself. The band was tightening. My chest went from amber to dark red on my mental outline of my body.

"Shit, forgot about that," she admitted. "But we still can't leave them with a base of operation," she said. "You can't just blow a hole in the roof and call it good. There's medical bays, offices, break rooms, stuff like that. We gotta clear it."

I nodded, seeing the door come up. It was wide open, with the hanging light inside the Dispensary Ready Room showing me that the small room was empty. The door was open to the stairs, and my brain focused on the stairs.

The little lizard didn't like going upstairs into the Dispensary, he didn't have a map, the only areas I'd been in was the waiting area, the entry hallway, and the examination rooms. I hadn't been up to the second floor, hadn't explored the other areas of the building.

"King, go with Bomber, secure the ground floor. Nancy, stick with me, we'll clear the second floor. Aine, head back to the LT, get some reinforcements up here. Bring Lanks if nothing else, Nancy will need her to pack-mule," I said, heading up the stairs. I was leaning heavily on the railing, my breath coming in hitching gasps. I heard Aine's boots thud on the steel plating as she ran back the other way.

Nancy glanced at me. "Dammit." She turned around at. "I want everyone upstairs, against the wall."

"We gotta clear it," I gasped, stumbling out into the room.

"At ease that shit. I need to make sure you dipshits don't bleed out," she said. She pulled me over to the wall and made me sit down. The room we'd come out in was concrete cinderblocks, like all the Group's buildings, and I had no idea what the hell it was used for. There were two tables in the room, cabinets full of God knew what, and two stand-alone wall lockers against the wall. Bomber sat on my left and King on my right, with Stokes on the other side of Bomber.

Nancy moved in front of King, unsnapping his helmet and pulling it off. She held his head back and shined a small penlight into first one eye and then the other. "You're concussed." She felt down his chest and then arms. She used her knife to slice up his sleeve, pulling it out of her way. She quickly used his field dressing to wrap his arm, then checked his legs before moving to me.

"Ant, open your vest," she told me, crouching down and bringing her aid bag around. I fumbled at the belt and managed to get my LBE buckle open. She pushed my hands away. "Nevermind, I'll get it," she snapped.

She pulled open my vest, pushing it off my shoulders, then opened my BDU top and pulling up my T-shirt.

"Oh goddamn it," she said, patting me down. She cut open my BDU top on both arms, using my field dressing on the deep cut on my upper left biceps, putting the inside of the package over the blackened and blistered skin next to it. She felt down my leg, cutting open my pant-leg and looking at the bleeding hole in my leg. "Son of a bitch." She pulled what looked like a roofing staple gun out of her bag. "Hold still, meat head." She pressed it to the wound, pinching it, and snapped it twice.

"Ow, bitch, that hurt!" I yelled.

"Shut up." She pushed me over, then cut the back of my pantleg. She pinched my thigh again and there were three snaps this time.

"Ow, goddamn it!" I swatted at her, but she pushed my arm away, pulling me up. "Sit up, idiot," she told me, moving to Bomber.

Behind her the LT and members of Rear-D came out of the stairwell and stopped when the LT raised his hand. Dobbs, Aiken, Foster, Lanks, Aine, Marchant, and Mitchell stopped, spreading out. Lanks had an open aid bag on her side and she moved over next to Nancy.

"Specialists Marchant and Mitchell, take Dobbs, Aiken, Foster, and Melkin, secure the Dispensary." He tossed Marchant a small keyring. "Marchant, you take the first floor, drop the blast shields. Mitchell, take the second floor. Kick the doors in, hit the shutter switches. Once this area is secure, fall back, shut the access door, then come back," he ordered. He turned to Nancy. "How are they?"

Nancy looked up from where she was slicing up Stokes' pantleg to expose a blood pulsing wound in her upper thigh. "They all need medical attention immediately. I need them back in the War Fighter tunnel's medical bay." She used the stapler real quick, then rolled the woman onto her side and sliced up the back of her pantleg, revealing another hole. She snapped it twice.

"Thank God for correspondence courses," she grumbled, slapping Stokes' hip. "Get up, ya lazy cow."

"Who's ambulatory?" the LT asked.

"King, maybe Bomber," she said.

The LT reached down to me. "Take my hand, Corporal." I looked at his hand for a moment, slightly confused, then reached up and took his hand. "Come on, soldier, walk it off." He heaved me to my feet, grabbed my right arm, and slung it over his shoulder. "Private McCullen, can you carry Specialist Bomber?"

"Yes, sir," Aine said, dragging Bomber up by one arm, ignoring his howls of pain. She slung him arm over her small shoulders. "Let's go, Specialist." She smiled.

Lanks pulled King to his feet, who kept hold on his M-60, while Nancy pulled Stokes up. They helped us back along the corridor, and even through I tried to pull off the LT twice he held onto me. My leg was throbbing, but it was nothing like when I broke my thigh. It didn't feel like a balloon full of pain, just a throbbing spot on my thigh that I couldn't ignore.

"We'll need plasma at least, sir, might have to figure out how to do a blood transfusion for some of the wounded," Nancy said. "We've got wounded that have lost a lot of blood."

"What's your diagnosis of Corporal Lancer?" the LT asked.

"He's blind," Nancy snapped. "Linderman's in trouble, he didn't have on his vest and took three in the stomach." She pulled Stokes along. "Come on, ya lazy cow."

"Do you have the knowledge of what steps must be taken to preserve his life?" the LT asked. He was puffing pretty well, but my chest felt like that iron band was clamping down harder and harder.

"Sir, I have no goddamn clue," Nancy admitted. "I'm not even sure I can do what the manual says I need to do to Stillwater to relieve the pressure in his chest."

"We shall see, Specialist, we shall see," the LT said, dragging us into the command center.

Lancer was sitting there, holding onto Linderman's hand.

"Dude, don't sweat it. We'll be fine," Lancer was saying. He had gauze wrapped around his head and covering his eyes.

"Hold onto the panel, stay on your feet, Stokes," Nancy said. She moved over to the door and opened it, hitting the lights. I could see multiple tables that were usually in the Dispensary inside the room. The LT set me in the chair behind one of the panels. He reached inside my shirt and pulled out my dogtags. He glanced at them, then pulled out his notebook and a pen, jotting something down.

He checked all the wounded, as well as the handful of people who were unwounded, writing down their names and blood type. When he came back around to me I was struggling to get my breath, sitting up straight, ignoring the pain to give me lungs the most room to inflate.

"Specialist Nagle!" the LT snapped "Corporal Stillwater's face is really bad color."

Nancy came up, took one look at me, and swore. "Christ, get him up, get him on one of the tables." She turned to Lanks. "Go in, tear open a box of gloves, scrub your hands with a chemical scrub, and put on gloves."

The LT pulled me up. I was getting spots in my vision, and the band was tightening.

"What's wrong with him, Specialist?" the LT asked. "Did a bullet penetrate his Kevlar vest?"

"No. That's what's doing it," she said, hurrying to the sink and joining Lanks. She stepped on the foot pedal and shoved her hands under the water. "Multiple blunt force trauma to the chest, probably collapsed the lung."

The LT helped me up on the bed. I couldn't breathe and my heart was hammering, the band tightening even further.

"Get his gear, top, and T-shirt off of him," Nancy snapped.

"Stay up, Corporal," the LT snapped. He pushed my LBE, ruckstraps, BDU top, and vest back. When they dropped on the bed, he reached back and shoved them off before helping me pull my shirt up. "He's got heavy bruising on his chest."

"Yeah, I bet he does," Nancy chuckled. "He's a goddamn idiot. Most people would know enough to stay the fuck down after taking a hit to the chest." She moved in front of me. "Lay down, piker."

I laid back, still heaving, trying to get my breath. She moved past my head and then came back with a plastic oxygen mask, attaching the line to it. She looked down and smiled.

"You need oxygen," she told me, lifting my head slightly to put the strap around my head. She looked up. "Lanks, check that cabinet right there, it should have morphine in it." She looked back down on me. Breathing was a little easier. "I'm gonna have to knock you out, Ant."

"Don't put me under," I told her.

"Strap him down, I don't want him trying to get up on us," Nancy said.

"Found the morphine," Lanks said. I felt the cuff on one side go over my wrist.

"Gimme the data-card in the back," Nancy said. I tried to pull my leg up after the wrist cuff was tied down, but she pressed her fingers on my bare chest. "Stillwater. Stop."

I laid there, feeling the waist, ankle and wrist restraints, leather straps, be put on. Nancy ran an IV line to my wrist.

"OK, Ant, this is gonna burn like hell," Nancy told me, injecting something into my IV line.

"I'll be fine," I told her through the mask.

She was right, it burned like hell going into my arm.

It also pulled me down into the darkness.

At least it wasn't cold.

And William, Cass, James, and Innie were there.