I was a tired old man
By the time I was 20
But I'd be damned if I died
On that god-forsaken mountain

Barracks Area
2/19th Special Weapons Group Area
Secure Area
Alfenwehr, West Germany
22 November, 1988
2345

Step. Thump. Drag. That's all it took to walk into the War Stocks room. The temperature dropped immediately, raising goosebumps on my skin, making my eyes prickle. I blinked a few times to clear my one good eye, uncertain as to whether or not my bad eye had blinked. There was a faint taste of rotten meat in the air, a tang of something long dead in the cold air.

"It's cold in here, Sergeant," the Private said, following me in.

Something skittered off in the darkness.

"What's that?" The Private asked.

"Things in the dark," I growled.

Step. Thump. Drag.

everyone knows that boots cost money

"Where's the fuse box?" The Private asked, coughing.

"Far side. Used to be on the right but they moved it this summer," I told him.

"Why?" He coughed.

"Wall started sweating," I told him, slowing down and coughing myself. I could taste copper. "Wanna know something funny?"

Step. Thump. Dra-thump-g.

Wait? What?

"Tell me," the Private said.

I could hear it more clearly now. Something thumping behind us.

it's just a trick. it's the building playing tricks on you

"There's no water pipes on that wall, no reason for the sweating, it just does," I told him.

The smell of rot and decay suddenly rolled over me and made me start hacking again. It was thick, rich smelling. Weirdly enough, it suddenly reminded me of Jungle Warfare School in Panama that I'd been sent to early in the year. That weird taste of humid compost pile rot that only the jungle has.

"Jesus, what is that?" The Private coughed.

"Keep going," I told him.

Step. Thum-thum-thu-th-thump. Drag.

The temperature dropped with a crack and I blinked my eye rapidly again.

Of all the stupid times to wear contacts. Stupid stupid stupid. I'd started wearing them that summer, the long wear types you could keep in for a few days.

Now I was worried they'd freeze to my cornea and leave me as blind as Lancer.

The skittering noise again, this time off to the left. The Private grabbed the back of my BDU top, getting right up on my back.

"We've done plenty of checks down here, why is it suddenly," the Private started.

One of the massive water-heaters off to our left chose that moment to start gurgling and clanking. There was a groan that made the air shimmer around us, made flakes of frost fall from the ceiling, followed by a loud cracking sound.

ice. it's just ice in between the concrete layers

just the ice. that's all

The door behind us boomed shut. I jumped, the Private gave out a curse. I stopped dead, cursing myself. The chemlight in my hand chose that moment to dim down quickly until it was just lighting up itself and nothing else. My fist around it wasn't even lit, just darkness wrapped around the dark green light.

"Keep moving," I growled at the Private.

"Jesus, it's cold," He said, his teeth chattering.

Still, he kept moving behind me as we pushed further in.

More skittering off to the side.

The cold fire I had been expecting started around my thigh, filling up the stinging painful emptiness inside my leg. Each step made me gasp, each inhalation was knives into my chest, my eye felt dry even as tears froze on my cheek.

My hand hit the wall.

"Hold in place," I chattered, reaching into my pocket. The first three chemlights didn't work. I dropped them and almost wept with joy when the fourth one lit up, barely pushing back the darkness around us.

"It almost makes it worse, Sergeant," The kid breathed.

I took a guess. With my left leg damaged, I'd slowly pull to the left as I walked. I started shuffling right, not putting my hand on the wall as we moved further into the darkness. After a few staggering steps I could see the frost start on the wall. Lightly at first, then thicker and thicker until the ice was black with just traceries of frost gleaming green in the light of the chemlight in my fist.

"That's not good," the Private chattered.

"No," I agreed.

The fusebox came into sight. It wasn't a small one, like you see on houses or even on warehouses. It was huge, a cabinet taller than me and nearly four feet wide. It had been installed  to replace the fuse box that had been on the other wall.

It was also coated in ice.

"Need to hurry," I grunted unnecessarily as we stopped in front of it. The damn thing was locked, a brass lock that was embedded in the ice.

"How are we going to open that?" The Private asked.

I threw my left arm over his shoulders, leaned back, and slammed my right boot into the front of the cabinet. The first time the ice just crunched. The second time cracks appeared in it. The third time was the charm.

The ice shattered, spraying around us, and I felt the cold burn on my face as three pieces cut my face and another two stuck in my skin. Instead of immediately melting I could feel the small slivers of ice spread cold into my cheek and jaw.

"You gonna kick the lock off?" He asked me as I pulled my arm back.

"Authorized people have keys," I told him, bringing out my keyring. I thumbed through the keys until I found the one I wanted.

"Why do you have the key to this, Sergeant?" The Private asked me.

"Three winters," was all I said right before I jammed the chemlight in my mouth. My hands were shaking as I unlocked the lock. When I pulled my hand from the lock, I felt more skin on the fingertips of my left hand peel away.

My hand was going to be totalled

When I pulled the cabinet doors open I let out a groan of frustration.

Even the telltale LED's were dark.

It wasn't the fuses. We'd lost power from Main Post.

Again.

"Throw the breaker," The Private said. His teeth were chattering worse and he was shivering so hard he looked like he was having a seizure. His color was bad, his dark brown skin starting to get gray.

We didn't have long.

"Doesn't matter," I said, reaching into the breaker box to the six massive breakers in the middle. I snapped all of them downward, then turned away from the box.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"We've got no power from Main Post. We've gotta fire up the gennies," I told him.

One of the water tanks gurgled.

"I thought the Staff Sergeant said that the power lines were buried underground," he said.

"Yeah, well, Alfenwehr," I told him, turning away from the box. "You're in First Magazine Platoon, right?"

"Yeah, what does that have to do with anything?"

"Because we're going to freeze to death if we don't do something about it," I told him, heading for the wall.

"What?" He asked.

"Stop talking. Breathe through your nose, your sinus cavity will warm the air, help keep your lungs from freezing," I told him.

We were in trouble. Without power, we lost the positive pressure system. Without the positive pressure system, we'd be subject to the air pressure fluctuations that could be deadly. The last thing we needed for the air pressure to drop far enough to make us pass out. More microbleeds on top of the moisture crystallization that was already happening.

Still, he was quiet as we moved over to the wall. Once there I found what I was looking for.

The pallets of War Stocks.

I staggered down the rows of pallets, stopping to check the tags. Headquarters Platoon, Fourth Squad. Motorpool Platoon, Third Squad. Support Platoon, Sixth Squad. First Magazine Platoon, Second Squad.

"Which squad are you in?" I asked him, coughing. My feet had gone from aching in the cold to burning with pins and needles every time I put weight on that foot. My shoulder was starting to ache inside, down into the scar, which felt like it was going to tear apart. It felt like that chunk of ice was starting to spread into my chest.

"Fourth Squad," He said.

FSTS-468 AKA Artemis. Thirty-two bunkers of conventional ammunition, mostly small arms, crew served weapons, hand grenades, 60mm mortars and LAW rockets. Sergeant Rousso was in charge of it. Easy duty, mostly inventory. It had been completely reloaded two years ago with ammo that was all less than a year old. Good solid site to start at, get used to living in 2/19th.

The place didn't try to kill you.

I moved over two rows of pallets. He'd been in the squad less than six month, he'd be at the back, all the way at the back. I sat down on the front pallet of gear for Third Squad, digging in my pocket for my cigarettes.

"Last covered tarp. Pull it back. There'll be two duffles and a ruck. Grab them. Hurry," I told them, putting a cigarette in my mouth and lighting it. The smoke was warm. The nicotine eased the pain. The tar would seal the microbleeds.

"Hey, there's a body bag here. Oh my God, this toe-tag has my name on it," the Private blurted out.

"Get up here, hurry. Every word you say is running heat out of your core, dumbass," I told him. He moved up and I handed him the cigarette.

"Smoke it. Pull the smoke into your mouth then part your lips and inhale. It'll help warm your lungs, keep you from drowning," I told him. He took the smoke and lipped it, coughing at the first drag.

"Suck it up, buttercup, I need you to follow me," I told him, lighting another cigarette. I held out my right hand. "Help me up."

He heaved me up to my feet and I started stomping down the line. Second Magazine Platoon, Third Squad. Third Magazine Platoon, Second Squad. I'd missed by one. I backtracked and pulled the tarp off, exposing two dufflebags, rucksack, battle rattle, Kevlar helmet and vest, empty bandoleers for 40mm rounds.

"I can't carry this stuff. I need you to grab my ruck and my duffle bags," I told him.

He looked at me and I held out my left hand, raising the chemlight so he could see it.

"Jesus, Sergeant," He said.

"My right shoulder's blown out," I told him. "With my leg added in, I can't carry that shit."

"Have to drop the chemlight," He sighed, coughed, then took a drag off the cigarette, coughing for a second. He grabbed my dufflebags and ruck, started throwing straps over his shoulders, grabbed the dufflebags.

"Follow me," I told him, following the lines. Only a handful of pallet rows before there was a gap. The next stacks were pallets of concertina wire which I waved the chemlight at the stacks. "Watch the wire, Private."

I staggered up to the door, stopping in front of it.

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
MAINTENANCE SECTION ONLY
NO LONE GO ZONE
POSSIBLE DANGEROUS ATMOSPHERE

"What the hell is this?" The Private asked as I pulled out my keys, tucking the chemlight back in my mouth.

"Gennies and environmentals," I mumbled around the chemlight. I found the keys, all three of them.

I ignored that my hand stuck to the two padlocks and the door's pushbar.

The stench of rotting meat washed over us, making us both gag, as the hallway was revealed by the chemlight in my mouth. I held still a moment and watched the edge of the darkness, watching the edge of the tile that it revealed.

It didn't waver, the light from the chemicals steady rather than pulsing. The darkness didn't push back, just held steady at that line of tile.

"Follow me," I mumbled around the chemlight, my hands moving as I looked for the right keys.

The private was dragging the dufflebags behind him as we moved to the door.

BREATHING HAZARD IF NOGREEN
WARNING - POSSIBLE ELECTRIC HAZARD
NO LONE GO ZONE

There was no light on beside the door. I still had my keys in my hand and unlocked the two padlocks, then the heavy deadbolt. I pulled the door open, feeling something else tear from my left hand.

It was going to be destroyed. I knew that.

Rack it up with the rest of the damn injuries.

Something my Father, the Sergeant Major, once said stuck in my head: 'You sign up, you write a check that says 'up to and including my life', but sometimes they don't cash that check, they come by and borrow a finger, a toe, your eye, while they still hold onto that check, and you're grateful they just don't call in that check.'

I staggered into the room. Massive heavy generators. Enough megawatts to run a small city if I fired all the generators up at the same time. More than the last time I'd been down here. They'd added two newer generators. More fuel efficient, more wattage, specially designed for Arctic conditions with fewer moving parts. According to rumor control, some of the stuff was designed by NASA and DARPA for these conditions. Instead of solid state and semiconductor panels only it was analog backups. More failure points, but able to handle a near-hit 750W EMP.

drifting, you're drifting

"Drop the bags. Dig in your first. Get out your cold weather gear, dress like you're going outside in a blizzard," I growled, staggering forward.

"What about you, Sergeant?" the Private asked.

"I'm acclimated better," I told him. I held the cigarette between my teeth and looked over the panels. First thing's first, I needed to fire up the smaller generator. I checked the thermometer, seeing it was -25F, which meant that even diesel #1 would be jelled even with additives. Normally it would stay liquid but I knew that Alfenwehr didn't work that way.

The Private was digging stuff out, obviously unsure what was packed where as I moved over to the little 1.5KW generator and the fuse boxes. Unlike what it had been like last year, now the double little wall case had been replaced by heavy duty cabinets.

"Check your loadout papers," I told him. "Packing list is in the top of each bag, that way you're not just tearing through everything."

I put the chemlight back in my mouth, grabbing the binder and flipping through it, skimming quickly.

PRE-START CHECKLIST

Bingo.

"You gonna be able to start them, Sergeant?" The Private asked me.

"Yeah. We'll be able to fire them up, get light and heat for as long as they last," I told him.

He went silent, dressing, and I didn't bother to tell him the one basic fact about winter on the mountain.

The light and heat never last.

The dark and cold was eternal.