1322 North Folk Road
Sherman Housing Area
Fort Bragg
North Carolina, United States of America
12 December, 1989, Tuesday
0200 Hours

The kitchen was warm as I sat in it and drank tea. Momma Stillwater had told me, when I asked her, which teapot I could use. I'd woken about zero one and hadn't been able to get back to sleep. Dreams of Alfenwehr and Africa were bothering me, had been for months. I'd seen mental health, and they'd told me that I was processing the memories slowly but surely.

The tea was from my own stuff, well, I'd borrowed a few things from Aine, who had been sweaty and disheveled and gave me the dried leaves I wanted with a sad smile before kissing my cheek and vanishing back into the room she had been sharing with Foster in the attic. The tea was slightly bitter, but warmed my stomach. It would help me sleep, eventually, and ward off bad dreams. I needed it, those dreams were still raw edge and bleeding, pulling scabs off of injuries that weren't quite healed.

My musing were interrupted by heavy footsteps coming down the steps from the upstairs. Firm, confident steps that were preceded by an aura of comfort and stability.

I could tell it was the Sergeant Major before he stepped out of the stairs and into the kitchen. He was wearing light blue pajamas that had bunnies with Santa hats on them all over them. He scanned the kitchen and dining room in a way that looked less than a combat scan and more a parent looking to see if any children needed any help.

"Miss Cromwell," His voice rumbled. "You're tired, your eyes are dim, sweety."

"Just, bad dreams," I admitted. I sighed. "And I'm worried."

"About my son," he said and I nodded. He moved over the fridge and opened it, pulling out a beer. He opened it, tossing the cap into the garbage, and sat down in front of me across from the little table in the sun nook. "Tell me."

I sighed. "I'm the medical tech," I said. A statement, not a question. He nodded and I shook my head. "You're asking me to snitch."

He nodded, standing up and walking over to pick up an ashtray. "How well is your night vision, Miss Cromwell?"

"The moonlight makes it pretty bright, the nightlights brighten it up further, but I don't need my sunglasses yet," I told him honestly.

"That good? Huh," he chuckled. "Wish I'd had that, but I get the feeling that getting that is not as easy as just a few eyedrops and a quick nap."

That made me laugh quietly as he sat down and set the ashtray between us. I dug my cigarettes out of my robe pocket, lit two, and handed him one.

"I hate snitching like this, but I need to know, am I talking to his father or Command Sergeant Major Tiernan Stillwater?" I took a drag and shrugged.

I expected him to answer suddenly but instead to took a deep breath and looked out the window for a few minutes. "To put your mind somewhat at ease, I have extensive clearances due to my position with JSOC, but I'm not sure that actually helps."

I shook my head. "I think I'd be more comfortable telling his father about this."

He nodded. "Do you want to do this now, or if you'd like, I could have a few of my men clear a room over at JSOC."

That made me chuckle again. "Can I call you Tiernan?"

He nodded. "I'd rather you did, Miss Cromwell, in my house."

"Well, Tiernan, I believe that this room right here is probably more secure at this time than any JSOC conference room or office," I told him somewhat primly.  That made him smile and nod. I poured myself another cup of tea, using the bamboo tea bulb that Momma Stillwater had given me.

"Take your time," he told me.

"If that leg doesn't get fixed, he's going to lose his career," I told him flat out. "He should have had surgery on it two years ago. It's been getting worse. If it keeps up like this, I'm worried he's going to lose his leg. The big one I noticed was two months ago. He dropped a full two minutes on his PT test and could barely walk for almost two weeks. The bruising returned and he ran a low grade fever the entire time."

"The leg's the worst?" He asked.

I nodded. "The eye hasn't changed since it happened. That shoulder? It's been repaired two times. That leg though," I shuddered. "At the very least, he needs knee surgery and the thigh rebroken. I think the bone healed twisted and off center."

"You're worried about him throwing a clot or an embolism," Tiernan said. I nodded and he sighed. "My boy can barely walk. He's too young to lose his leg to something like that."

I nodded. "I hate to be the one to snitch on him, but he needs a full body workup. I'd recommend a CAT scan too. Bloodwork. Full body X-Ray. They won't be able to run an MRI on him, he's got too many pieces of embedded metal. As for his medical records, I can have someone fax them here. Give me a number for a secure overseas fax line and I'll have the records transferred from Group."

He raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"

I tapped my finger on the table and took a sip of my tea. "No doctor should touch him without a good look at those medical records."

He made an interested noise, but sat there, turning and looking out the window. "That boy," he said softly. He shook his head. "Mother and I, we worry about that boy." I just nodded. He wasn't talking to me, exactly, more talking to himself. "He learned to endure almost anything when he was little. Maybe he learned too well. You've probably seen it. It worried me when he was little. Mother and I, we had to check him every now and then to make sure he wasn't hiding an injury."

He lit a new cigarette from my pack, still staring outside. "When he was eleven, we found him hiding a broken finger. Till he was nearly fifteen we had to check him. Damndest thing."

"He still does it," I said softly. "We have standards for medical checks, bare skin check. In the last two years I've seen more than a few times he's tried to hide injuries. Nothing like radiation burns or chemical exposure."

"Physical damage," Tiernan said, matching my tone. He looked at me and he suddenly looked old. "He's stopped taking care of himself again, hasn't he?"

"I think so. None of really take good care of ourselves," I sighed. "But I think I know why."

He nodded slowly. "Battle fatigue."

I nodded in agreement. "I think so. The only two that are still in 2/19th from the reactivation are Tony and William. The only person that's been there nearly as long that isn't in Actual is Chief Warrant Officer Three Henley. Next is Foster. After that there's a smattering of people, but ninety percent of the unit has been there less than three years."

"I've read synopsis, seen casualty reports, Miss Crom..."

"Call me Heather, I'd feel better about it," I said.

"All right, Heather, tell me about that place. Beyond the official reports, tell me about the place, about the job," He said.

"There are two main points involved for Tony," I said slowly. "The barracks and Atlas. Nothing else really matters. The barracks is the highest man made building in Germany, in dangerous air conditions, in Arctic weather conditions."

I paused for moment before continuing. "Atlas is where we spend the vast majority of our time," I took another drag. "Up until Colonel Henry took command, we basically lived there twenty eight days out of the month. Now we are supposed to return for the weekends unless we have an extended mission, but honestly, we handle those a lot, and I mean, a lot."

"How much stress is my boy under, Miss, er, Heather?"

I shook my head. "There's thirty of us that work at Atlas. We're under constant threat from Soviet troops. We have multiple international incidents every year, all instigated by the Soviet Union. There's still metric tons of unexploded munitions scattered around the site waiting to kill someone. He's responsible for all of us, over a hundred super-max bunkers, all the vehicles, and, well, it's all been him since like 1985," I stared at him. "Stress? Total. Imagine an untrained 2nd Lieutenant given command over a platoon of ill equipped soldiers with little to no actual experience in their job. Now leave him out there with no supervision for years."

"Blood of Christ," He murmured.

I nodded. "They didn't send him to PLDC until last year. He was supposed to go to BNCOC (Basic NCO Course) after we got done with training on this new equipment. He was basically running it on guess work and intuition and studying manuals."

His knuckles popped again as he clenched his fists. "Why wasn't he sent before? Why isn't he getting surgery."

I tapped my fingers again. "Because, Tiernan," I took a drag off my cigarette. "Every time they send an NCO out to Atlas to take charge while Stillwater's gone that isn't from a very select group," I paused again, making sure I was holding his eyes with my own. "He kills them."

Tiernan raised his eyebrows. "Tony does?"

"No, Atlas. III CosCom regulation states that an NCO must be in charge of the site. I'm the NCOIC of the Support Squad, but I can't take over. CosCom requires a Special Weapons NCO in charge of all hot-sites like Atlas," I told him. "Atlas has killed so many people over the years that no NCO will go out there except for Bomber, Nagle, and Stokes, but they have their own sites to run. I have personally seen NCO's with over a decade in service refuse a direct order from Colonel Henry and rather gruesome threats by Chief Henley."

"Curse or killing field?" The Sergeant Major asked.

I sighed. "Both. Worse, maybe. I've seen a Staff Sergeant who did two tours of Vietnam with the infantry refuse an order to take over the site while Anthony went in for surgery, which meant he was put on mission essential and wasn't able to go to PLDC."

"Heather, your personal opinion. How bad is it?" He asked me. "How bad do you personally feel it is there?"

I sighed. "It's considered a hazardous posting by Special Weapons, but I'll be honest," I sighed again. "It should be treated like a combat tour. Maybe even a mandatory sixth month maximum," Another sigh. I could feel the weight on me. "Honestly, knowing what I know now, having been what I'd been through?:

We were quiet for a moment. I poured another cup of tea and I looked out the window.

"I would have stayed ignorant, never left my home town, gotten pregnant, and lived in a trailer park," I said, my voice almost a whisper. "Now, I have to stay. I know. Without me, people will die."

"But some nights. Some nights I wish I had just gotten knocked up in High School."

He nodded slowly. "I understand, and thank you for telling me the truth," He said. "Sometimes I feel the same way. Sometimes I wish they'd known I was only 14 when I joined that day."

He yawned, put out his cigarette, and got up. "Miss Cromwell, try to get some rest. You've given me something to think about tomorrow."

"Rest well, Sergeant Major," I said, staring out the window again.

He paused at the entryway to the stairs and looked at me.

"Anthony may get passive-aggressive about this. May try to downplay his injuries. I realize that this is a lot to ask, but will you accompany me when I go to speak to some doctors. I know some discrete doctors, but I think that it will help to have you come with me as his primary care and treatment medical specialist," He told me.

"I will," I told him. He nodded to me and went upstairs. His footfalls sounded heavier to me, tired almost.

I had one other ace to play if Stillwater was a bit reluctant or tried to play that 'I'm fine' bullshit when he went to see the doctors.

Dawson. She was tough, I'd give her that, but she'd had a soft spot for Stillwater since she'd showed up at 2/19th. More than that, Stillwater had a soft spot where she was concerned.

I hated to do it. She was a gap in his armor. I knew how to play her.

By playing her I could play him.

And with any luck, I could save his leg.

And maybe, just maybe, his career.