FSTS-317/NATO Site 93
Classified Location
Edge of the 1K Zone
Fulda Gap, Western Germany
26 April, 1986
1630 Hours

The Fort was still the same. Smelled of BO, rotting blood, someone's last MRE, and of course, stupidity. Stillwater was laying back on his cot, taking a drink out of bottle of Orange Fanta with a shaking hand. His eyes were still shadowed by what I knew had to be some serious pain, but he lowered the bottle and smiled at me, the side of his face jerking up as that scarred up nerve spasmed.

Stokes looked up from where she was cradling Aine, who was looking around woozily with blood having ran from her nose. "She suffered a seizure about twenty minutes ago."

"Take care of her," I told her. She nodded in reply and Aine gave me a wan smile.

"How is it?" Stillwater asked.

"Things are weird out there," I told him.

"Specialist Bomber, do you have any idea what is going on out there?" Sergeant Bonnham  asked me. Her attitude had changed over the course of the operations, although Sergeant Reddings' hadn't. While Reddings still considered us a pack of incompetent fuckups, Sergeant Bonnham had been downrange repeatedly, watched Stillwater struggle to recover from his injuries, and seen the extent of the injuries the Atlas Crew had sustained.

She'd sat in Stillwater's office and cried after Chief Henley had come down to tell us that out of the all the survivors of the blast, we were the only ones who would not be put out of the military, and then made her be present as he went down with Nagle to see where each of his men had died and listened to how they had died.

When one of the Trans officers tried to climb up my ass, she'd jumped in his with both boots and sent his ass packing off the site and then used the phone to deliver an ass chewing to his boss, then reported his ass to Henley, who had promptly torn off huge chunks of everyone's ass who was involved.

She had seen Atlas the day that it had killed one and injured another of the idiot Trans drivers who had gotten out of his vehicle and gone into the brush to piss and an MRLS bomblet had blown off his legs and only Stoke's intervention had saved the other.

Seen it, and now understood it.

I shook my head. "No clue, Sergeant. I just do what Agent Timmons tells me to," I lied smoothly. "So far he's just got 1/68th Armor running back and forth, I think he's testing 3rd Armor Division's readiness status."

She nodded her head. Something like that would make sense to her. I honestly doubted she was capable of understanding exactly what was going on.

He was pushing the GRU Psycho, the 8th Guards CO, and the 39th Armored Guards to the breaking point. Assessing their crew capabilities, fuel capacity and consumption for the new T-80's, and seeing just how willing they were to lug their tactical nuke armor busters around.

"Specialist Bomber, when are you going to reload the bunkers that the engineers are rebuilding?" Sergeant Reddings asked me, standing up from the cot he was sitting on. He had been pushing Groom back against the wall by sliding his butt against her, and the sleeping woman rolled on her back and farted when he got up. I almost burst out laughing at the anger on his face.

Foster came out of the commo room with Sawmoth, both of them looking grim. He motioned at me from behind Sergeant Bonnham and Sawmoth put her finger to her lips. I frowned and started moving forward as I answered Sergeant Reddings.

"As soon as the concrete sets and cures and the sensors are installed," I told him. "Plus, I don't want any ammo on the pads until the lightning protections are back on."

Sergeant Reddings and Sergeant Bonnham both flinched. They knew as well as I did that when all this was over there was going to be Hell to pay unless they could figure out someone to throw under the bus. Reddings had denied Stillwater's request for the lightning protections to be upgraded and repaired, and Sergeant Bonnham was the one who had not only seconded the denial, she had shelved the request instead of passing it up to Chief Warrant Officer Two Henley.

And that had killed forty of Henley's animals without his permission.

Henley and I had one thing in common. We did not forgive.

I followed Foster and Sawmoth into the room. One of the new privates, Garvey, was standing by the sensors with a clipboard. I knew without either of them saying anything what was wrong with one glance at the sensor board.

All of the eastern row of bunkers was flashing. Radiation was rising. And fast. As I watched the green telltales on the middle row began flashing.

"When did this start?" I asked, moving over to the readouts. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good. We had to have a breached bunker and a leaking warhead. And a bad leaker. The only reason I could think of, with all my training, is that one of the rounds had fallen over and the uranium had somehow come into contact with the radiation enhancing cage.

Which meant if it hit a critical amount of energy release, it would fizzle. That didn't sound bad, but it meant while it wouldn't go off with the full 125kt nuclear blast of a tactical nuclear 8" artillery round, it would still go off in the kiloton range.

Which meant Atlas would vanish up its own ass when the other rounds exploded, meshed together, and leveled the place in a 35 megaton blast.

And with what Timmons was doing, panicking the Guard leadership, start World War Three.

"What are we up to?" I asked, turning around and reaching for the phone.

"Not good, we're reading spikes, weird ones," Foster told me.

The phone was picked up on the second ring as the dedicated line went through. "Major Yeardly," The Major's voice was bored.

"This is Three One Seven, I need an encrypted commo line, ASAP," I snapped, and hung up.

Now that there might look like non-military commo, but it was done for exactly that reason. Major Yeardly worked in V Corps ChemCorps command, and that kind of call meant that he needed to not only get on an encrypted line, but he needed to get 7th Army and maybe even EUCOM on the damn line.

Shit, he might even need to get the President on the line.

"We've got another wave of spikes," Foster said. He paused for a moment, then cursed, "It's over the western row and heading across the back 40. Weird," His voice got a bit musing. I was busy opening up the codebook and snapping dials to the right combination.

The phone rang on the wall. A big, heavy one, with a cradle that was full of cryptographic hardware. When I picked it up it had a hollow, ringing sound to it.

"Go ahead, Three One Seven, this is a secure line," Major Yeardly's voice sounded tight.

"I've got massive radiation readings across my site," I told him. "You might want to put everyone on alert. Either there's been a nuclear event, or I've got a breached bunker and a simmering stack."

"What are the chances of instrument malfunction?" Another voice asked, the voice tinny and echoing.

"Slim to none, sir. These readings are consistent across multiple external bunker instrumentation, ground sensors, and sensors we've got up on poles," I told him. I looked at the gauges and readouts again. "Sir, this is going to sound crazy, but I think we're receiving fallout."

There was silence on the ground. I faintly heard someone ask if there had been any tectonic activity, any seismic activity, which got back a negative.

Damn, the line was for shit.

And getting worse.

"Another jump. I think we're seeing the leading edge of something," Foster said, his voice dead and remote.

"Danger to human life?" I asked.

He shook his head, "Not yet. But if it keeps rising, there could be serious problems," He tapped several sensors. "These are groundwater sensors, used to measure radiation and chemical contamination in standing water, and these are spiking."

"It's raining," I told him.

"Relay your readings, please," Yeardly requested. I started reading out sensor type and reading. None of them were good, this was active, rising, and real radiation, not the normal pissy background count of Atlas's every day happiness.

"Do a sweep of all nuclear bunkers, examine for any possible leakage," The unknown voice said. "We'll advise the Joint Chiefs."

"Move to Special Weapons Real World procedures," Yeardly snapped.

"Sir, I request confirmation, am I to move Forward Storage & Transportation Site 317 slash NATO Site 93, it's personnel and equipment, to Special Weapons doctrine, procedures, and actions?"

"Confirmed, Specialist Bomber," Yeardly answered after a long moment.

"Confirmed," The other voice said. I could feel the weight of his words.

"Confirmed," A third voice that had been silent stated.

"Roger. Atlas, out," I snapped out. I hung up before anyone could say anything else.

"Call it," Foster urged me, tapping the gauges, "You gotta call it, Bomber."

I closed my eyes, then opened them, "I can't. It's not in range yet," I told him.

"It's a goddamn nuclear event, Bomber, you know it as well as I do, someone popped a fucking therm someplace," Foster said.

I shook my head again. "We gotta do a sweep of the bunkers, this could still be one of our rounds simmering."

He glared at me as I left the office, looking at everyone. Stillwater, ambulatory. Goddamn it, I hated doing it to him, but God help me, he was ambulatory. Nagle, ambulatory. Stokes, ambulatory. That was it of my Special Weapons troops. The blast had killed eight, and when your entire MOS consisted of 165 bouncing titties and swinging dicks, that was a measurable percentage.

Sergeant Reddings stepped in front of me. "What is going on, Specialist."

That made up my mind.

"If you are Special Weapons AIT qualified, please assemble by the door," I said, stepping around him.

Stillwater sat up, his eyes intent. I saw a muscle ripple along the side of Nancy's jaw as she stood up, wincing slightly at the pain in her brutalized legs. Aine looked up from where she was crouched down licking out a Chicken and Rice packet, her hair suddenly kinking tight, pulling up her back to bunch at the back of her neck. Stokes cocked her head and gave me a quizzical look as she moved over to the door. Timmons and one of his cloned agents frowned as I stepped around Sergeant Reddings, bunching my fists so my knuckles cracked.

"All personnel who are not Special Weapons qualified, who did not attend Citadel Ridge Training Area, please gather at the other side of the room," I snapped.

"Specialist Bomber, what do you think you're doing," Sergeant Bonnham asked me.

I ignored her, moving in front of Stillwater.

"Corporal, I officially request relief as acting NCOIC of FSTS-317 and NATO Site 93," I snapped.

Stillwater's eyes were serious as he held out his hand. "Give me the keys, I hereby assume NCOIC command of this site, it's equipment, and the personnel." He said gravely.

"Now just wait one goddamn minute, Specialist, I'm in charge out here," Sergeant Bonnham said, trying to get in between us.

"You're in charge of jack or shit right as of right now," Stillwater growled, turning and facing the people against the wall. "We have a Real World Situation on this site, as of now the site and everyone involved with it are moving to Special Weapons METL," Stillwater told them.

Sergeant Reddings looked like someone hit him in the face with a stick.

"That means I move to acting rank three ranks higher than any NCO or officer on this site, and will not turn over my command to any outside personnel regardless of originating command unless commanded to do so by Special Weapons Command or ChemCorps Command," Stillwater said.

He turned and looked at me, standing against the wall with everyone else, "Everyone get into gear, full battle rattle, we're going to go handle this."

Agent Timmons cleared his throat, "Is there any way I can help, Corporal?" He asked.

Stillwater looked at me. "You've been working with him, mind if he acts as an adviser, with you as liason, while we sort this shit out?"

I shook my head, "No, Corporal."

He nodded, waving Timmons over. "Get a handle on this cluster fuck you created while we figure out what's going on," He snapped.

"Yes, Corporal," Timmons replied crisply. He looked at his three men. "You three, stay here. Make sure the integrity of this building remain intact," His eyes got serious, "If this comes to worse, I expect you to fight to the last man to protect this building, alongside the soldiers stationed here."

"The rest of you, full combat load, authorization for live fire," Stillwater snapped. He turned to Sergeant Bonnham, "Sergeant Bonnham, do you feel capable of taking command of Rear Detachment for FSTS 317? This includes SAR, QRF, and, if worse comes to worse, completing our mission if we are killed in the fighting."

"Is it happening?" Reddings asked. His voice cracked, and he sounded like he was going to cry.

"Yes, Corporal," Sergeant Bonnham's voice was grim. "I am prepared to execute my duties."

Stillwater nodded, "We'll be depending on you, Sergeant. Work with Farley, set up a triage area and a surgical bay, Cromwell will direct you. Figure out who can, by order of expendability, operate as QRF and SAR, do not assign two people to both." Bonnham nodded, picking up her Kevlar helmet and dropping it on her head.

All of her self-doubt, all of her self-esteem issues, were completely gone.

She was stepping into the fire, willingly.

"If this moves to full on Total War, your chances of survivability will be minimal at best," Stillwater kept saying as I moved over to my gear and began swapping stuff out. The crap I carried in peacetime in my ruck, I dropped on my cot, and I pulled the important shit out of my dufflebag as Stillwater kept talking. I heard Sergeant Reddings say something and looked over in time to see Sergeant Bonnham slap him across the face.

"If you do not being to carry out my orders, Sergeant," She snarled, "I will have you shot for goddamn cowardice in the face of the enemy," Her voice was cold iron.

"You can't..." He started to say.

Groom stepped up behind him, drawing her pistol, and pushed it against the back of his neck, looking at Sergeant Bonnham. "Orders, Sergeant?"

"Well, Sergeant Reddings?" Bonnham asked.

"Fine," he said, sounding sullen.

"Fine, what?" Bonnham asked. I turned away and went back to packing my gear. Foster came out of the commo room with a new Prick-77 and dropped it on the cot, Stokes grabbing it.

"Fine, Sergeant," Reddings admitted.

I stood up, pulling my rucksack on and facing the door. Stillwater and Nagle were already standing there, and big surprise, so was Aine. Her nose was still bleeding, but she was ignoring the thick, almost blackish blood.

"Ready to go," I told him.

He nodded.

"Ready," Stokes said.

"Let's go," Stillwater said. Nagle pushed open the door, and I could see it was drizzling.

When we went outside, Aine paused, sniffing the air.

"Poison," She said, shivering. When we looked at her, she shivered again. "The air, it's poison."