"Property of the US Army.
Use until destruction."

Nuremburg Army Medical Center
Nuremburg Army Post
West Germany
1500 hours, 9 February 1986

I sat in the smoking section, my arm in a sling. I had a new drainage tube to replace the one they'd taken out two days ago from my chest, this one sunk into the meat of my shoulder. Surgery had removed a few pieces of steel, some bone chips, and fixed where I'd torn it up inside. It ached constantly, but I ignored it and savored the Marlboro from the pack my brother had smuggled me.

He'd visited me twice. He was attached to some unit out of the States, a National Guard unit, and their CO thought he was the greatest thing in the world. Each time he snuck me milkshakes and a pack a cigarettes. He'd flipped through my charts, scanning them. It was easy to look at him and dismiss him as a bruiser without a brain, not realize that he was a genius, and that he probably understood every fucking thing on the charts. Him telling me that I'd be OK carried more weight than the doctors, as weird as that was. Yesterday he'd brought me something special.

Innie.

West Point had let her go, the academy commander arranging for a jet to take her to visit her twin brother. She was going to be valuable, important in her field. Already on the fast track to promotion, she'd be captain no time. She'd told me what she could about what her plans were when she graduated West Point; it wasn't much, but I could tell she loved the idea of being an officer.

She didn't ask me about 2/19th.

It might seem weird, but she demanded to see every scar, questioned the doctors about every wound, and stayed in my room till I went to sleep. She'd brought me a stuffed pink bunny, and I went to sleep with it in my arms.

She left me be something besides a machine, and with her holding my hand, that singing emptiness faded into warmth. Not like when Aine touched me, not a burning, slick, sick feeling warmth, but gentle caring warmth that let me cry for Cass.

Something had come up, and she'd left just after breakfast, telling me she'd see me later.

The bunny was sitting inside the sling that held my right arm tight to my body.

Artain was out of ICU, and the doctor had come in to see Nagle and tell her she'd done a pretty good job for no training. When she came to me and Bomber's room to have dinner with us she was packing another manual, with "PROPERTY OF NAMC" stamped on it. She'd pretty much grunted at us, reading the manual.

Lancer, on the other hand, had pretty much finished his military career. They were going to hold him over till the eye socket wasn't so raw, and his other eye healed up, so they could give him a prosthetic eye, but he was blind. He'd be getting 100% disability, but I imagined that was a small comfort for the loss of his vision and his career. Like me, he was career Army, planned on staying the whole twenty years.

We'd both figured we'd die in uniform, and now, once his paperwork was finished, he'd be going home. In his words: "To smell a dog's ass for the rest of his life."

Aine had been checked out, found to be perfectly healthy, not a mark on her, and was sent to Graf.

Fucking bitch.

She'd stopped by my room, given me a kiss on the forehead (ignoring my glare), then skipped off with a wave. She was probably out dancing in the snow at Graf and annoying my platoon sergeant with her chipper attitude.

The waiting room was warm, and it was much nicer without the MI dwonks who kept asking about the CIA fuckheads, but we'd already agreed to deny we'd ever seen them. Not like they could prove those guys had even made it to the barracks.

I knew Sergeant White and Sergeant Butcher were going to cause trouble down the line. Both of them were in the hospital with us, both of them with their jaws wired shut. Apparently they'd written statements that I'd assaulted them, so more than likely I'd lose what little rank I still had, or it would just be more evidence in my court martial.

Personally, I'd stopped caring about the time I'd gotten confirmation that my family knew that Cass had died on that frozen fucking mountain.

I took another long drag off the cigarette and blew it at the ceiling. The wheelchair was uncomfortable as hell, but they wouldn't let me walk around. They'd rebroken Stokes' leg the day before, much to her complaints, and put in new pins and rods, claiming that it would fix her limp.

Nancy had gotten in a screaming match over the scar on her face. Apparently, Nuremburg had a new plastic surgeon who told her that he could completely get rid of it, and Nagle didn't want that. The scar was a mark of survival to her, part of who she was now.

I'd seen the LT earlier in the morning, sitting in his room with his family. He'd had to have surgery, twice, and was blind the day before. He was taking everything calmly, in that infuriating manner of his. I'd met his wife, a quiet woman who's eyes glowed with warmth when she looked at LT James' stern face. His ten year old daughter was a quiet child who smiled a lot and told jokes when we visited her father.

It felt weird, like the LT James in the hospital wasn't the same man who was with us on the mountain.

I hadn't even known he had a family. It still seemed weird that he would.

Dobbs was having breast surgery. She had a lot of steel embedded in her chest, but they were only removing some of it. Her face? Well, they weren't going to do anything about her face.

Like mine, it kept the front of her skull covered, so it was good enough for government work.

We were all banged up. We'd all carry scars from it. Nothing new

We weren't getting off the mountain alive anyway.

Bomber was getting X-rayed again, like me he'd gotten pneumonia, and they were worried about his lungs. I'd bounced back pretty fast but Bomber was having trouble with it.

Which is why I was smoking cigarettes and he was getting X-rayed.

I probably shouldn't have been smoking on the tail end of walking pneumonia, but I really didn't care. I was sick of Jell-O. I was sick of smiling nurses. I was sick of people asking me questions.

I wanted my crew. I wanted to go back to Atlas.

I just wanted to get away from everything.

But, at least the doctor had told me we'd pretty much be guaranteed to get at least 30 days of convalescent leave. Some of us planned on taking the cash we'd saved up, getting a flight back to the States, renting a car, and just driving.

Nancy wanted to see the Grand Canyon. Bomber wanted to race me to the top of the Empire State Building. I just wanted to get behind the wheel of a car and just drive.

The door to the smoking room opened and one of my doctors came in, looking serious. No, closer to angry, and he practically flung himself into the chair across from me, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring.

I just sat there silently and waited. Silence was fine by me. Being separated from my crew meant I'd lapsed into barely speaking again.

"I've got news for you, Corporal Stillwater." He broke the silence. I just waited for him, and after a few seconds he went on. "You and the others weren't going to be released for several days yet, and then you were supposed to go on convalescent leave."

"It ain't happening," I grunted, the lizard marking up that I'd won my private bet with him. The doctor stared at me and I laughed. "Mission essential, baby."

He shook his head. "I hate this kind of bullshit, but it was overridden by the hospital commander."

"How long?" I asked. I didn't really care, but it would be a little nice to go take a hot shower before the ass fucking.

"Eighteen hundred hours for you. Your unit will be picking you up," he told me. He looked embarrassed as he got to his feet, but I just put out my cigarette and lit another. "You shouldn't smoke, those will kill you."

"Ain't getting out of Germany alive," I answered.

It was fifteen hundred hours. Time enough for a shower.

It wasn't anything I didn't deserve.