"Use until destruction. You find that on

certain military equipment and supplies

now and then.

You could also find it in our personnel jackets.

Just ask Lancer."

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 dream shattered and I clawed awake, my hands crossing in front of my face to stop the meat tenderizer from hitting me the face. I was laying at the bottom of the middle stairwell, pinned in place by a bayonet through my shoulder, and my mother, her face hidden by the cold weather mask, was swinging that meat tenderizer. Everything was blurry, but I could see a bunk above me. My leg, left biceps, chest, and stomach hurt, but the steel band around my chest was gone. My left and right arms were bound to my stomach, both of them in slings.

"Nagle! Stillwater's awake!" Lanks called out. I looked to my left and right, but everything past about 3 inches was a blur. Goddamn it.

"Welcome back, Stillwater," Lancer said from beside me. I looked to the right and saw the blur across from me waving.

"How's it going, Lancer?" I asked.

"I'm blind," Lancer said, then sighed. "Guess my career's over."

"Is it permanent?" I asked.

He laughed bitterly. "Nagle says one eye's missing and the other probably has steel embedded in it." He laughed again, this time with real humor. "I fought most of that goddamn fight thinking the lights were out and yelling at a dead guy to bring me NVG's."

"How many casualties did we take?" I asked.

"Out of twenty-two of us, not counting you guys, we're down to five combat effectives, not counting Sergeant Butcher, Sergeant White, and Major Mallory. Not sure how many are fit for light duty, but Lancer is definitely out," Nagle said. She put her hand on my forehead and smiled. "No fever. You're bouncing back."

"How long was I out?" I asked. "And help me up."

She shook her head. "You've been down for about two hours. You might not be hurting that bad, but I put a narrow gauge chest tube into you so your goddamn lung will inflate, stitched up two bullet wounds in your stupid ass, and fixed whatever it was you did to your left arm." She knelt down and laid her head on my stomach. "Dobbs may or may not lose her eye."

"Yeah. Thanks for reminding me," Dobbs said from down past my feet.

"Hey, don't bitch, that makes you my queen," Lancer laughed. "I can be like that dude in the movies, that blind guy that what's his face, Rutger Hauer played!"

Dobbs laughed. "Be grateful, huh? Don't make me laugh, the whole side of my face hurts."

"I can get a sword and be all vwoosh, clang clang." Lancer was over there waving his hands and making sound effects. Dobbs and Lanks were laughing while I petted Nancy's hair.

"Lemme up," I said again. Nancy sighed and sat up.

"You're gonna be a pain in the ass about this, aren't you?" she asked. She took my glasses out of her top pocket and settled them on my face.

"Goddamn right. Get me on my fucking feet," I told her.

"Fine, but I jacked you up with more morphine about... um... a half an hour ago." She checked a tag on a string around my neck and then checked her watch. I noticed that the glass facing on her watch was cracked. "Goddamn your metabolism."

She helped me up and sat in a sitting position for a minute, the blankets puddled around my waist.

Almost everyone was laying down. Dobbs' face was covered in bandages and my memory brought back how she'd looked charging up into the dispensary. I realized, to my surprise, that the heaters had kicked in and the open bay barracks was actually warm.

It felt good.

There was a set of BDU's, no patches, sitting at the foot of my bed and I pulled them on. Dobbs whistled at me and I gave her the finger. Lancer asked Dobbs how big my tits were and Dobbs reminded him that I was guy, that she was female, so Lancer asked her how big her tits were, which Dobbs told him that couldn't he tell, she was walking around naked. That's when Lancer started bemoaning his blindness and fake sobbing that she was just mocking his blindness with her royal bosoms, leading to both of them laughing while Dobbs sat on the edge of Lancer's bunk, holding his hand.

Dobbs and Lancer had hated each other less than 24 hours ago.

Nancy waited for me to get done dressing, watching with a critical eye. The morphine made me woozy, and the lizard was sleeping soundly. The mad dash through the War Fighter tunnels was only flashes, bits and pieces that I didn't really have any context for. When I asked for my gear she dragged it out from under my bunk, handing me my Kevlar vest, with the LBE attached, and tossed my rifle on the bunk. I counted how many magazines I had left. Four. Total.

"I don't like you wearing that, I don't want you pulling on the chest tube," she told me.

"I'd rather have it and not get shot," I told her. She made a face at me. My arms hurt like hell, but I pushed that down. The lizard didn't even bother twitching at the pain.

"Where's Lieutenant James?" I asked her, pulling myself to my feet by the top bunk.

"Command center. He's been bringing everything online," Nancy told me, holding my elbow to guide me. The stupid room kept tilting, and my balance was for shit. I hated the shimmering that morphine did to my vision, as well as the anger it seemed to bring up. I crushed the anger under discipline and went with her into the hallway that attached to the command center and about half the important areas of the War Fighter tunnels. "No commo, but the generators work great. We've got full tanks of juice, the water is hot, and he has three men working in the kitchen to make A-rats and porridge," Nancy was telling me. I just nodded.

Five fucking combat effectives. Jesus. We still had Vympel outside, probably moving to the barracks or the motorpool. We'd pushed it so they only had those two places if they'd locked down the Dispensary.

Melkin was sitting in a chair inside the commo room, idly playing with the knobs and switches and dials, an FM or a TM open in front of him, the headset on, looking a strange combination of bored and frustrated. He had his left arm in a sling and was stripped down to his T-shirt. He saw us, waved, then shook his head, pointing at the headset.

"Have we had any luck?" I asked.

"The LT let me raid the Dispensary before we pulled back in here," Nancy said. She giggled. "Medical is going to pissed at the mess I left, but I was in a hell of a hurry. Not to mention the LT had all the doors kicked in, except for the pharmacy, and I kind of wrecked that up." She dug in her pocket. "Speaking of which." She pressed a big ass pill bottle into my hand. "Vicodens. You'll need them."

"Fuck that," I told her, but I jammed them into my pocket anyway.

"Ah, Corporal Stillwater. I see you are feeling much better. Are you cleared for duty, or is this a social visit?" the LT asked me from where he was sitting behind one of the consoles. He had a taped up gauze pad on the side of his neck and a field dressing around his head.

"Well?" I asked, looking at Nancy.

"I shouldn't clear your stupid ass. You've got a drainage tube taped to your chest and goddamn bullet holes in you," she snapped.

"We're all wounded, Nancy," I told her. "Am I in worse or better shape than last month?"

"Better," she grunted. "Fine. It isn't like any of us are getting off this mountain alive anyway." She guided me over to chair and then down into it, stepping back. "At least your skull isn't popped."

The LT just watched silently, his arms folded over his stomach, a Skillcraft pen in one hand and his green notebook in the other. He looked mildly amused with the whole situation, but didn't break in until Nancy snorted and turned around.

"The idiot will be fine, sir," she snapped. "I have more patients." She glanced back at me. "Some of them at least listen to me."

I stuck my tongue out at her and the LT chuckled. When I turned back to look at him he had his notebook on his knee.

"Are you ready to take command of Echo-Five Actual again?" the LT asked me.

"Yes, sir," I told him. I caught my hand coming up to rub my chest and pulled it back down. The LT raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

"I'm reinforcing and reorganizing you. Actual will consist of yourself, Specialists King, Bomber, Lanks, Stokes, Nagle, Privates Dobbs, McCullen, Artain and Sherry." He was writing in his notebook, but mostly looking at me. "You represent all of our effectives, as well as walking wounded that I believe can be spared."

"What about Meeks, sir?" I asked.

"Killed in Action," he answered.

"My cousin, James?" I asked.

He shook his head slowly. "Specialist Nagle has him stabilized, Corporal, but whether or not he survives depends on his own willingness to survive, the medical care Specialist Nagle can provide, and if we are extracted in time."

I was aware my teeth were grinding and my hands had grabbed onto the arms of the chair, pulling at them.

"What happened?" I asked.

"One of the Vympel got into the Day Room where everyone was sleeping. Private James Stillwater jumped forward to engage him before he could kill another member and in the brief struggle had his neck broken. He was extracted with the dead soldiers, but found to be alive." He stared at me, his eyes dark. "If it had not been for him, that member of the Soviet Special Forces would have been able to bring his weapon to bear and slaughter the still sleeping or just awakening members of Rear Detachment." He tapped his notebook. "I've noted down his bravery and selflessness." He waved back the way I'd came. "Specialist Nagle is keeping him sedated as well as immobilized. He reacts when a paperclip or thumbtack is pressed against his fingertips or the soles of his feet, and Specialist Nagle believes he will not be paralyzed."

Red rage, always in the background of my head, started pounding. Goddamn the CIA and their bullshit Cold War games. Goddamn those traitors.

Wait.

Major Mallory.

I knew I was smiling when I asked: "Sir, is Major Mallory still alive?" My hand had moved to the knife on my gear and my fingers were toying over the haft.

"Yes, Corporal, he is," the LT said. He glanced at my fingers. "Under the UCMJ I will have to restrict you from meeting with him at all. I believe you represent a clear and present danger to his continual ongoing health." I smiled at that. "I need a full briefing on what happened with you and the soldiers under your command after you locked yourself outside."

I pinched the bridge of my nose for a long moment before starting. I glossed over how I went completely blood crazy, how I'd completely lost control, but I had the weirdest feeling that the LT knew that I'd lost my head. He didn't say anything, nothing showed on his face, but I just had the damndest feeling.

Once it was over he leaned back, tapping his little green notebook with his Skillcraft pen. He flipped back and forth over the pages, jotting little notes, underlining things, but basically silent. Finally he wrote for a page or so, then looked up at me.

"You stated that Private McCullen first used the body of one of the Russian soldiers to absorb the blast and shrapnel of a grenade and followed up with charging into the enemy with her knife, is that correct?" he asked. It surprised me that of all the things I'd told him, he'd focus on that.

"Yes, sir. They had us pinned down," I admitted.

"Where did Private McCullen and yourself receive knife fighting training?" he asked, raising one eyebrow. "Knife fighting is no longer taught in Basic Training, and while examining the bodies I have seen I have noticed that you yourself have ingrained habits. It appears you received extensive knife fighting training that imbued certain reflexive actions into your muscles." I looked confused. "Muscle memory, Corporal. You have done it so many times you no longer have to think about each individual step, your nervous system and musculature automatically follow certain patterns. In your case it is to get in close, stab into the abdomen, follow with a blow of your forehead into their face, then possible follow-up thrusts to the side of the enemy and following through with a knee to their genitals." He smiled, a cold thing. "So where exactly did you receive your knife fighting training?"

"Sir, I respectfully refuse to answer that question," I told him.

The faint smile appeared upon his face again. "The good Sergeant Major trained his children well," he murmured. He looked down at his notebook. "Very well, I withdraw the question at this time." He flipped back a page. "Upon examining the bodies of the men killed during the sweep and clear of the War Fighter operational and access areas, it was pointed out to me that there were bite marks upon the throat of one of the aggressors. Can you elaborate on that point?"

...Aine clamping her mouth over the wound, her jaws working as she rides him to the ground...

...Aine straddling him with her ass in the air, gulping down his blood...

...blood! Blood for Lugus!...

"He was taller than her, stronger than her, she did whatever it took to destroy the enemy's ability to fight," I told him. "It shocked the other Vympel so badly that they paused long enough for the rest of Actual to recover and kill them, sir."

He nodded, making an annotation. He snapped the green notebook shut and dropped it into his top pocket, buttoning it up and then leaning back with his arms crossed over his stomach.

After a moment he shuddered and his fingers went to his wrist and found nothing, then he scrubbed his face with his hands. When his face was uncovered he had an urgency, a hot driving need in his expression that made me want to suddenly recoil away from him. The lizard jerked awake with a hiss, scrambling against the wall away from what he could see through my eyes.

"Actual will need to clear the LZ, ensure that the Viet-Cong and the North Vietnamese Army don't get access to the secure and sensitive items that November Six Eight possessed," the LT told me. He was looking past me, not at me, one pupil wide open despite the bright light. "I am fully aware of the conditions I am asking you, and the rest of November Four Two Actual, to engage the enemy under, Sergeant, but I feel that you are as keenly aware of our duty as I am. We can't allow the North Vietnamese Army to secure those vital records and equipment as it'd be disastrous to our ongoing military efforts in this region."

...wait, WHAT?...

He leaned forward, putting his index and middle fingertips on my knee. They were shaking slightly as he leaned forward. "I am fully aware of what I'm asking your men to do, Sergeant, and I don't expect you to follow my orders, but I'm the ranking member right now even if I am an NCO. I know you and the rest of Actual still alive are all wounded so bad you wouldn't be allowed to go to sick call, but you're all we have left, goddamn it." He had a Brooklyn accent that I'd never heard him speak with before. "You'll need to exfiltrate the firebase under the cover of darkness; I can't risk calling air support, but we'll lay down some cover fire on the northern perimeter to pull the surrounding enemy away from you. Even if we get overrun, you're to stay on mission. We'll hold them as long as we can, make those goddamn slants pay for every fucking inch. You've got to get to there and destroy all the..." His voice trailed off and he stared off into the distance.

I could see napalm and jungle in his eyes.

...oh. My. GOD...

Suddenly a lot of things clicked. Twelve years and only a First Lieutenant. His precisely cadenced speech and his avoidance of contractions that reminded me of speech therapy, the West Point ring on his hand. The 'bald' patch on the side of his head over his left ear. His age compared to other Lieutenants. How we never saw him in his Class-A's and so many people were scared to death of him. The fact he never wore a combat patch despite being old enough to serve in Vietnam.

...holy shit. Holy shit. Oh, Holy shit...

I just stared at him, not flinching, not moving, not speaking, not even breathing hard, while he stared at something only he could see for several long minutes.

He shook himself like he'd been doused in cold water and smiled at me. It didn't have any humor in it, unless you counted gallows humor.

"Sorry, Corporal, my thoughts wandered for a moment. Where was I?" he asked me.

I swallowed thickly. "Uhh, you were telling me that you needed me and the rest of Actual to clear the barracks, then you kind of trailed off."

He nodded. "My apologies, Corporal, my head wound is paining me at this time, but I need a clear head to coordinate operations. Let my pain be a lesson to you to always wear your protective helmet as well as to avoid any bravado while seeking to support any other soldier." I slowly let out my pent-up breath as he continued. "With Specialist Nagle's permission, I want you to gather up Actual and return to me for a mission briefing." He smiled, an ugly thing. "They won't know what hit them. Never give an inch, lay waste to the ground you give so it gives no aid or comfort to the enemy."

"I'll go check in with her right away, sir," I told him, standing up. The lizard hissed at him as I rose to my feet, the room tilting slightly. The shimmering in my vision had regressed a bit, but I was feeling better.

I wanted to get away from the LT.

I headed back to the barracks where Nancy had everyone she'd finished up on. Lanks was checking Linderman's pulse where he was laying on the bed, scribbing something on the tag on a string around his neck. Nancy saw me coming, moving over to where I stood a little ways away from everyone at my hand signal.

"What?" she snapped. She blew a stray lock of hair out of her face.

"The LT is fucked," I told her flat out.

She nodded. "He wouldn't let me treat him at first. Told me to treat his men, kept calling me 'corpsman' when I tried to help. I had to yell at him to sit down and let me treat the gash on his neck before he bled out." She shook her head. "I don't think he is who he says he is."

I shrugged. "Might be like Captain Grace, got all busted up, spent a few years on the Temporary Disability Retirement Listing before coming back in," I offered. She nodded. "Or maybe got his Master's after Vietnam before going to West Point."

She shook her head. "Doesn't matter. His brain is fucking ganked right now. What's going on?"

"Get Actual together, we're adding a few." I told her who the LT had listed and she shook her head.

"Dobbs has half a face full of shrapnel, she lost use of her fucking right eye. Sherry is missing a fucking finger and has four fractured ribs," she told me.

"You tell the LT they can't come," I told her.

She nodded. "Yeah. Probably wouldn't go over well." She shrugged. "Who gives a fuck if he's having flashbacks? None of us are in better shape."

I grinned. "Get everyone, we'll meet back where the LT is." She nodded, and I headed back as she woke over and shook Bomber.

"Get up, hillbilly," she said.

The LT was sitting in his chair, tapping the pen against his thigh.

"Sir." I nodded, sitting down.

"Corporal Stillwater, just the man I wanted to see," he said, giving me that slight smile.

"Right here, sir, online, on-time," I told him. He nodded, digging out his green notebook and flipping through it to an empty page. He wrote for a second.

"Are you ready to take command of Echo-Five Actual again?" the LT asked me.

...aw fuck....

"Yes, sir," I told him. The lizard watched him carefully through my eyes.

"I'm reinforcing and reorganizing you. Actual will consist of yourself, Specialists King, Bomber, Lanks, Stokes, Nagle, Privates Dobbs, McCullen, Artain and Sherry." He was writing in his notebook, but mostly looking at me. "You represent all of our effectives, as well as walking wounded that I believe can be spared."

...this isn't good...

"Roger that, sir. What's our instructions?" I asked him.

"Normally I would demand a full briefing from you and your team, as per SOP, but at this time I believe that time is of the essence. We've already given those aggressing us three hours of complete access to secure areas, and that cannot be allowed to continue," he told me. "I need Actual to ensure the safety of those secure items and data, destroy in place what you cannot secure, and seek to sweep and clear enemy forces from our area of operations."

He put the green notebook in his pocket, his hand shaking slightly. His hand reached for his wrist, found nothing, and he rubbed the inside of his wrist for a long moment, totally silent, his eyes staring at nothing.

...shit...

"Sir?" I asked sharply.

He jerked and looked at me. He rubbed his face again, but this time his eyes were empty rather than full of Vietnam.

"I have seen the damage you and your soldiers did to the barracks just out of survival, so I have full faith that by the time any enemy forces gain access to what cannot be secured they will have nothing but ash and wreckage as their reward," the LT told me. I listened to his speech patterns carefully.

Consonants were carefully spoken, the speech had a flowing, formal cadence to it, but he slurred slightly, but you had to be really paying attention to catch it.

Yup. He'd had speech therapy, and a lot of it.

"Go over your operations plan with your soldiers, run whatever you come up with by me, and if I approve, that's what you'll use," he told me. I sat very still when he blinked and his eyes were staring past me again. "We'll sweep north, here, around the VC, and hook up with November Six Eight." The Brooklyn accent was back. "We should be able to avoid the NVA if we stick to this area and..." His voice got lower and lower, trailing off, until his mouth was working, he was mumbling to himself, but I couldn't hear any of the words.

A drop of pinkish fluid ran out of his nose.

"NANCY!" I bellowed out, leaping to my feet and almost falling as vertigo swept over me.

The LT pitched forward and went into a grand-mal seizure as I caught him, my right shoulder protesting at the abuse. I guided him to the floor, putting my hand under his head to support it was the thrashed.

"NANCY! LANKS!" I shouted again. The LT's eyes were rolled back.

Nancy came around the console and saw me cradling the LT as he thrashed and kicked, making gobbling noises in his throat.

"What the fuck did you do to him?" Nancy snapped.

"Nothing. He got all weird again and started having a fit," I snapped back. The LT's struggles were getting weaker. Nancy moved around me, wiping the pink shit running out of the LT's ear and tasting it. "Fuck, it isn't blood." She glared down at the unconscious officer.

"Carry him into medical." She sounded worried. Lanks moved up and stopped staring down to where I was holding onto the LT.

"Umm. What's going on?" she asked.

"The LT's head wound is worse than we thought," she snapped. "Go in, dig out that field surgery FM, look up head wounds." She closed her eyes for second. "Delirium, seizures, loss of consciousness, cerebral fluid from the nose and ear."

Lanks nodded, turning and hustling into the medical bay. I stood up barely able to get the LT up by one arm. He sagged next to me, his eyes open, but kicking one foot and his arm flapping.

"What the fuck is wrong with him?" I asked, dragging him toward the medical bay.

"His brain is swelling," Nancy snapped, grabbing his flailing arm and pulling it over her shoulder so we were dragging him. "Happens to boxers. They take a bad hit, it jostles their brain around in their skull, and it swells up afterwards," she told me, biting off each word with a snarl. "Hopefully his brain isn't bleeding or he's just fucked."

Lanks had the FM out and was flipping pages. Nancy and me managed to wrestle him onto the table.

"Strap him down," she ordered me. I nodded, grabbing the heavy leather restraints that had held me and putting them into place.

"Got it," Lanks said, waving the FM with her thumb stuck in it.

"Well what's it say, bitch?" Nancy asked, sticking her hands in the sink and pressing the foot pedal.

"Oh. Um." She read real quick. "Oh, um. This isn't good."

"What?" Nancy snapped. I attached the leg restraint.

"You need to cut open a flap of the scalp at the back of his head, pull it back, and drill a hole in his skull to relieve pressure," Lanks said. She gagged. "Insert a drainage tube, then put the flap back loose."

"Ant, get out there, keep everyone calm." She sighed, pulling on the gloves. "Tell them, shit, tell them that I'm fixing the wound in his neck and knocked him out. Lanks, get on your gloves. You'll have to walk me through what I need."

I finished putting the restraints on the LT as he went into another seizure, jerking against the heavy leather.

"Can we put him under?" Nancy asked.

"It said we can," Lanks answered, sticking her hands under the water.

"Get the ether. We'll knock him out that way, I don't want to risk morphine. Once he's down, we'll do this, and hopefully he'll be OK," Nancy said. She looked at me. "Get control of everyone."

I headed out into the control room again, sitting down and looking around. Everyone who could walk had come into the control center, and more than a few saw the LT saying on the table before Lanks shut the door at Nancy's snapped order. Bomber was coming in with the people I'd rattled off to Nancy. Private Brestlin was holding onto Lancer's arm and guiding him into the room.

"What happened to Lieutenant James, Corporal?" Sergeant Butcher asked, a sudden evil look coming across his face. He glanced at Sergeant White.

"He suffered a seizure," I told him.

"He suffered a seizure, what?" he said.

My mouth filled with that hot coppery taste again and the pain and everything else suddenly vanished as that singing emptiness came back.

"He suffered a seizure..." I paused for a second, and Sergeant Butcher got a happy look on his face, which made me smile before I finished. "You stupid asshole."

He stepped forward, his fists clenching. "You little goddamn punk," he snarled at me. I shot to my feet, looking down at him.

"What, you chickenshit shamming cheese eating coward?" I asked him.

"The LT isn't here to protect your ass, punk," White said, stepping forward.

Bomber stepped into White, grabbing his arm, and White went pale, leaning into Bomber and I knew that the big Texas was putting pressure on the elbow. "Stay out of it, sweetheart," Bomber said gently.

I stared at Butcher, who was glaring at me.

"I don't need the LT to protect me from the coward who got my cousin killed, you little bitch," I told him.

I was shaking with the need to hurt him, to punish him. The lizard was snarling, his hand on the button that would launch me at the other man with my knife in my hand to cut away his life.

"That's strange, you were right there. Why didn't you save him, tough guy?" Butcher sneered.

"THAT'S IT!" I yelled, stepping forward. Lancer's hand grabbed my arm, tightening when he realized that he had a hold on me, and pulling me toward the blind guy.

"Cool, I caught him," Lancer said, laughing.

"You're lucky he's here, or I'd have fucked you up," Butcher said, raising his fists.

"Who's got seniority, Sergeant Butcher, you or me?" White asked.

"Date of rank is August 84," Butcher said, dropping his fists and turning toward White.

"Mine's May of that year," White said, sounding smug. "With the LT down, that leaves me in charge."

"The hell it does," Lancer said, still holding my arm. Dobbs was holding the other. Both men turned to look at Lancer, who had his eyes covered with gauze and a bandage winding around his head. "Both of you ran and hid when I was trying to hold off those assholes in the tunnel. I ain't following either of you."

There was murmured assent from the people gathered up.

"You ran off and hid in the barrack section," Pvt Sherry said, his voice hard. "The two of you didn't come out until the LT had us collecting up the bodies to put in the morgue."

"Not to mention your shitty guard schedule got Queens killed," King growled, stepping forward, those massive fists of his clenched and the scarred knuckles white. "She was my troop, mine, and your fucking around got her killed."

"We're the highest ranking," White said, looking at everyone. I shook off Dobbs and Lancer's hands.

"Fuck that, as far as I'm concerned, Corporal Stillwater is in charge till the LT wakes up," Lancer said. "He's a fucking dick, but he didn't run and hide like a bitch."

"You assholes will get court martialed, I'll see that you get hanged," White said.

"Fuck you. We ain't getting off this mountain alive," Sherry said.

Dobbs stepped forward, getting in White's face. "Queens was my room-mate, asshole." I suddenly remembered that Queens and Dobbs both lived down in Queer Country.

"Shut up, you dyke bitch," White told the small woman. "Go cook us something to eat, make yourself useful or something, you stupid little whore."

Lancer growled, and it was my turn to grab his arm. "Don't do anything stupid."

Dobbs slapped him, hard. White drew himself up, looked at her, and slapped her back.

Across the wounded side of her face. Dobbs staggered back, one hand going to her face, where red was starting to spread across the white gauze that covered that side of her face.

I let go of Lancer, lunging at White as everyone cried out in protest. I got ahold of the front of his BDU's and started throwing punches into his gut before grabbing him in a headlock and tightening down.

Someone punched me in the side of the head and I let go of White, spinning around and facing the new threat.

Butcher had settled down into a kung-fu pose, grinning at me. "That's right, bitch, I'm a black..."

...why do they always want to talk?...

I caught him with his mouth open, moving in fast and throwing a right cross into the side of his jaw. I felt the jaw snap under my knuckles and turned around as he went down, several of his teeth bouncing across the steel floor.

White's face was purple, and he was obviously furious as he tried to bring his weapon, which was body slung with the barrel up, into play against me.

Before I could move into him, Dobbs grabbed him, doing a Basic perfect Judo throw so he landed on his back, the impact driving the breath from him.

"Whore? Whore? You're the bitch!" Dobbs screamed, starting to stomp on the downed man. "Get me lunch, bitch! Shine my boots, bitch!" She punctuated every word with a stomp. Her third stomp to his face broke something and his jaw suddenly looked misshapen. "Suck my dick, bitch!"

I grabbed the back of her uniform, yanking her backwards. She whirled on me, her hands coming up, and I slapped them to the side quickly.

"That's enough!" Lancer roared out. There was nothing wrong with his voice, that was for sure. We all froze. Lancer had been a SSG with 101st before he'd gotten busted to E-3 and sent to 2/19th, and he still remembered how to use his voice.

"Corporal Stillwater, I've got more time in service than you since we were promoted at the same time, but I'm out of it," Lancer said, leaning against the console and pointing at his eyes. "Nobody here is going to follow the orders of two chickenshits who ran away when it hit the fan." He shrugged. "Even though that's not supposed to fucking matter, and the US Army isn't a democracy, I'd say that the UCMJ and the NCO Creed make a good precedent that these two are unfit for command."

Nobody said anything. Butcher was groaning, his eyes fluttering, but White was still, only his breathing betraying that he was alive.

"Since I outrank you, Stillwater, I can still give orders here," Lancer said, reaching out and finding the chair. He sat down carefully. "It's clear that Sergeants White and Butcher have violated the NCO Creed as well as the Army Creed. We can argue that their actions are prejudicial to discipline and morale, as well as displaying cowardice." He was choosing his words carefully, and I didn't blame him. They'd probably be read back at our court martials. "We suffered casualties due to obvious negligence and incompetence on Sergeant's White's part, and Sergeant Butcher abandoned me and Thomson when the firing started and possibly led to deaths in both our group and Actual."

He looked over in my general direction. "Did the LT give you any orders, Corporal?" he asked. His voice was firm, calm, and in command.

"He told me to gather up Actual and take back the barracks, secure or destroy all sensitive items and data, and engage and destroy the enemy forces," I told him. Well, that's what he kept trying to tell me when he wasn't enjoying a guided tour of Vietnam courtesy of his head wound.

"Then carry out his orders," Lancer said evenly. He looked around. "Who has zipties?"

"I do," Bomber answered.

"Give them to... oh... Mellins," Lancer said.

Bomber handed them to Mellins as Lancer continued. "Take Sergeant White and Sergeant Butcher to the barracks bay we aren't using, secure them to a bunk each, separated from one another, and we'll post guards on them." He held up his hands. "I don't know the correct wording, but place them under arrest, guard, and confinement until the MP's eventually show up to take pictures of our bodies."

There was chuckling at that. I took a quick headcount. Not counting Nancy and Lanks, we were down to fifteen people, including the people that were badly wounded.

"Temporarily I will be reassuming my old rank of Staff Sergeant, but I will be staying back here and retaining control only until Lieutenant James has regained consciousness. As of this moment you may all consider me the ranking NCOIC of Rear Detachment." He shook his head. "If any of you have any objections you may write a statement and we will officially log your objection for posterity." He grinned. "That way they can't court martial your corpses when they come up here to body bag us. Actual, move out, secure and destroy the classified material."

"King, Bomber, Stokes, Dobbs, Aine, Artain and Sherry, you're all with me," I called out, sitting down. Lancer grimaced but didn't say anything. The six soldiers moved up, Bomber grinning that shit-eating Texas grin, looking stupid as hell missing half his moustache. I waited till they gathered around. "All right, Nancy and Lanks are supposed to be assigned to me, but right now they're a little busy."

They all nodded.

"We make up Echo-Five Actual. Jesus what a dumb name, who thought of that?" I asked.

"You did," Bomber chuckled.

I grimaced. "Fucking figures. Anyway, the LT told me that we need to go out, secure certain things or destroy them, and kill any Vympel we find." Dobbs looked doubtful but nodded. "We'll do it like this..."

My plan was simple and easy, and their input helped flesh it out. We'd use the motorpool access, since the board was shot, having Mellins override it from the controls, close it ourselves, which would let him lock it down. We'd sweep and clear the motorpool, use our cold weather gear to cross the street to the barracks, go into the barracks, and secure the vault first, destroy the Orderly Room records, then lock everything down and go Kurt Russel again on the barracks.

The upper floors weren't really designed to protect anything or handle the blast. I knew that the roof of the Orderly Room area, the layer between the first floor and that under floor where supplies and coordination areas were, was eight feet of layered hardened reinforced concrete. A massive goddamn slab designed to handle the entire barracks collapsing on it when the front of the blast of an airburst hit.

Aine would lead us between the motorpool and the barracks, provide recon, and in general be point. She seemed somehow resistant to the cold and wind, and when she was asked if she was worried about Tandy she laughed and rubbed the little bracelet made of her hair and said that she had no fear of him.

With any luck, Tandy would eat her creepy little ass.

Nancy came out and told us that there hadn't been very much blood in what had gushed out of the LT's skull, that she's inserted a tube for it to drain, and was keeping sitting upright on the surgical bed. He'd regained consciousness briefly to ask if I had left and was following his orders.

Then, at my request and coaching, she lied and said that the LT had told her to have Sergeant Butcher and Sergeant White arrested and charged with cowardice in the face of the enemy, and to put Corporal Lancer in charge. Lancer looked doubtful, but didn't say anything.

The LT wouldn't remember one way or the other anyway.

And it wasn't like we were getting off the mountain alive.

Nancy had replenished her aid bag, and now Lanks was carrying one too. I saw Lanks stuff a medical FM into her bag and caught the title. "FM 8-10-14: Emergency Battlefield Treatment" and some other shit I didn't catch. I knew that it wasn't one of the FM's sitting in the Training NCO's office, and I also saw Nagle's name on it, meaning it was probably one of the FM's she'd gotten in her correspondence course packets.

I scribbled down the operational plan on some paper, and led everyone to the tunnel. Stokes had the radio on her back again, and I radioed back that we were at the entrance. Melkin radioed back he was going to tell Mellins to crack it.

The door opened up with loud clacking noise, and Bomber and I pushed it open, Aine shimmying through the opening as soon as it was wide enough for her to get through. She had her NVG's on, her tongue between her teeth, and a bayonet in her fist. We waited for a minute and she hissed that we could go ahead.

Once we were all on the other side of the tunnel Bomber and I pushed it closed, spinning the heavy wheel and shutting it.

The dark pushed in on us. It was barely lit, and my NVG's seemed to show me more shadows that light, even with the IR lamp lit up. I motioned at the locks on the armory and King moved over to them, pulling out the tube of superglue and squirting it into the locks. It wasn't much, but it was the best we could do.

We'd rearmed at the War Fighter armory, the lizard purring at the fact I was fully loaded again.

Once upstairs, Bomber and King began using the chains to raise the bay doors, letting the wind and snow into the motorpool bay.

The snow was piled almost to the top of the doors and poured into the bays. The door was heavily dented where the Claymore had gone off and fucked it up, but a couple of good kicks on the hinge side fucked it up even if I couldn't open it with all the snow piled up on the other side of it. Artain and Sherry moved through the building with axes, knocking the doors down, while I leaned against the back work bench at the corner of the bay and smoked a cigarette.

The snowy night was black, and according to my watch it was 0600, which explained the fatigue. I needed a good night's sleep, or a bottle of whiskey, a blowjob, and a hot shower.

Once the motorpool was pretty much fucked for shelter, the breaker box gutted by having the main switch thrown and the breakers ripped out, we stood at the back door on the second story, staring at it. It might have seemed stupid that there was a door on the second floor that led out to nothing, but at times like this, I was glad it was there.

King moved to each of us, attaching us to the tether. It went around Aine's waist, to my D-ring, then to Bomber's. King was pulling drag, the rest of the climbing cord hanging off his neck.

"We get to the barracks, wreck the joint up, then head into the War Fighter tunnels," I told them. The wind whipped around us, but they still all nodded.

"You won't be able to see anything, so hold your fire until you can confirm a target," Nancy added.

"And don't detach your D-ring for any reason," Stokes said. "Last winter we fucking lost idiots that went outside."

"Do I have to be tethered?" Aine pouted when I opened the door. My NVG's showed that the snow piled up against the door, sloping downward, but still piled up.

The fucking blizzard had dumped around ten feet of snow on us. It must have been pounding main post.

We were fucking stuck up here until they could clear the roads.

"Yes," Bomber, Stokes, Nancy, King and I all said at once. She pouted again, the only one of us not wearing a face mask and goggles.

"It isn't that cold out." She smiled. She held her hand out, catching snowflakes on her palm, then pulled her hand back to show us the fluffy flakes.

"Just lead the way, Aine," I said.

She blew me a kiss and stepped onto the snow, walking a few paces out and waving.

I took a deep breath and stepped out after her.

Sinking up to my knees before the snow was packed enough to carry my weight.

"Oh, that's right, boys are heavier." She giggled. "It's all that bad."

"Bitch," I snarled. Bomber and King helped pull me inside.

"I'll get the snowshoes," King said, dropping the tether off from around his neck and unclipping himself.

Aine was dancing around in the snow, her head forward and her tongue out, catching snowflakes and pulling them into her mouth.

I noticed her boots barely left marks.

Creepy little bitch.

King came back with the snowshoes and we put them on. The snow was falling heavy, but not driven by 40 MPH winds this time. Still, Aine kept dancing in front of us, a good twenty feet of tether between her and me. She kept vanishing and reappearing in front of me. Sometimes on my right, sometimes on my left, other times right in front of me.

More than once I spotted her with her hands over her head and her face raised to the dark sky. Once I grabbed the tether in my fist and yanked hard, dumping her on her ass in the snow. She made a snow angel, jumped up, and ran off to my right.

I checked my compass, just in case she was leading us off to our deaths.

Finally the barracks loomed out of the dark, towering above us, dark and menacing.

We were at the second story. The snow was only a few inches below the windowsill. It dawned on me that somewhere in the snow below us were the men we'd killed in my room.

It took Bomber's crowbar that he'd kept with him since the chowhall to pry the plywood off one of the windows. I'd thought about my room, but figured that might not be a good idea. He pulled the insulation free and let it go, the wind grabbing it and pulling it off into the night. A few hits with the crowbar's curved section dropped the plywood into the room.

I pointed at King and pointed at the window. He nodded, ducking down to climb through. We went in inverse order into the room, Aine dancing around outside till I yanked on the tether and sent her face first into the snow. She was laughing when she climbed in through the window, snow all over her face.

...one fat unmelted snowflake on her nipple...

"Artain, King, hammer the plywood back up," I ordered. King nodded, pulling two hammers from where he'd tucked them into his LBE up at the motorpool and handing one to the other man. "Aine, Dobbs, hold the plywood up."

Dobbs ducked down in front of the window to grab the plywood.

Aine's head whipped around, her face a mixture of lust and fear.

Tandy's long arms came out of the darkness and the snow, grabbing the back of Dobbs' parka, dragging her backwards. The smaller woman screamed as the cruel hands dug into the padding, kicking and trying to get traction on the waxed floor.

Bomber lunged forward, grabbing Dobbs by the legs as she was pulled backwards. King reached down and struck the plastic buckle of her LBE sharply with the hammer, shattering it. Artain, screaming at the sight of Tandy's grinning face, started hitting one of the arms with the hammer. Stokes grabbed Dobbs' tether, bunching it up in her hands and leaning back, her boots squealing on the tile as she tried and failed to get traction. The big Amazon wrapped the tether in her hands and heaved again, stopping Dobbs movement toward the window.

Aine put her fingers to her mouth, whispering to herself, her other hand caressing the bracelet made out of hair on her upraised wrist.

Dobbs was kicking, grabbing the windowsill to keep herself from being pulled out the window. Bomber was leaned back, trying to get traction and finding none. Artain had quit swinging the hammer, not able to get at Tandy without hitting Dobbs. Stokes had wrapped the tether in her hands and had one foot against the bed, the whole end of the bed twisting as the big Amazon put all her power into holding her.

King ripped open the front of Dobbs' parka, grabbing the zipper and pulling down.

It bound up.

King snarled, shoving his hands into the parka, and ripping the parka open.

She was still slowly sliding backwards, her head out the window. Bomber fell partially backwards, then slid toward the window as Tandy's hands suddenly appeared on either side of Dobbs' head. The woman screamed, grabbing Tandy's wrists in her own.

Dobbs' parka fell open, and King grabbed her crotch and the top of her Kevlar vest, yanking at her.

Dobbs slid out of the Parka, leaving it behind, and the parka and LBE vanished into the snow. I cut her tether, dropping Stokes on her ass.

"OUT OUT OUT!" Nancy yelled from the door.

I pushed King and Dobbs at the door, turning and facing the window. I had a clear shot so I put half a magazine out the window, doubting I hit anything, but hoping I'd at least slow Tandy down.

"Stillwater! Let's go!" Nancy yelled.

I spun in place, running for the door. Aine made it through right before me, and as soon I was in the hallway, bouncing off the door across from me, Nancy stepped into the hallway, pulling the door shut. Bomber slammed his M-16 on the door handle, breaking it off, and we all stood in the hallway.

"What the fuck was that?" Dobbs yelled.

"Was that guy dead?" Artain shouted.

"That was Tandy," Bomber panted.

"At ease that shit, Actual," I said, looking around the hallway. "We got a job to do."

The hallway was pitch black, my NVG's only letting me see about five to ten feet. Snowflakes were falling from the ceiling, where ice was thickly layered. Some of the icicles were long enough that when King stepped back from Dobbs one broke on his helmet.

"Keep your eyes open," I told them, moving toward the middle of the hallway, where the stairs would take us down to the secure vault. I glanced back, glad to see they were all spread out. I unclipped from the tether. "Everyone unclip. King, secure our tether." He nodded, rolling it up on his arm and then dropping it around his neck.

"I thought Tandy was a fucking rumor," Dobbs shuddered. They'd been talking while we unclipped.

"You ain't seen nothing yet," I told them.

Voices shouted in German and boots crashed to the floor above us.

"I hate this place," Stokes said.

Deep, rich, evil laughter rolled over us, coming from the far stairwell.

"Move, Actual!" I ordered, pushing past Aine and running for the middle stairwell.

I knew that laugh.