"That cold ain't the weather, that's death approaching."
--30 Days of Night

I used my Gerber to snap another bead off of the long chain of my dogtags and then one from the shorter chain. A design of the dogtag chains was that the long one had 365 beads exactly, the shorter one had 52. It was designed to allow people to track time while a POW or when they were marooned.

Interesting bit of trivia. There were 101 stitches in the heel of a jump boot, 82 in the toe. It stood for 101st Airborne and 82nd Airborne.

The military is full of trivia like that. You picked it up, here and there, and it wasn't common to be asked military trivia questions at a promotion board.

I'd been asked to name seven places where the US flag flew 24/7, where Patton died, and who wrote "To Hirohito with love" on the Fat Boy.

I put the two beads in the hole in the foot board of the bunk bed. There was a tapping on the glass of the window, hidden by the boxes of MRE's, the sound of someone tapping a single finger to get attention.

I ignored it.

Twenty-eight days in the room so far. Twenty-eight days of walking on eggshells around each other. Twenty-eight days of screams, knocking, voices. Twenty-eight days of something pacing back and forth in front of my door.

"It's November 15th, gentlemen. Payday for those of you who get paid twice a month," I said, turning around. "Four weeks, and we haven't tried to murder each other yet."

The Specialist nodded. The Private was sitting on the edge of the bed, waking up, just starting his scheduled leisure time. There was a shout above us, followed by the crashing of boots. None of us even flinched.

We worked on shifts. Eight hours of guard duty, eight hours of rest, eight hours of duty.

The Specialist was on "guard duty", which involved sitting in the chair, watching the door.

I moved over and sat down in the chair, picking up the 10 kilogram weights, and starting to do curls with one hand. In the other I held a novel that I started reading. The Private got up, stumbling to the bathroom, and after a moment the shower started.

Twenty-five reps and I switched hands. My right shoulder complained but the lizard just hit one of the toggles and the pain turned to a burning tingle down the back of my arm. From out in the hallways came screams of torment, a man, who's voice quickly climbed into registers that prevented a person from telling if it was a man or woman who was screaming.

Death screams.

"Mind if I ask a question?" The Specialist asked after a long moment.

I kept reading. I'd read the book a half dozen times, but the author's 'voice' was soothing, the plot steady and predictable, the character's likable even if shallow. The perfect book to pass the time reading again.

"Sergeant?" The Specialist asked, breaking into my concentration.

"Yeah?" I looked over, smiling.

He shuddered. "Damn," he shook his head. "Can I ask a question?"

"Knock yourself out, high speed," I answered. I went from curling to keeping my arm straight and lifting it to shoulder level, holding it for a second or two, then slowly lowering it back down.

"Why stay in shape like that, man? I mean, come on, what was wrong with your human body?" He asked. Gunshots sounded out, distant, the hammering of full auto. It was flat, no echoes. That gave it away as a trick rather than something actually happening.

I grinned, lifting it up to shoulder level again. "Keeps me fit. Keeps me occupied. I got pretty busted up two months ago, this is just an extension of the physical therapy the doctors recommended."

He just nodded.  "Heard you guys got all busted up. That story about the East German Secret Police true?"

"Haven't heard the stories, but yeah. We got captured by the GRU, Spetsnaz team took us, they moved us to Dresden, tortured us for about two weeks," I said. I switched arms.

"What were they trying to get out of you?" The Specialist asked.

I shrugged. "The usual. Unit deployments, who was on the roster for loading and in what order," I lied. "They'd demand the answers, I'd just give them the name, rank, serial number answer, they get madder and beat me for awhile, then we'd start over."

He nodded, looking a little satisfied about it.

"None of my men talked either," I told him. "Fuckers had us for two weeks, the Stasi had us for two weeks, and not one of them said a goddamn thing."

"You lost two, didn't you?" He asked. I noticed he was being careful with his tone and word choices.

"Pair of privates. The male, a PFC named Roberts, I don't know what he did, but he pissed them off. He was worried he was going to break, so he pushed them. They held him down, used a claw hammer to break all the bones in his arm. He bit the side of his arm, rubbed his own shit in the wound to make it go necrotic. Cost him his arm, but he didn't talk."

The Specialist winced, bringing his arm up and cradling it in sympathy.

"The female, a Pv2 named Lewis, she wouldn't stop fighting," I rubbed the side of my face. "She was one of the Fourth Floor Thugs, one of Sergeant Stokes's prized pupils. You know of them?"

He nodded.

"Yeah, she took any type of beating they gave her, spit the blood back at them. Every time she got loose, she'd go at them and go at them hard," I shook my head. "She was fast, I mean, fucking fast. She killed two of the guards, one of the interrogators." I scrubbed the side of my face again. "They went berserk on her. I could hear her screaming all the way to my cell."

From somewhere in the barracks a woman started screaming in agony.

The Private had walked in and was staring silently, one of my brown towels around his waist.

"She was laughing in between the screams. When they held her down to rape her in front of us she bit one guy's nose off. She fought, hard, forced them to beat her, stomp her, told us that if we told them what they wanted, they'd spare her," I said. I knew my voice had gotten low, ugly, full of self loathing at my helplessness at that time.

"Um, Sergeant," The Private said.

I looked up and he shook his head. "Sergeant, I don't think it's a good idea to talk about this," He told me.

The Specialist looked around, same as me, and I saw it.

The shadows had deepened, the light bulb dimming until it was a pale yellow, barely illuminating the room. It was colder in the room than it had been. From somewhere outside the room came the sound of gunshots and screams of agony.

"Who's got a hot sister?" The Private asked suddenly, his voice loud in the cold air.

That made me laugh and raise the hand holding the weight. "Me. I got like a bunch of sisters, lot of them are probably hot."

The Specialist looked around. "I don't see any pictures."

"OPSEC," I shook my head. "No. I don't really do the picture thing."

The Private picked up his sweats and put them on. Well, not his sweats, one of the extra pair I had. I looked away while he dressed.

"You're a weird one, Sergeant," The Specialist said.

I shrugged. "I didn't make the world, I just try to survive it, but we all know..." I drew the pause out for a second. "Ain't nobody gonna get outta life alive."

The got chuckles, lightened their mood. I opened my mouth to say something more when I heard something.

Something off.

"Get dressed, now. Grab your packs," I said, setting the weight down and picking up my BDU top.

"What?" the Private asked.

There, again, a noise that didn't fit. Clicking sounds. Like fingernails on a cheap tabletop.

I pulled open the wall locker, grabbing my field jacket, tossing them extras.

There was a thump against the door. A hard one that made it rattle in the frame, made dust puff out around the frame's edges.

"What's that?" The Private said, pulling BDU pants over the sweats.

"Something new," I said, pulling open a second wall locker. I grabbed the knives, putting them into place, then grabbed out the 12 gauge pump action shotgun and tossing it to the Private. He caught it clumsily as there was another thump at the door.

"Will your runes hold?" The Specialist asked.

"They've gotta," The Private said as another thump hit the door.

I could hear the noise, a scrabbling sound, and my door groaned in the frame.

"This is new," I said, tossing the Specialist an M1911A1 in the holster, two ammo pouches attached to the LBE belt. "Whatever it is," there was another thump, with the scrabbling sound, "It's not going to be deterred by a handful of runes done in red paint stick."

I pulled on my evac LBE, buckling it as another thud shook the door, followed by the scrabbling.

"Whatever it is, it wants in bad," The Specialist said, buckling the LBE. He tossed me my ruck and I caught it, pulling it on.

"What about extreme cold," the Private said, flinching at another thump.

"Watch the window!" I snapped, realizing we were all facing the door.

The Private ran the slide on the shotgun, loading a round into it.

"It's packing flechette and triple-ought buck alternating," I said, without looking away from the door.

"Which way we gonna evac?" the Private asked.

"Room 328, that's Sergeant Nails room. Room 117, that's Sergeant Cromwell and Stokes's room. That fails, head for the motorpool or the chow hall," I told them. I checked my watched, 0400 hours. "Four hours till dawn, five till it's light out."

Another impact and something snapped inside the frame.

"It's coming," The Specialist warned.

"Yeah, no shit," I said. I grabbed a cold weather cap, pulling on a softcap and pulling the cold weather cap over it.

Another impact. I could hear it for sure now.

Claws scrabbling on the waxed tile.

There was a thump against the window and I heard the sound of glass cracking behind me.

I'd done an X on the windows, then a triple layer along the edges. The windows were double-paned, with an air gap, so I'd done outside and inside to give them a bit more tensile strength.

"At the window!" The Private called out.

The door thumped, hard enough that the weld between the outside and inside of the heavy steel frame gave with a crack.

"At the door," I called out. "Don't go center mass, go for the joints. Knees, elbows, shoulders, hips. Go for the head if you can."

"What is it?" The Private asked.

"Not sure," I told him.

"Is this it? You don't have any more weapons?" The Specialist asked. His voice was tight with fear and the strain as whatever it was thumped against the door again.

The weld cracked more, and the upper part of the frame popped out of the cinderblock.

Behind me there was another thump against the glass, this time accompanied by the sound of it breaking. I grabbed chemlights already stripped free of the foil wrapping, cracking them together and shaking them.

"They really want in," The Private said. I tossed two by the door.

"Sergeant, do you have any more weapons?" The Specialist asked again. I tossed three behind me.

"No, just enough for me," I snapped, staring at the door. I risked a glance behind me right after another thump that caused the weld to crack again. "Are both of you right handed?"

"Yes," The Private said. I dropped one chemlight next to me.

"Yeah," The Specialist added. I slid a chemlight into a rubber band loop on my LBE.

"That means you're right hand dominant. When you go out the door, look right. If you see anything out of the ordinary, like your mom standing there, the Staff Sergeant, or a snowman, you go left," I told them. I tossed back two more chemlights then closed my eyes for a second.

There were two more thumps, that last one had the sound of scrabbling claws the whole time.

"What if there's something to left?" The Private asked as the window thumped. He grabbed the chemlight and jammed it into his LBE.

"Then we're pinned. Kick in the door just to the left, straight through, out the window. Snow's probably five to ten feet below the window, jump out, go around the barracks, to the motorpool," I snapped out.

The Specialist grabbed a chemlight, copying me and the Private.

There was screaming laughter from the room above us.

I drew the heavy black blade I'd forged in the cave deep in Tir na Nog.

"HERE THEY COME!" I bellowed out.

There was a cracking sound behind me as the interior window gave it up. There was a crash against the door and the overstressed metal of the frame screamed as it tore free of the cinderblocks. The boxes of MRE's exploded outward, into the room, the door slammed against the floor.

The lizard slapped the button.