Undisclosed Location
Fort Bragg
North Carolina, United States of America
19 December, 1989, Monday
0330 Hours

Cromwell, Heather, Sergeant, US Army - Active

The sound of everyone disassembling and checking their weapons that had been handed out from the armory of a building with all the signs removed or covered. I had an M-16A2, an M9 9mm Beretta, and an MP-5 handed to me by an armorer who didn't look old enough to be shooting white, much less handing out weapons.

"What the fuck is this thing?" Bomber asked, looking over the weapon he was just handed.

The Blackbriar Girl turned and looked. "An XM-249 Squad Automatic Weapon, fires a 5.56 millimeter round from belt, box, or magazine."

"Feels like a goddamn kid's toy," Bomber bitched, looking at it. "Sling is all jacked up, feed mechanism looks like it was designed by someone with a cratered head wound, 5.56mm is too light for jungle warfare, too many entry holes for mud and debris." He looked up at her. "This thing is a piece of shit. Gimme an M-60 if you want me to kill people, otherwise I'll just huck this thing in the nearest garbage can."

"This rifle does not feel like a part of me," Little-Bit said from where she was laying on the floor, the M-82 Anti-Material Rifle deployed in front of her, the barrel resting on two sandbags. "It feels strangely off. I would need time to acclimate myself to the design changes."

"What the hell are all these stupid attachments?" Groom asked, looking at the MP-5 in her hands like she'd picked up out of dog feces. She tapped a box on the side of it. "Is this a laser? What the fuck do I need a laser for? Do I look like a Terminator? Why do I need a scope, I'm not a fucking sniper? What the shit is this?"

Aine was staring at her rifle in distaste. "This weapon tastes of failure and stupidity."

The Blackbriar Girl nodded slowly, looking around the room.

"Any other complaints about your weaponry?" She asked mildly.

Everyone's hands shot up, including mine.

She shook her head. "I will facilitate the issue of weapons you are more accustomed to," she said, her shoulders slumping slightly. As she walked away, shaking her head, I heard her mumble: "I'll just dig some weapons out of the nearest garbage can, you god damned animals."

That made me smother a giggle.

"All right, turn in the weapons," the armorer said, looking slightly depressed. "I guess our weapons aren't good enough for you."

"Do I look like some prima-donna faggot?" Stillwater snarled. He thrust the M-16A2 through the bars. "Take this piece of shit 'oh I have tiny T-Rex arms' faggot fucking rifle and get it away from me before I develop a sudden urge to suck cock," He turned around shaking his head. "Three round burst, round handgrips, who fuck designed that faggoty piece of shit?"

"Colt," Bomber snickered, handing the light machinegun to the armorer. "Hey, don't drop that, it'll probably fucking break. Shit feels like it was designed to make PAC clerks feel badass."

The armorer flushed slightly as I stepped up.

"Here," I said sweetly, smiling. "I know this isn't your fault. They're old war-horses, don't mind them."

He smiled and the tension went out of his body as he took each of the weapons from me. I knew it wasn't his fault he was handing us top of the line gear or pretty close to it. The Senate and the DoD wouldn't give 82nd old hand-me-down from Vietnam weapons, they'd make sure they were outfitted with all the latest shiny toys.

My boys were used to whatever crap was found in the back room.

"Hey, can I have a bayonet?" Stokes asked, smiling at the armorer.

"Um, we don't issue those any more. Hand to hand combat is a thing of the past," The armorer said.

Stokes just shook her head. "Every fucking war they say that, and every fucking war you end up rolling around in the dirt with some cocksucker who's in it to win it," She reached through the bars and patted his head. "Bless your little heart."

"Stokes," Dawson said. "You're scaring him."

"It makes that Grand Canyon gash of her's wet," Bomber snickered.

Stokes just grinned back, walking over and sitting on his lap. She put an arm around him, pulling him tight. "I will love him and squeeze him," she said in a dopey voice as squeezed hard enough Bomber's face turned purple, then started running her hand across Bomber's flat top hard enough I could see his tendons standing out in his neck. "And pet him," she started slamming her flattened hand on top of his head, "And pat him and love him and call him George." Everyone, even the armorer, was laughing.

"Get. Off. Me," Bomber managed to gasp. Stokes laughed, kissed the top of his head, and stood up. Bomber inhaled loudly and started coughing. "Jesus Christ."

"Those skinny guys we always see you with at the club, do you eat them after sex?" Groom asked.

"I'll never tell," Stokes smiled.

"At ease that shit," Captain Dawson said. She looked at the armorer, "All right, go ahead and pass out the sensitive items."

He looked doubtful, but started handing them out by starting with the NVG's.

Stillwater looked at it and smiled. "Hey, dual optics instead of that shitty single optic NVG-5!" He looked at the armorer. "Did they fix the flare compensation?"

The kid shrugged. "I don't know. They're NVG-7's and don't seem to mind bright flashes though."

"Holy shit," Stillwater took the goggles, looking at them. "Smaller, lighter, doesn't make you look like a cyclops cruising for ass. Nice."

The guy looked suitably shocked that Stillwater had anything good to say. When Stokes came up he handed her a big bulky box.

"What the shit is this?" She asked, taking it and looking at it. "Looks weird, kinda heavy."

"Laser targeting device. You aim the laser at the target and a Copperhead or Tomahawk or ERLIX mortar round hits within like a few inches."

She raised her eyebrows. "Really? No shit?"

He nodded. "Yeah," he handed her the canvas bag it obviously was stored in. "TM's are in there."

"Fucking sweet," She moved away, the laser system in one hand, her NVG's and the canvas bag in the other.

He handed Foster a radio and braced himself, obviously expecting to be chewed out or asked what it was.

Foster just nodded, examining it. He powered it on, plugged in the headphones, and spun the dials for a moment, listening to different channels. After a second he unplugged the headset and turned it off. "I'll need the crypto gear, an M-304A3 wireless headset and adapter, three BA-5390 rechargable lithium battery spares, NiCad Power Adapter, and a BA-3325 Film Foldable Solar charger."

The kid looked surprised. "Solar charger?"

Again Foster nodded. "If you have it."

He disappeared for a moment before coming back with an OD green bag that looked like it had never been opened. "Is that what this is?"

Foster checked the writing on the side and nodded. "That's it," He tossed it to Stokes. "Here. You know how it goes."

"I'm carrying the laser," She said.

"Hand the laser off to Aine before you break it, you mid-Western gorilla," Stillwater snapped.

Stokes just smiled, handing the laser system to Aine, who looked at it with distaste.

"You don't have to like it, just carry it," Stillwater told her. She nodded, but still looked at it like someone had handed her a dead rat.

Back at the cage the armorer was handing Foster stuff still in the original packing. Once he had everyone he asked for a list of local bands, then went over to start running function checks on the radio.

The US Army lives or dies on its commo.

"Anything cool for medics in there?" I asked hopefully.

He checked his list. "No, sorry. Well, I got a drug  pack bag," he said.

"I'll take it. Gimme," I smiled. He ducked back and returned with a small bag. I signed for it and went over to inventory it.

I was almost done when the Blackbriar Girl came back with about a dozen guys following her carrying weapons.

"These will be logged by the armorer and then issued out," the Blackbriar Girl told us.

We all waited, smoking cigarettes, while the armorer recorded all the serial numbers from the weapons and the seals on the ammunition boxes.

One of the guys left, muttering: "Had to raid a National Guard unit for that crap."

I just gave him a big smile and the finger.

We got issued again. This time I got an M-16A1, an M-3, and an M1911A1. They all felt much better in my hands.

"Are all of you satisfied?" The Blackbriar Girl asked when everyone started taking apart and going over their weapons. I could hear how much effort it took her not to sound sarcastic.

Everyone mumbled, nodding, going right on working. My M3 grease gun needed a new bolt, I didn't trust the slight discoloration on the side of it. I swapped it out pretty quick. Stillwater wanted a new buffer spring, his had heat discoloration on it. Bomber had to swap out his forward receiver due to a crack in the gas vent tube.

Once we were done we quickly snapped the weapons to our zeros, packed the ammo into ammo pouches, ruck sacks, and in Groom's case, wore it crossed over her chest.

The Blackbriar Girl shook her head at the sight of us. "All right, let's go."

I looked into the cage, smiling. "Thank you, PFC."

He flushed and nodded to me.

From the armory we got into a 5-ton with the bumper number covered by OD green 100mph tape and we noticed quickly that it was headed for the airfield.

"Panama," Bomber suddenly said. "Christ."

Dawson looked at where he was sitting next to Stillwater. "What?"

Bomber just shook his head. "The place is a shithole. Mountainous terrain, jungle, tar-paper shack shanty-towns, drug cartels, crooked military officers (both local and our own), private security corporations around the canal, and a few pissed off rebel groups out on the bush."

She nodded. "The briefing didn't mention that."

The Blackbriar Girl just watched everything with blank eyes.

"Yeah, well, the briefing didn't mention that there's enough nuclear weaponry in that goddamn bunker to disappear half the country up its own ass," Stillwater snarled. He pointed at the Blackbriar Girl, "You planning on telling everyone that there's a cache of Davey Crocketts in there?"

She just shrugged. "You loaded the bunker. It hasn't been opened since. I knew you would brief everyone as soon as you felt safe in doing so. I do not assume all of you are mentally deficient, and in fact recognize and respect your intelligence, experience, and knowledge, so please respect the fact that I am not with the CIA or the DIA and treat me accordingly."

Stillwater just looked away, digging out his cigarettes. She nodded and went back to looking out the back of the truck at the darkness.

We stayed silent, only someone fiddling with their weapons or gear, the snap of a lighter, and once in a while someone breaking wind the only sounds beside the hiss of the big cargo truck's tires on the wet pavement, the sound of the engine, and the rain on the canvas.

Once we got to the airfield, they had us unass the vehicle and hustle to a C-130 sitting quietly. It wasn't the only one, the field was full of them. More than a few were being loaded up with troops, long lines of Airborne troops walking spraddle-legged due to the setup.

My heart dropped into my stomach. I was Airborne qualified, I'd done it right here at Bragg, but I'm going to admit something here.

I'm deathly afraid of falling. So bad that even a roller coaster makes me want to vomit.

When I did my jumps, I had to grit my teeth so I didn't scream. It was the most terrifying experience of my life.

My hands were sweating and my heart beating fast when we walked up the rear ramp of the C-130. In the back of my head the old running cadence was sounding, but my guts were twisting and I felt like I was going to puke.

Three weird vehicles, boxy and low slung and wide, were on pallets inside, along with another pallet of equipment in between each set of two. Once we were all in the hydraulics started to whine and the door began to shut.

I swallowed hard as the jump master approached us. He nodded to the Blackbriar Girl, then moved over to stand in front of us.

"I am Master Sergeant Piers, jump master for this mission. We'll be rigging for a LALO," He said loudly. "We'll be dropping you at two hundred meters onto a road. You'll be jumping from the side door as we're dropping the vehicles and equipment."

He motioned at us to follow him. "Let's get your chutes ready. There's no reason to both with a reserve chute, if your main doesn't open, look out, Satan, you're coming through."

I gritted my teeth so I didn't vomit.