"How strange it must have been

for Bravo 3/67 to listen to that

radio call and the chilling phrase

'will transmit to final' that we

called out when it got desperate?

How hard was it for them to listen

to that desperate battle, unable to

do anything but listen?"

2/19th Special Weapons Group
Restricted Area, Alfenwehr West Germany
Late Winter- January, 1986
Day 12 of Repairs
Day 4 of the Second Incident
Morning

Taller than me. Bulkier than me. Mickey Mouse boots, cold weather pants, and insulated leather gloves. Wrapped in an extreme cold weather parka, the hood up. An extreme cold weather mask hiding his face, the mouth strap unsnapped to reveal his mouth.

One eye was bloodshot, both were glaring, and the snarl behind the mask was missing a tooth.

When Dobbs had been thrown against the wall she'd glanced Stokes, who was already off balance because of the ice and the radio, and Stokes had landed flat on her ass. While Bomber, Nancy and I raised our weapons, she lifted her feet, planted her hands to either side of her, and slammed both boots against the door.

As the figure's axe came up, the heavy steel door slammed in his face and all three of us fired a couple shots into the heavy steel door.

"Grab Dobbs! Bomber, unlock the room," I shouted, reaching down and grabbing up Dobbs by the back of her LBE. She gave out a cry of pain as I pulled her up, and King threw one of her arms over his shoulder.

"Jesus, that hurt," she coughed.

"Don't talk," King said. "Save your strength."

"Who the fuck was that?" Artain asked.

"A dead man," Nancy snapped. "He shouldn't be here."

"He looked plenty alive to me," Artain shot back.

Bomber was unlocking the door, pushing it open and hurrying us into the room.

"Get her on the bed, hurry, hurry," Nancy was saying, darting into the bathroom. I heard the sink go on as we dragged a cursing Dobbs into the room and set her on the bed. She cried out when her back hit the mattress, her arm still around her stomach.

"Lemme see," I said, pulling her arm away.

"Fucking hurts," she groaned, suddenly coughing and bringing up blood.

I stripped open her LBE, tore open her Kevlar vest, and unzipped her field jacket.

"How bad is she, Ant?" Nancy called out. I heard something gurgle when the water was shut off.

"I can't tell." I yelled back. I pulled up her BDU top and T-shirt, exposing her belly.

Bomber was telling everyone where to go. Flipping up the desk to block the hallway, flipping the bunk beds and dropping the mattress in front of the other one, tearing it down as quick as possible to provide some cover.

Pulling up Dobbs T-shirt and BDU let me get a good look at where that axe had hit her.

Her skin was unmarred.

"How bad?" Dobbs asked. "Goddamn it, I bit my tongue."

Nancy pushed me out of the way, then drew back. "What the hell?" She pulled Dobbs gear together, finding the Claymore bag she'd hung around her neck. She dumped the bag out and the shattered landmine fell from inside the bag. The hard plastic casing, the cast resin, all shattered by the blow.

"Holy shit, you're a lucky bitch," Nancy said. Dobbs coughed again and blood spattered. "Stick out your tongue." Dobbs stuck out her tongue and we could see the deep bite mark at the end of it. "You almost bit off the end of your tongue."

"...Five Actual, come in! Do you read, Echo-Five Actual? This is Bravo 3/67, do you read?" suddenly came in over the radio from where Stokes had dropped it on the floor.

"Artain, get that," I snapped over my shoulder. I helped Dobbs up. "Goddamn, you're fucking lucky."

"He hits like a goddamn freight train. I thought my ovaries were going to shoot out my ass. Who was that?" Dobbs asked, coughing.

"Somebody dead," I answered.

"Bravo 3/67, this is Echo-Five Actual, we read you. Over," Artain said. He was ducked down by the dresser.

"Like Tandy?" she asked, spitting red on the floor.

"Like Tandy," I agreed.

"Status report. Over." It was a different voice, but it was a lot weaker than it had been in the mag area. It had to be one of those weird localized effects, and God only knew how long it would last.

"King, I gotta an idea," I said, looking around. I pulled open my TA-50 locker and pulled down the two wool blankets that were supposed to be on my bed instead of the civilian down comforter and the quilt.

"Oh lord, he's got an idea," Bomber groaned.

"We've fallen back to a regroup position, are unsure of next steps. Cannot evac to safety at this time. Over," Artain said.

"Throw me the wool blankets, fill up that mop bucket with hot water," I told him, heading back to the door. "King, bring the '60."

"What are you thinking?" Bomber asked me, scooping up all the green blankets out of his locker and Nancy's locker.

"They'll be coming after us," I said. "It's gone too far. We already saw the mountain take two of them, they're going to be out for blood, or figuring the only way they can survive is by killing us and waiting out the storm." I opened the door and looked out both ways at the dark hallway. Empty.

"Yeah, figured that out already," Bomber grouched, following me into the hallway.

"So they'll come straight down this hall." I dumped a blanket on the hallway, crossing it, and shifted the blanket with my hands to make it humped up. Sherry came out with the mop bucket steaming in the cold air. "Pour it on the blanket nice and slow."

"It'll freeze," Sherry told me.

I grinned at him. "Exactly." I turned to King. "I'm halfway down the hall. Figure 12 rooms between me and the double doors, fifteen feet per room, that's about 180 feet, so about sixty meters."

King nodded, checking the belt on the M-60. He eyed the ice on the floor. "I'll get real cold real fast."

"We'll throw down our sleeping pads. That'll give you some insulation. Best we can do," Bomber offered.

"Have to work," King grunted, adjusting the sight on the M-60.

The blanket was already frosting up, so I threw another blanket on it and had Sherry pour more water. Inside Artain was still telling them that we were fortifying our position and expected another attack at any moment.

Nancy was checking everyone, and yelled at Sherry for lugging the water, telling him that his ribs might not be hurting, but that was the Vicoden and the alcohol. She started packing the water, helping me pile the blankets into a large hump that was rapidly freezing. I figured without sandbags, the hallway was a slaughterhouse waiting to happen. The blankets and ice should at least slow down the rounds that hit, maybe even stop them, since the wool blankets would provide structural integrity so that bullets wouldn't shatter it all. I'd learned that during World War II, during winter, some emplacements were made by mixing almost frozen water and sawdust together; I was hoping that the wool blankets would be a decent substitute for the sawdust. It should work, if I was remembering right.

Or I was wrong and King would get chopped into hamburger.

Artain was telling the Colonel that we'd destroyed what we could, and to pass it on that there we multiple injured still in the War Fighter tunnels, and that they needed evac no matter what happened to us.

I grabbed the three foam pads and threw them on the floor. King bellied down on them, dropping the 60 down and sighting through it.

"NVG's make the sight useless," he bitched.

"It's a fucking hallway," I told him, shaking my hands. The hot water had quickly turned cold and my hands ached. I scratched the burn over where they'd put an implant in my hand to fix the little bone.

"That'll have to work," Bomber said, looking at the sodden pile of blankets. Frost was already forming on them.

"Range to the doors sixty meters, visibility poor at doors, no assistant gunner, weapon in good condition," King was muttering to himself.

"Bomber, get me something to lay on," I snapped. He rushed in the room and I heard wood break. When I looked back he was bringing me the back and seat of the chair. I tossed them on the ground, laying on them, and brought up my XM-16. I cracked the bloop tube and loaded an HE into it.

"Think they'll really go for us?" King asked.

"They've got no choice now," I told him. "Dead, we can't tell anyone what happened here. Alive, this will blow up into a major international incident."

We laid in the cold and snow, twice Nancy bringing us canteen cups of hot instant coffee. It tasted like shit, but King and I gulped it down anyway to keep our core temperatures up.

The door on the right eased open, a glove coming around the door and pulling it barely open. I kicked King's foot with mine and he kicked back.

He'd seen them.

I adjusted the tilt on my weapon. Forty meter minimum range, so it'd arm. The doors wouldn't stand up to it. The door eased open further, and was able to make a solid ID.

Soviet.

I pulled the trigger on the M-203 and the underslung 40mm grenade launcher made a "bloop" sound. I switched my hand back to the pistol grip as the grenade hit the left hand middle door and exploded. The shockwave rolled over us, not enough to do anything but pop our ears and make them ring, but ice shivered off the walls and icicles fell from the ceiling.

King pulled back the trigger on the pig and the world was filled with thunder. I could see the Russians trying to squeeze into the door jams, and one smartass took the risk to jump up and kick the door in. King missed him, the tracers seeming to whip right through him, but he ducked back a second later and started firing.

There was at least a dozen of them in the hallway.

"Returning fire, under attack," I heard Artain yell into the mic.

One of the Russians leaned out of the doorway, firing something, and a grenade hit the wall about ten feet from us, shattered tile smacking at us. King held down the trigger and the guy's arm came clean off just above the elbow. My face felt like someone had just used it for a punching bag but I kept on going, firing my weapon till the mag went dry and swapping out as fast as my frozen hands could manage.

There was an explosion from in the room and someone started screaming. I looked into the room and saw daylight through where the plywood had been. Two figures hurtled in, kicking snow into the room from where it was over the windowsill. Both went down immediately and I saw something drop into the room, between the mattresses and windowsill. I looked back forward, bringing back up my M-16 and reloading it with the top 40mm.

The M-60 cut off and King started swearing, flipping up the feed tray and digging at it with his bayonet. A glance down the hallway showed me that the Russians had realized that the heavy firepower was down, and I was trying to reload my M-16, my numb and tingling hand hands not wanting to do what I wanted to. The stupid magazine twisted in my hand and fell away.

They were rushing forward and I glanced down. It was my APERS round I'd been slapping in off and on for the whole goddamn time. I pulled the trigger on the M-16, shattering suspended ceiling panels and teaching a fire sensor to never fuck with me again, but missing the Russian's entirely. King exclaimed with joy, and he slapped the feed tray down.

It was almost too late.

The trigger on the 40mm snapped back and the 40mm APERS went off, kicking hard against my shoulder and the first two ranks went down, the guy on the left in the third rank dropping and screaming. I scrambled to my feet, lunging up with the bayonet and slamming into the stomach of the guy being held up by the guy behind him, pulling the trigger to blow him off. Something burned across my waist and I tasted hot copper in my mouth as I followed through with a buttstroke and stepped in with them.

"Contacts, multiple hostiles, exterior and interior, we're outnumbered," Artain was calling out. "Close quarters only, Bravo. Will transmit to final."

...the last radio call...

Someone parried my M-16, the bayonet hitting the wall and snapping, something burned across the small of my back, and I drew my pistol with my left hand, my right holding tight to the barrel of an AK-47 as it went off into the ceiling. King was yelling something, but I wasn't paying attention, concentrating on the men in front of me.

...they might take me, but that one won't, and that one won't, and that one won't...

Something took my helmet off as I ducked and when I came up I jammed the barrel of my .45 into someone's gut and pulled the trigger. Something slung me against the wall and I bounced off, my hand pulled up over the guy's head and my right hand locked on their wrist to keep them from bringing a knife down.

There was still gunfire in the room. I could hear Bomber, Stokes, and Nancy yelling the 2/19th warcry and Aine picking it up in a banshee wail of defiance.

The Russian's eyes were brown, bloodshot, and his teeth were bared. His breath smelled of onions as I drove my forehead into his face, letting go of the pistol as I did it again. I spun him around and slammed him into the tile wall. He let go of my wrist, and I pulled my knife off my LBE and brought it up into his stomach. His knife grazed my cheek as I headbutted him again, yanking the knife out of him and slamming it into his side. His eyes went wide and his knife arm went weak. I stabbed him again and kneed him in the crotch.

"They're all over us, Bravo, we can't..." Artain screamed and I heard a gunshot. Artain was half-sobbing as he gave the warcry his best, his voice high with agony. "FINISH THE FIGHT!"

Something hit me in the back of the head, slamming me face first into the wall, and I crumpled onto the floor, my knife falling from my hand. I heard Aine cry out in pain and Nancy swear. Their yells drove me to my feet, holding onto the wall. Someone grabbed the back of my head, palming it, to slam me face first against the tile wall, but I managed to duck around it. A pistol went off over my head and I popped back up with my knife, slamming it deep. Something hit me in the left cheek, and I dropped again. King fell backwards over my legs, firing the M-60.

I'd dropped my M-16 somehow, and I wasn't sure where it had gone. The side of my face was on fire. My fingers found the .45 as I rolled on my side. The M-60 had gone silent but I couldn't think of that now. The hallway was clear, and I pushed myself up, looking into the room.

"No!" Artain screamed as one of the figures raised his rifle. I could see the bayonet on it. Unfortunately there was two of them, both wavering. Behind the figure the sky was darkened and thunder pealed.

...shoot in the middle, boy...

I pulled the trigger twice, swiveling my aiming point to the other one, but an M-16 burst took him from his feet. The figure I'd shot was crumpling, but Artain screamed long and loud as the man went down on the floor. I fired twice more at shadows in the window, my head ringing and my vision blurring.

"More incoming!" King yelled.

"I'm hurt bad, Bravo," Artain choked.

"Jesus, how many are there?" I yelled back.

Turning back to King I saw him raise his head. Blood was streaming down his face and the front of his helmet was torn up, but he lifted the M-60 back up to his shoulder and started hosing the hallway again.

I took the end of the belt he'd shrugged out of and put the empty link against the last round of the rapidly disappearing belt and slammed the heel of my hand against them, locking them together.

"Grenade!" came from in the room and I curled up, hoping for the best.

The grenade went off, but muffled, almost wet sounding.

Something hit me in the ass. Something else hit me on the top of the helmet and I saw stars. King held onto the trigger, the '60 roaring, but I don't think he even knew what he was shooting at anymore. He was face down, still holding onto the LMG, but not looking anywhere as blood ran off his face and onto the ice.

I rolled back around so I could see in the room. The light was somehow still on, the sun coming in through the shattered window, and men were dropping inside. I raised my hand to discover I'd lost the .45 and my index finger was torn and bleeding, the glove finger completely missing.

My vision was doubled, Artain and someone else was screaming. King was gasping, the M-60 roaring, and there were a few shots from inside the room. Everyone I could see was sprawled out, covered in blood, blood that splashed the walls of my room, the ceiling, steaming in the cold winter air. Snowflakes were dancing on wind, following the men dropping into the room from the window. I could see the motorpool, see the wave of white coming at us from the mountain, and a long rolling boom shook the hallway.

"They aren't fucking dropping!" King yelled.

...we're losing...

The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth, and the lizard hissed in rage, slapping on the big red button as it urged me to get up, up, get the fuck to my feet.

A scream started, at first sounding like a low whine, but quickly gaining in intensity and volume. Aine stood up, her helmet missing, blood covering her face, her weapon broken in two pieces and the forward receiver held tight in her hands.

"FINISH THE FIGHT!" she screamed, lunging forward. "Blood! Blood and glory!" Her voice wasn't even human, a screech that fired my nerves. "Blood for Lugus! Blood for McDaur'n! Blood for McClel'n!"

The M-60 stopped firing, but I couldn't tear my eyes from Aine as she started moving. She moved smoothly, cleanly, and to my blurry vision she looked like she had frost trailing her as she howled in bloodlust.

Holding onto the forward handgrip and nothing else, she slammed the bayonet under the chin of the Vympel nearest her, pulling it out in a spray of blood. The one behind her shot, but she was already moving, spinning in place, still shrieking, the bayonet coming around to take the guy in the side.

I looked at King. He was facedown, a good two feet of ammo still left. I pushed him and he rolled over, his eyes closed, and I squirmed behind the M-60, looking down the hallway. The dark shapes, the Russian troops were silently and steadily marching through the dark and icy hallway toward me.

...wrong answer...

I held back the trigger and fired at their waist level, pulling the barrel from right to left and back again. Inside the room there was still screaming, and now there was male voices joining Aine's soprano wail. I burned through the remainder of the belt in seconds, unable to see because of the flashes. I blinked against the blue flashes in my vision before I peered over the top of the 60, saw the dark figures were still coming and looked around. My M-16 was against the wall, the barrel sunk into the ice, and my .45 was right next to me. King groaned and twitched and I grabbed my M-16, wrenching it out of where the heat of the barrel had sunk it into the ice and then the ice had refroze. Ice sprayed and something went snap, but I ignored it, ripping into my M-203 and loading up another 40mm. Bottom one, a white flare, and it thumped out, cracking to light as I reloaded from the top, another HE.

The figures moving down the hallway were all covered in frost, the white light illuminating the fact that their bodies were bloody, red frost on them, one of them with a bullet wound in their face that had blown away their lower jaw.

Screaming I pulled the trigger on the M-203, firing the 40mm HE. It hit the wall and exploded, and I was busy loading another one up, looking up and pulling the trigger. Two were still up, and I hit the wall next to them again. Seeing the hallway was clear, I turned and looked in the room.

"They're still coming, Bravo, we've got casualties, still transmitting," Artain said.

Inside the room Aine was still fighting, still screaming. She dodged a shot, cut the shooter across the eyes, came around behind him and sliced the back of his thigh before ducking underneath a bayonet thrust and laying open the guy's entire forearm. She was still shrieking that banshee yell when a bullet hit her, spraying blood from her back, and she lunged forward, her knife in her hand and blood spraying as she kept working, kept yelling, kept screaming. A bayonet hit her in the stomach and blood sprayed when they pulled the trigger, but she spit blood in the Russian guy's face and started stabbing his arms, still driving forward with her little legs, still shrieking that banshee wail.

She wasn't the only one screaming.

Antain was yelling into the mic, holding onto his stomach, trying to lift up his rifle and failing. Sherry was face first on the floor and looked wrong somehow. Nancy was getting up groggily, grabbing her chest and doubling over when someone came through the window and fired their weapon. Stokes tried to push herself up, got stepped on by a Soviet troop who just jumped in through the window, who prepared to bayonet her. Bomber had rolled over and shot from the floor, putting a short sharp burst into the guy, dropping him on top of Stokes. Something hit me in the leg and it went weak, dumping me face first on the floor. Lanks was crawling into the bathroom, hunching forward on her belly, leaving a blood smear on the floor. Dobbs rolled over, her M-16 in her hands, and hosed off the rest of her mag at the window, three guys falling to side.

...how fucking many are there...

I scrambled to my feet, lunging into the room, smashing into the first one, buttstroking him in the back of the head and stepping around the body. Someone made a stroke at me and I blocked, the wooden stock of the AK-47 shattering my XM-16E1 at the middle, sending me stumbling back.

"We did our best!" Artain yelled into the mic, his voice raw and ragged as he lifted his M-16, only his elbow moving, and put burst into the cinderblock next to the window. "We're being overrun, Bravo!"

The guy who'd knocked me back raised his rifle but Aine's knife burst from his throat and she was still screaming as she slung him to the side, the knife tearing free.

"Finish the Fight! Blood for Lugus! To arms, boys! Blood and steel!" she shrieked, grabbing me by my LBE and pulling me up to my feet. I lunged past her, shoulder blocking someone who had dropped into the room from the window, knocking him back. Bomber shot him from the floor, trying to pull himself up from the floor with one hand that was smearing blood all over the top of the desk.

"STAND AND DELIVER!" I bellowed out, throwing one of them out of my way. One lunged at me and I put a forearm into his face, knocking him down. Artain pulled his weapon around, still calling out to the Colonel that we were trying to hold and clasping his other arm across his stomach, half-sitting up, and pulled the trigger, half of the guy's head blowing off as the burst hit him. Another one punched me in the face, trying to get Dobbs off of him as she jumped on his back. I returned the favor, feeling teeth break under my knuckles. Dobbs' pilot's knife looped over and plunged into his chest, Dobbs stabbing again and again as she rode him down. Her helmet exploded and I heard her neck crackle as her head went to the side, but she rolled over and stabbed the guy I was wrestling with in the leg, giving me the change to stab him in the stomach. Stokes had the guy bent backwards, her hands locked with his like they were playing mercy. His tendons were standing out and she bore down, one of his wrists breaking as the stocky woman put all her power into it. She let go of that hand and lifted one closed fist, driving it into the guy's sternum, then smashed him in the Adam's Apple twice. I turned away to grab the guy grappling with Bomber off of him, giving Bomber time to stab him under the sternum. Stokes threw the guy to the side and Nancy shot him in the chest.

Aine had just slit someone's throat, throwing the body to the side as his hands went to his throat. She saw me and lunged forward, planting her lips on mine, smearing blood on my face as her tongue pushed into my mouth and she undulated against me. She moaned, a needful, guttural thing, as her hands pulled open my LBE and tore open my flack vest. I kicked her feet out of from under her, taking her to the floor, on top of at least two bodies, tearing open her LBE and Kevlar. She was pulling mine off as I ripped open her BDU top and shredded her T-shirt with my fingers, exposing her breasts. She was groping at my belt buckle when I suddenly came to my senses, no longer filled with the need to tear her clothes off. I pushed her away and rolled off of her. She scrambled up and let off another one of her banshee cries, raising the knife over her head, her top open and her breasts exposed. Her eyes were still locked onto mine, but I shook my head, trying to clear the red haze, and turned around, seeing the room was empty.

"Frag out!" Dobbs called, weakly throwing the grenade. It wobbled out the window and vanished into the snow. Nobody said anything and the explosion threw slush and snow into the room. She pushed herself to her feet and looked out the window.

"Clear," she coughed.

Aine stood in the room, panting, as the weapons's fire quit. My ears were ringing and my head hurt, my hands were numb and tingling, and I was having trouble getting my leg to follow orders. My vision was blurry even though my glasses were still on.

"Actual, sound off," I called out.

"Artain," he coughed.

"Dobbs."

"Nagle," she coughed. "Oh, goddammit."

"Stokes."

"King," came the groan from the hallway.

"Bomber."

Lanks groaned from the bathroom.

"Actual, come in Echo-Five Actual, do you read?" came over the radio. Oh, good, the Colonel was with us. Thank God he survived the fight.

McCullen was still panting, staring around with wild eyes. Nancy staggered over and slapped her. "McCullen!"

"Here, Drill Sergeant!" she sounded off. Her eyes cleared and she looked around, confused. "What happened?"

"I saved you, it was great," Stokes grunted from underneath a dead body. "Someone get this asshole off of me."

"Echo-Five Actual, do you read?"

Nancy knelt down by Artain, looking at him, then looking at me and shrugging. She moved to Sherry, looking down, and I staggered up, dragging my leg behind me. She rolled the other man over and turned her head, gagging.

Most of his guts were leaking out of the hole torn in his side. His right arm had been under him, all that was holding his intestines inside of him. When Nancy rolled him loops of intestine stayed behind. Bloody foam was coming from his mouth and nose.

Sherry's eyelids fluttered and his eyes opened.

"Stillwater?" he asked, looking up at me.

"Oh God!" Nancy cried out, kneeling down. "Lanks, Lanks, I need you now!"

"Yeah?" I asked, squatting down. Nancy was trying to scoop his intestines back into the hole in his side.

"Am I fucked?" he asked me, licking his pale lips. His voice was weak and blood was spreading out into a freezing puddle. Nancy looked at me and shook her head.

"Yeah," I told him, honestly. Nancy glared at me.

I lit a cigarette and motioned to him. "Want it?"

He coughed, more bloody foam coming from his mouth and nose. His remaining hand flopped on the ground. "Sure, why not?"

Lanks came staggering in, holding onto the side of her face with one hand, supporting herself against the wall lockers with the other. "Face. My face," she said softly.

"Ant, do what you can," Nancy snapped, moving to Lanks. I looked up and saw Nancy pull Lanks hand away.

And half her scalp peeled down from the top of her head to her right eyebrow.

"Hey, drag?" Sherry coughed.

"Sorry." I put it to his lips and watched as he took a drag.

"Echo Five Actual, do you read?"

"Fucking hurts," Sherry moaned. "How bad?"

"Let off the mic, Artain," Stokes said.

"I can hear voices, but I'm not sure what's going on," the Colonel said. "Jesus, did you hear all that?"

"You're dicked," I told Sherry honestly. I took a drag off the cigarette. The butt was damp with blood, but fuck it.

"Figured. Jumped on the grenade," he said. His breath was starting to hitch.

"Stay here, keep pressure," Nancy said to Lanks. She came back next to me. She had a bottle in her hand and was pulling out liquid with the syringe.

"Echo Five Actual, is there anyone left?" the Colonel asked.

"I'm gonna give you a shot, take away some of the pain till we can evac you," Nancy told him, pulling the needle free.

"We're here, Bravo," Stokes coughed. "We're here." Outside the snow was sweeping toward us, advancing steadily. My mind threw up an image of the Russians, covered in ice, still coming at me.

Victory through superior firepower.

"Liar," Sherry coughed. Nancy froze and Sherry looked at her. "Please. Hurts. Get it."

She nodded, and felt at his neck. She stuck the needle in and pressed the plunger down. Three quarters of a syringe flowed in Sherry's neck. Snow began blowing in through the window.

"You'll just get a little sleepy, honey. Stillwater will stay with you," she said, moving to Artain, who was holding his stomach and crying. I slumped down, laying on my side, pressing the cigarette to Sherry's mouth and letting him pull a drag.

"What happened? Over." the Colonel asked. Stokes chuckled, putting her chin on her chest and sighing.

Aine was standing in front of the window, still gasping. She was wiping her knife off on her pant-leg.

...shouldn't she be face down...

"Liar." Sherry smiled. His teeth were red with blood. His lips were turning blue under the blood, same with the edges of his nostrils.

"The Soviets made a push," Stokes gasped. "I think we got them all." Stokes laughed harshly. "But I think they got us too."

I grabbed Sherry's hand, holding tight to it, and pulled open the desk drawer next to me with my other hand. My pinky was bent backwards, the whole side of my hand swollen and painful looking as I yanked on the drawer twice before getting it open.

All I could feel in my legs and arms was a weird balloon feeling and tingling.

The bottle came out and I stuck the corktop of the Asbach in my mouth before pulling the cork out. I spit it across the room, noticing that my room was completely wrecked.

Again.

Nancy grabbed the mic. "Sir, we need medical advice." She coughed and groaned. "We've got multiple injuries and I'm working out of a manual." Her voice was clipped and emotionless, but I could hear it in her voice.

"We'll try to patch you in," the Colonel told us. The line was getting clearer, not more static, as the wind began to pick up in the room, blowing snow in. The light dimmed, and I shivered.

"I'm cold too," Sherry said. "Drink?" His voice was muzzy, his eyes only half open. The morphine was affecting him. Well, that and catastrophic damage.

"Sure," I told him, inhaling deep and feeling something pop in my chest. It got easier to breathe. I heard the door slam behind me, and look to my left showed me King limping into the room, dragging the M-60 by the bipod. He looked like hell.

"Sir, I've got an open belly wound, not sure how deep," Nancy said.

"Fucker bayoneted me." Artaine gasped. "Oh God, that shot's working."

"Hold still, Lanks, I'll put a field dressing on it," Dobbs said, moving up. She pulled on the snap on the upside down pouch and caught the field dressing. She had blood still running down her chin when she pulled the plastic apart with her teeth.

I noticed that one of her front teeth were missing. Her was in her T-shirt and her T-shirt was soaked in blood. Who knew if it was hers.

I glanced back down, putting the bottle to his open mouth, and spilling some between his lips. He gulped, sputtered as I withdrew the bottle, and gagged.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

"Something's out there. It's getting angry," Aine said from the window. Her voice was sing-song, ethereal, and seemed to twine with the wind. She stiffened suddenly. "I see two people trying to get to the motorpool." The wind swept down and the snow went from little flurries to a wall of it roaring into the room. Her head lolled back and her body started to tremble. "Blood..." she whispered. She gave a snap convulsion and she went rigid. I saw Aine jump out the window and scramble up to her feet in the snow.

"Actual, how bad are your injuries?" the Colonel asked. Nancy bent over coughing.

"Nancy, we've gotta evac!" I yelled.

I wasn't sure if I was worried about the cold, Tandy, the guy with the axe, or the unsettling idea of Aine coming back.

"We can't!" Nancy yelled back. "We can't move Sherry."

"Stillwater," Sherry whispered. I looked down. "Give me my weapon."

I shook my head. "No, you're coming with us," I told him.

He coughed and sprayed bloody foam. He shook his head. "No. I don't feel cold."

I didn't even know how the hell he was alive, but I reached out, picked up a weapon, and put a new magazine in it from my ammo pouch.

The lizard dutifully reported I had three magazines left.

Sherry smiled at me, teeth bloody with tiny bubbles on them, slapped the bottom of the magazine, racked back the bolt, and thumped the forward assist with the heel of his hand.

"Ready to die..." he wheezed.

"But never will," Bomber said with me as he squatted down to put one bloody hand on Sherry's head.

"Lanks, help me slide him onto that quilt. Stillwater can just deal with it," Nancy snapped.

Bomber looked at me. "His choice, brother." He looked down at Sherry. "Your boots are on."

Sherry smiled again and coughed. "Good."

King went by, still dragging the M-60 by the barrel. Lanks and Nancy staggered by next, my quilt in their hands, Artain in the quilt, holding onto his weapon.

"Actual, do you read?" the Colonel was asking.

Stokes came up and looked down at where Bomber, Sherry, and I were. "We gotta evac," she said. Dobbs was leaning against the thicker woman, one arm thrown over her shoulders, breathing heavily.

"I'll hold," Sherry said softly. His eyes were staring at the ceiling. "Go."

"We're going," I told him, waving at Dobbs and Stokes. They headed out.

"Two nineteenth," Sherry whispered. I looked at Bomber, who nodded. Sherry was looking at the ceiling, staring at it, but not seeing it. "Born to fight." I could barely hear him. "Trained to kill." He was just mouthing the words. "Willing to die." His lips were moving, but I don't think he knew it.

He stopped.

"But never will," Bomber said. I reached down and closed his eyes. Bomber gently eased the M-16 from his hands, and I stripped the ammo out of his ammo pouches. Bomber stood up with a groan, while I put Sherry's dogtags in his mouth and pushed his mouth closed. Bomber staggered back with one of his softcaps, and set it on Sherry's face.

"Let's go," Bomber said, reaching down and helping me to my feet with a hard yank. My leg throbbed, and I couldn't feel his grip on my hand.

"I don't know how much I got left, brother," I told him, stumbling toward the door. "I'm a little light headed."

"Walk it off, pussy," he told me. He bent over, coughing. "Walk it off."

Stokes was pulling on the door to the middle stairwell. Nancy and Lanks were holding the blanket with Artain on it. Dobbs was slumped against the wall, sitting on a dead body, her hand on her chest and her face grey. King was staring into the darkness of near Hammerhead Hall.

"What the fuck did you do the door, it's jammed?" Nancy bitched.

"We were getting overrun," I told her.

"You were in a hurry and got sloppy," she snarled. She looked at everyone. "Where's Aine?"

"She ran out into the snow screaming blood at the top of her lungs," Dobbs coughed. "Goddamn, I need a stiff drink and two fingers in a blonde."

"You and me both," Bomber said, stumbling and catching himself with his hand against the wall.

Dobbs smiled at him, her bandage spotted with fresh blood. "You know, you're a blond. Willing to wear a dress?"

Bomber grinned at her. "Maybe." They both laughed.

"Fuck it, near stairwell, cut through Titty Territory," Stokes offered, letting go of the door.

Nancy shook her head. "I'm almost out of gas."

"Me too," Lanks said.

"I can make it. I'll grab the fireaxe off the stairwell and break open the door," I said, moving forward.

"I'll go too," King said, stepping up to Bomber and handing him the M-60. "Here, I can't pack this and keep up." He shrugged out of the belt of ammunition and handed it to Bomber, who had just bodyslung his weapon.

"Let's go," I said, jogging forward, past the blown apart doors. There were bodies down in the hallway. King kept pace, and we headed down near Hammerhead Hall. The tiles were pocked, shattered, and a lot of the cinderblocks were crated. King stumbled twice over bodies and I about busted my ass in a pool of frozen blood, skidding for a good couple of feet on the heel of my boot before I finally got traction and took a couple of stumbling steps.

The fire had gone out in the Mag Area, and we had to cut through it since the stairwell access door in Hammerhead Hall was frozen shut with a good inch or two of ice that had run down from the suspended ceiling. One good kick opened the door in the Mag Area, and the stairs echoed as we thundered down the stairs to Titty Territory. I kicked the door open, and one of the hinges gave, the door screaming to a stop half open. Two more kicks got it open, the bottom further open than the top and a good three inches from the doorjam.

"Hi!" Aine said, smiling. She was wearing her T-shirt, BDU bottoms, and had bare feet. She was spattered with blood, her hair loose, and her green eyes sparkling. "Miss me?"

...goddamn it, Tandy, can't you do me one fucking favor...

"Let's go, McCullen," I told her. She blew me a kiss.

We started hustling through Titty Territory, the darkness pressing in on us, ice glittering on the walls, icicles hanging from the suspended ceiling, ice and frost on the floor. Our boots made the air shimmer as they hit the floor, ice crackling as we ran.

"Hurry," King said. I was gasping, my chest feeling like I had a steel band around it, and spots were in front of my eyes. Titty Territory was tunneling down. The door was still stuck half open, and heading up the stairs I looked at the box with the fireaxe in it, and grunted in irritation that it was empty. Still, as I headed up the stairs to Hammerhead Hall an idea started to germinate, the lizard examining it and checking it for flaws that might kill me. I stopped at the door and looked at it. A good hard kick at the knocked it open, revealing the others standing there.

"Let's go," Nancy said. Her and Lanks picked up Artain, who was holding his stomach and breathing heavy.

"Echo-Five Actual, do you read?" the radio crackled.

As we headed down the stairs I moved next to Stokes, grabbing the mic.

"Bravo, this is Echo-Five Actual, we're pulling back," I told him. The radio was full of static, getting heavier.

"You still with us, Actual? I have Darnell Army Hospital," the Colonel said.

"Corporal Stillwater, this is Captain Cardigan, Darnell Army Medical Center. I was told you have severely injured soldiers." A new voice came in.

We rounded the first bend, heading down, and the lizard popped up the plan. He'd ran it, examined all the options, and slapped approved all over it, hopping up and down and waving his hands over his head.

"Doesn't matter now, sir," I told him. "We're falling back to the War-Fighter tunnels, we'll probably lose commo in another set of stairs."

"Corporal, I'm ready to give you..." The voice started to rez out in static as we went below the first floor, that massive concrete slab interfering with the radio signal that we had for God knows what reason.

"This is Actual, signing off. We did our best." I overrode the doctor's signal, pushing the antenna looped from the radio from the other side of the metal frame so that it hit the metal bar of the stairwell to use the stairs as an antenna. "We aren't getting off this mountain alive." I let off the antenna when I let off the mic key.

Nothing but the hiss of static answered me.

"Code! Stillwater, I need the code!" Bomber yelled from the bottom of the stairwell. I fumbled out my book, my pinkie finger still bent wrong. Now it was folded across my palm. Fingernail in. I thumbed through it, and started calling out the hexadecimal alpha-numeric code.

"Cracking it!" Bomber yelled. I swung around the railing, cutting the landing as short as possible, and headed down to the bottom floor. I reached it when Bomber started slamming the butt of the M-60 against the handle of the door, trying to break the ice. I moved over to the critical part of my plan and waited. On the fourth hit the ice shattered and the wheel moved a few inches. Dobbs put her hands on one of the spokes and jumped up in the air, putting her body weight on it. Bomber grabbed one of the other spokes with both hands, curling his arms, his neck swelling and shoulders bunching. The wheel started to move, creaking, then suddenly cracked and the wheel started moving.

"Get through ASAP!" I yelled out.

"Echo-Five Actual, do you read?" the radio crackled.

Stokes reached back and fumbled for the mic as it repeated.

"This is Echo-Five Actual, we read you," she snapped.

There was a hiss of static.

Then came a chuckle.

Low, liquid, bubbling, full of nothing but pain and cruelty, a dark and ugly wheezing chuckle that raised goosebumps on my skin and made the lizard hunch his shoulders.

"Hurry hurry hurry," Nancy chanted under her breath.

Bomber was still spinning the wheel when the door to the short hallway crashed open.

The guy with the axe stood in the doorway, the axe at high ready across his body, his eyes glaring from behind the cold weather mask. He loomed large in the doorway, his presence filling the space under the stairs where we were gathered.

"OH COME ON!" I yelled out, grabbing for my weapon and realizing with a sinking feeling in my stomach that it had been broken in half and I'd lost my pistol. The lizard remembered the knife and it came sliding out of the sheath while he stared at us.

He took a step forward as the bolts in the door cracked and Bomber started to pull it open, raising the axe. Nancy and Lanks started to move toward it, and he swung the axe, almost hitting Dobbs. The axe smashed into the cinderblock wall, shattering the tile that covered it. With one negligent yank of his arm he ripped the axe from the wall, the ice glittering on the haft.

I could see the burnt in letters on the axe-handle.

He had us pinned between the still opening door and his axe. If we ran into the tunnel, he'd follow us and kill everyone in the tunnels.

"GO!" King bellowed, lunging forward, his arms open. "FINISH THE FIGHT!"

"KING! NO!" Nancy yelled as King crashed into him, the figure in the parka dropping back two steps as his boot slid on the ice from the force of King's tackle.

I hit the fire alarm, ripping it down hard enough the handle tore free.

The same water that flowed through the radiators flowed through the water system, making sure the pipes didn't freeze up by keeping a steady flow of hot water through the pipes.

Dobbs took two steps forward as King leaned into the tackle, pushing hard with his legs, pushing the figure two more steps back.

Water started pattering above us, and around King and the figure in the parka.

"I'm sorry!" Dobbs yelled.

And kicked the door shut.

"No, goddammit!" I yelled. Stokes and Dobbs grabbed me, Stokes kicking my feet out from under me. Aine grabbed me in a headlock, helping them drag me backwards.

"No, boy, no! Bad boy!" she yelled.

They dragged me in the tunnel as the water started pattering down in the stairwell.

The radio gave the same liquid chuckle it had before.

Bomber pulled closed the door.

It closed on King with a solid boom.