Roberts and Lewis followed the one eyed Sergeant into the building, looking at the massive structure. There were two rectangular lawns, with a door in the middle of the building connected to the road by a path separating them. The lawns had short white picket fences around the. Up by the walk that led into where everyone was heading toward there was a wide path that led to steps and an alcove. The path had a set of short, quasi-decorative street lamps at the street end. The hug building was concrete, four rows of windows. Lewis counted, twenty five windows, then what looked like stairwell windows, then twenty-five more windows, and finally a stairwell at the far end. The end they were going to had what looked like double doors with glass on either side, the next three stories all had windows for what looked like an office.

She did the math real quick, coming up with a hundred rooms a floor, four floors, for a total of four hundred rooms.

Lewis wondered how many units the big building housed. Even with two man rooms, that meant nearly a thousand people.

"Wondering how many of us are here?" The taller blonde, Sawmoth, asked Lewis.

"Yes, um," Lewis started.

The woman gave a rueful chuckle. "Specialist, for my sins. Yeah, barracks could be home to twelve-hundred people easy, sixteen hundred if they went to four man rooms," She shrugged, blowing smoke from her cigarette. "There's two-hundred and ninety of us right now. We'll probably lose another ten due to injuries in the next week. Nobody rooms alone, CO's orders."

Lewis nodded.

"That means the majority of that the rooms are empty," Sawmoth said. "Sounds better than it is. The entire fourth floor is abandoned except a handful of officers. We're supposed to get a platoon of Rangers this summer but we'll see."

Sawmoth paused to roll the cherry off her cigarette and Lewis kept walking, following the people in front of her.

The double doors, with glass on either side of them, were just the first of two sets, both of them needing pulled outward.

Roberts noticed the heat as soon as he went through the second set, just glad to be out of the rain.

"Gimme my poncho back," Patch growled at Lewis.

Lewis quickly pulled it off, rolling it up and handing to the big NCO.

"Mine too," The black haired short girl said, holding her hand out to Roberts, who quickly pulled it off, rolling it up.

The Marine was silently handing the poncho to Sawmoth, who'd just come in.

"You'll be at Atlas, Marine," Sawmoth told him. "I like you. You do good in combat, maybe I'll let you fuck Groom."

The Marine blushed as the black haired girl showed the blonde Sawmoth. "Don't make me slap your milk jugs off, whore."

Both of them walked away laughing, heading through a set of double doors. Beside the doors was a training bra hanging on a sign that read: YOU MUST BE THIS BIG TO BE IN THIS HALL! TITTY TERRITORY

"You'll be living there," The Texan told Lewis, who looked down then flushed. The Texan laughed. "Aw, don't be worrying none, for a ravening pack of she-wolves, they're OK people. You'll be fine, Lewis."

The soldiers that had been in the van were filing in.

"All right!" Patch yelled. "Once everyone's in here, we'll head down to the CO's office, he'll polish your ass about how great it is here, then we'll start drawing gear. Line up, lowest ranking first."

"Why?" A Captain asked.

"Enlisted draw gear first. Officers and NCO's will be getting a second briefing from the Colonel, mainly about how this is not like any command you will have previously had. Officers have to meet with S-2 before the enlisted," Patch said. He looked at the four men standing behind the chest high counter that had three phones sitting on it. "There's too many  to log normally. Call down to supply, we managed to snag forty-three, so we'll need complete kits for all of them."

"No problem," One of the men, a Sergeant with the nametag Medlin, said, picking up a phone handset from behind the counter.

To Roberts and Lewis, it felt like just an extension of AIT and Basic Training as they took their places. Lewis was only E-1, a bare collar private, and moved up to the front. Again, Roberts felt a flush of pride in the fact he was Private First Class and about halfway back, standing in front of a a couple of Specialists.

"Let's go," Patch said, moving over to a heavy door and pulling it open with a grunt. "This is the Near Stairwell. It gets dangerous in the fall and winter, ices up pretty fast. Leads to the main Company Operations Area."

The stairwell was big, vanishing upwards. Lewis followed the two men in front of her after Patch, shivering slightly in the cold of the stairwell. She saw a dial on the wall that had white triangles on it and the label "When Blue Surfaces May Be Icy" on it.

They take this serious, she thought.

Roberts followed the men in front of him as they went down the stairwell, around the mid-point landing, out the bottom door, and then filed down a short hallway. On the right was mailboxes, on the left was single open doorway that led into a large room with three chest high tables, two doorways covered with metal bars, and other single doors. A pair of double-doors on the right were open and Roberts caught a glimpse of four people making stacks of gear.

The line stopped, and Roberts was next to three massive Xerox machines.

"Make a hole, you mouth breathing empty headed knuckle dragging aborted cow fetuses, before I have some tranny fluid guzzling chassis humping motor pool gorilla butt fuck you till your goddamn eyes bug out," A man snarled, shoving between two E-2s. Roberts stared at the newcomer. A short man with a pot belly and a barrel chest with Chief Warrant Officer Three rank on his collar. His eyes were narrowed and his coal-dark face cruel, and he sneered at Roberts as he went by.

For some reason the sight of the man made Roberts's blood run cold.

"Biggest buncha goddamn wastes of fucking dog sperm and hooker ovum the Army ever wrapped into a fucking uniform. Mothers shoulda knocked 'em on the head and sold the fucking milk," He snarled as he took a right, heading toward a door that led outside.

"That, boys and girls, was Chief Warrant Officer Three Henley," The Texan chuckled. "He's a bit off his game today. Don't worry about him none, he don't bite," he said, walking by the line of people.

"Yeah, he's always got bloody foam around his mouth," The big muscle-bound female soldier wearing wet weather gear with the sunglasses laughed, walking behind the Texan. She reached down and scratched her ass, her other hand still holding the M-60. Roberts noticed that it was unloaded, the belt of ammunition hanging around her neck.

"Butt irritating you?" The Texan asked.

"Itches," The woman grunted.

"You'll be fine. Henley's gonna want to talk to you," The Texan told her. "Better get moving, snitch."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," The woman said. "I'll turn this in first," she turned and walked away.

The line started moving and Roberts followed as the line led into a fairly spacious office. Patch was standing to the right of a large desk, behind which sat a heavily built black man with the black oakleaf of Lieutenant Colonel's rank on his collar. On the left side of the desk stood a lean white guy with the gold oakleaf of Major on his collar. Sitting on a chair to the right, next to patch, was a man with the three chevrons, three rocks, and star of a Sergeant Major on his collar.

"Line up by eight per rank," Patch growled, standing with his feet shoulder width apart and his hands behind his back.

"Easy, Sergeant Stillwater, let's not think we hold animosity toward them when they have not even been members of our unit for an entire day," The black Lieutenant Colonel rumbled. Patch just grunted and the LTC chuckled. "Pardon my subordinate, he has been left at his duty station for too many weeks and has not acclimated to his return to garrison."

Roberts and Lewis both saw that nerve on the side of Patch's face spasm, pulling his mouth into a jerking sneer.

After a few moments the big Colonel stood up, and Roberts realized that he must be at least six-three. He gave a salute and held it. Roberts and Lewis snapped one back automatically, holding it. After a few seconds the Colonel dropped his salute and sat down.

"Stand at ease," He said.

"My name is Lieutenant Colonel John Henry, no relation, and I am the Commanding Officer of Second of the Nineteenth Special Weapons Group," He paused for a moment. "Your new home. On your right is Sergeant Stillwater, squad leader of First Squad, Third Platoon, sitting next to him is Sergeant Major Stanford, who is the Group's NCOIC, usually called First Sergeant. On your left is Major Miner, the Executive Officer of Group.."

Patch, apparently named Stillwater, nodded when his name was listed. The Sergeant Major simply nodded. The Major just stared.

"This unit is tasked with the storage and maintenance of Eighth Infantry Division and Third Armor's conventional, nuclear, and chemical arsenal, munitions they will need to fight the Soviet Union when the enemy rolls through the Fulda Gap," He leaned forward, setting his elbows on the desk and lacing his fingers. "This posting will not be any easy one."

Patch snorted.

"Group is made up of seven platoons. Headquarters Platoon, which handles operations paperwork and other details. Operations Platoon, which handles group tasks such as intelligence analysis, meteorology, and site status. Support Platoon, which handles medical, communications, and other tasks for the work sites rather than the Group as a whole. Motorpool Platoon, which has the inenviable task of keeping the myriad of vehicles Group requires in operational condition. Finally, there are three Magazine Platoons. First handles what is known as Cold Sites. These are conventional only sites. Second is a hot-site platoon, meaning they handle sites containing conventional ammunition with chemical and or nuclear munitions."

The Lieutenant Colonel took a deep breath. "Finally, we have Third Magazine Platoon, which Sergeant Stillwater here represents," The big man looked at Patch, who was just staring at the assembled group. "How would you describe the sites your platoon looks after, Sergeant?"

Patch was silent a long moment and just when Roberts though the Colonel was going to say something the stern faced man spoke. "If I had a tar paper shack in Hell and a mansion at my site, I'd rent out the site and live in Hell."

The Colonel chuckled. "Third Platoon is characterized by large Forward Storage and Transportation Sites with complete refit and war fighting capabilities, where the squads spend four to six days a week or more in position. They're known for deprivation, dangerous conditions, hard working conditions, and and massive stores of ammunition. Of the six sites, four of them are on the 1K Zone that separates West Germany from Soviet occupied East Germany, the other two are only ten miles from the 1K Zone."

Roberts was started to sweat. Those places sounded terrible. He had been trained to handle ammunition, with a short week long course on handling nuclear and chemical weapons, but this sounded way past what he was trained for. Lewis, on the other hand, was leaning forward slightly, eager to see one of the sites. She'd listened to the two women talking to the Texan and the way they talked about their work site had excited her.

"Based on your MOS you will be assigned to one of the seven platoons in Group. NCO's, you'll be placed by MOS and experience. Officers, you'll be assigned to command slots based on your experience as well as your MOS," Colonel Henry turned to the Major. "Anything I missed?"

Major Miner nodded. "You will be assigned where it suits the best interests of 2/19th Special Weapons Group. This may seem unusual, but, as you will find out after your initial inprocessing, Group is anything but usual."

The Colonel looked at the Sergeant Major. "Anything you wish to add, Sergeant Major?"

The Sergeant Major nodded. "Yes, sir," He waited for the Colonel's motion to continue. "I realize some of you have been stationed in Germany before, but this is not what you may have experienced before. This is a clandestine posting, on a secure section of a secure post. You will find out the full extant of the differences during inprocessing, all of which will take place up here, with a few minor exceptions such as setting up a bank account for those of you without one."

There was silent for a long moment and the Colonel gave a chuckle, before turning to Patch. "As the representative of the hazard sites and one of the longest serving enlisted, is there anything you would like to add?"

Patch gave the Colonel a glare, something Roberts was surprised the high ranking officer didn't take the NCO to task for. The big Colonel just looked at the one eyed man expectantly until Patch scowled and looked at the assembled group.

"If you are stupid, you will die here. If you do not listen. You will die here. If you ignore the advice of people like me, you will die here. If you do not follow the rules those of us who have survived here have developed, you will die here," He growled. "And even if you do everything right, you still might die here."

There was silence for a long moment.

"Well said, Sergeant," The Sergeant Major said softly.

"Before any of you discount Sergeant Stillwater's words of wisdom, he has survived here, at one of the most dangerous sites in Group, for almost five years," The Colonel told the assembled soldiers. "He has survived nerve and blister agent exposure, lethal weather exposure, radiation exposure and attack by hostile forces in direct combat."

"And wolves," The Major chuckled. "Don't forget when he was attacked by wolves."

Patch glared at him.

"Or the monkeys. Don't forget he got in a drunken fist fight with an escaped orangutan," The Sergeant Major smiled.

"It started it," Patch growled.

The Colonel chuckled, as if it was a joke he'd heard a hundred time. "Yes, yes, Sergeant, we all know it attacked you."

"In the club," The Major chuckled. "In front of witnesses. It crashed through the window and attacked you giving you no choice but to fist fight it."

Patch was red faced, his shoulders bunched up.

"Enough, gentlemen, we're embarrassing the man," The Colonel said. "Let's not give the new personnel the wrong opinion of the good Sergeant."

The Colonel stood up. "Dismissed. Officers, stand fast. NCO's above the rank of E-5, stand fast you'll be meeting with the Sergeant Major. Everyone else, follow Sergeant Stillwater."

Next to Lewis a man raised his hand. "Sir, I'm with the Marine Corps, sir."

"Welcome to 2/19th Special Weapons Group, Marine," The Colonel said. "You have a question?"

"Why are we here, sir?" He asked.

The Colonel looked at Patch. "Why, Sergeant, did you gather up Marines in your personnel draw?"

"Jarheads," Patch started. The Colonel cleared his throat. "Marines, then, are trained more intensely for combat," Patch shrugged. "One Special Weapons Field Warfare, two fifty-five bravo equivalents. Figured they'd love the hot sites."

"You're here to perform your MOS in the face of the enemy, Marine," The Colonel said. "Any other question?"

"Sir, no sir," the Marine said. Roberts could tell he did, but like Roberts, the big Colonel probably intimidated him.

"Those of you E-5 and below are dismissed," The Colonel said.

"Let's go, new meat," Sergeant Stillwater said, lurching his way across the room to the door. Lewis watched him, wondering why he wasn't on a profile or something. As he went by the front of the group began following him.

"All right, we're going to get your TA-50 and gear first. Get you assigned weapons, NVG's, armor, your bedding, all that good stuff," Patch was saying. "You'll be assigned a room and a room-mater with experience up here. It's about fifteen hundred, so once that's done, you'll be off till Monday. You follow the rules, you'll live till Monday, if not, well, you'll be in the morgue and you'll have company."

Roberts felt cold all over, staring at the back of the injured Sergeant as he limped past the Xerox machines and back toward the stairwell. During the CO's lecture four men had carried out boxes and were standing behind the tables, ready to issue out gear.

"You'll be drawing your basics now," Patch said. He staggered over to one of the shut doors, banging on it. "William, you in there?"

The door opened as the group of enlisted shuffled into the large room. A huge man, broad and over six foot tall, heavy with muscle, with an eye patch.

"Hey, little brother," He said. He held out an open beer bottle. Patch took it and took a long drink off of it. He looked at the assembled group. "Welp, guess I better do the job they gave me."

"Pfft, that'll be a first," Patch grunted.

"How's the leg?" William asked.

Patch shrugged. "I can walk."

Willaim Stillwater shook his head. "Mom's gonna kill me if you don't get it fixed soon."

"Tell it to Henley," Patch said.

"I'd rather face Mom," William Stillwater laughed.

Lewis listened to the conversation closely. She was surprised that they sent two brothers to same unit, and for some reason, it didn't surprise her that they were both wearing eye patches over the same eye.

"Next," The guy behind the table called out.

Lewis stepped up and the guy looked her up and down. "MOS?"

"Fifty-five-Bravo," Lewis said.

"Cup and chest size?"

"Thirty-six C," Lewis said, frowning at him.

The guy turned and looked in his boxes, coming up with two packages of bras. "This one's insulated, that's for extreme cold weather, this one's disposable, no underwire. Underwire's are forbidden at hot sites. If you don't go to a hot site, free bras every six months."

Lewis's eyes opened wide at that.

"Waist, boot, and uniform sizes?"

"Thirty-six," Lewis blushed. "Size seven boots. Small-medium top and bottom."

The guy started piling stuff up. Cold weather gear including panties with an insulated crotch, four spare uniforms, a spare pair of boots, then the TA-50. LBE, large rucksack, rucksack frame, all kinds of stuff, and a spare dufflebag.

"Why are we getting the same stuff we were issued in Basic?" Roberts asked when the uniforms were set down in front of him.

"Colonel Henry mandates certain MOS's receive additional uniforms and boots," The guy said. "You won't lose your clothing allowance."

Roberts nodded, slightly confused. "But, why?"

"Radiation and trace chemical exposure ruins your uniforms pretty quick," The guy said. "Shove that shit in the duffle-bag and go get your mask. Next!"

When Roberts walked up the doorway with the plaque that read "NBC Defense Room" the big guy was standing inside the room juggling masks. Roberts was surprised to see he had six of them in the air at once.

"MOS?" The guy asked. Roberts realized with a shock that the guy had the same last name as Patch, who was sitting at a table drinking a beer. Patch had taken off his wet weather gear and was just sitting there in BDU's. Roberts noticed the juggler had the almost same nametag as Patch: Stillwater, W. where Patch had: Stillwater, A.

"Fifty-five Bravo," Roberts said.

"Mask size?" The guy asked?

"Umm," Roberts said.

The guy suddenly whipped on at him. "You're a medium, I can tell by your face and head," He said. "That goes in your room. Wear it at all times in uniform unless instructed otherwise. Hang it at the end of your bed when not on duty."

"Incoming," Patch said, tossing a mask at the big NCO juggling. The guy caught is smoothly, still juggling. Patch looked at Roberts. "What's you're uniform sizes?"

"Um, Medium-medium?" Roberts said.

"Catch," Patch said, tossing two bags one right after another. "MOPP suits, sealed. The real ones, not practice."

Roberts shoved them into the duffle-bag, then strapped the mask onto his left hip.

"Something else you need, Roberts?" The juggling Stillwater asked.

"Um, no," Roberts said.

"Next! You, dumbass watching Monkey juggle, get over here," Another guy yelled.

"He means you, high speed," The juggler said.

Roberts moved up and the guy in the room stared at him. "Hmm, OK."

He moved away, then came back with a Kevlar vest and a Kevlar helmet. "There you go. Don't jam them up your ass, chew on them, or pawn them for crack. Next!"

"Hey, over here," The next guy waved his hand as Roberts juggled all his gear, trying to get a hand on all of them.

Roberts moved up, confusion running through him. This was nothing like he had expected Permanent Party to be. Nobody here seemed to care about rank or anything. The CO's lecture had confused him, and to be honest, Patch's addition had scared him.

He'd seen three people with eye patches, and the majority of people seemed to have facial scars.

The guy behind the barred door made four people with eye patches. "MOS?"

"Fifty-five bravo," Roberts sighed.

"Don't give me attitude, PFC," The one eyed man behind the barred door said.

"Sorry, Staff Sergeant," Roberts mumbled.

"You don't need code books or cryptography gear. Here's your NVG card. We have an alert or you roll to your site, you get your NVG's. Till then, stay the fuck away from me. Next!" The guy said, handing a green card with a serial number on it.

"Next! You, guy dicking around with Hamilton," The next guy at a barred door called out.

"He means you, high speed," The guy who handed the NVG card to Roberts said.

Feeling somewhat offended, Roberts moved up to the next door.

"Huh," The Hispanic guy behind the Arms Room cage door said. "Congratulations, kid, you get an M-16A1, a five-point-five-six millimeter select fire battle rifle," The guy put a green card down. "If you need a different weapon or additional weapon, I'll issue it to you. If you roll out to a hard-site, you'll be drawing your weapon and seven 30-round magazines."

"Next!" A woman called. "You, bullshitting with Ramirez, get over here."

"That would be you," The Armorer said, popping gum.

Roberts looked at the card. Weapon number Two-Seven-Two. He moved over to one of three women sitting at folding tables.

"All right, MOS?" The woman asked. Roberts noticed she was very attractive, with even white teeth, blonde hair, clear blue eyes, and a flawless complexion.

"Um, fifty-five-bravo," Roberts said.

The woman looked at the sheets on the portable desk in front of her. "All right, Roberts, huh? You're in Third Magazine Platoon, First Squad," She shook her head. "Lucky you."

"What?" Roberts asked.

"That's Atlas, FSTS-317, the biggest site in Western Germany," She shook her head. "You'll be getting danger pay out there," she took a green laminated card and handed it over. "That's your meal card. Don't lose it or you'll starve."

Roberts took the card, getting out his wallet.

"Here's your Geneva Conventions card, your SMLM card, which tells you how to apprehend a Soviet Military Liaison Mission vehicle you find outside of assigned areas," The blonde said. "Here's a packet of identification cheat cards for Soviet uniforms and vehicles, another card for emergency frequencies and call signs."

"Thank you," Roberts said, feeling a little overwhelmed.

"Need a place to put you," She looked at her records again and slid a key forward. "Room 275, that's on the second floor, far end, left hand side."

Roberts took the key, looking at it. For some reason it felt heavy in his hand.

"Where's your 201 file and shot records?" The woman asked.

"Collected when I was picked up," Roberts said. He was suddenly worried that the guy who collected them had run off with them.

The woman went through a set of folders. "Ah, nevermind, here they are," She smiled at Roberts. "All right, you're done till Monday. Good luck. Go through the door, take a right, go up two flights of stairs. Take the door ahead of you, not on the right, take another left, head down Hammerhead Hall, you'll find your room after the set of doubledoors."

Roberts nodded, following her directions. Lugging the three dufflebags with him. He followed her directions, the silence of the barracks slightly creepy. He dropped his helmet twice, managing to catch it before it rolled too far.

When he found room 275, he managed to to get the door open, pulling the dufflebags after him.

The room smelled faintly of strawberries and beer. There was a bathroom on his left, wall lockers on the rights that were built into the wall, making a short hallway to the main room. He saw that some of the lockers didn't have brass locks on them.

Roberts pulled the dufflebags into the room and looked around.

There were cloth hangings of heavy metal album covers on the walls, a large stereo on top of the dresser, a computer and monitor on the desk. There were books on the shelves, all kinds of books. The bottom bunk and the single bunk were made up with OD green blankets, but the top bunk of the bunk bed had a comforter on it where a dozen or so stuffed rabbits of varying types stared at him. There was fridge in the corner of the room, next to the windows, at an angle, with books on top of it. There was another dresser on the left side of the room, as well as two short tables with a total of six chairs around them. Each bunk had two pull out drawers on the bottom of them.

Roberts shook his head.

Whoever lived in here was obviously used to living alone.

He tossed his duffle-bags onto the single bunk, dumping them out. He found a set of side by side lockers with a locker above that was unlocked, and a single locker in the stack of three in between the two sets of side by side lockers, that were all unlocked.

There were packing lists taped to the inside of the locker doors, which showed exactly what was supposed to go into them. One of the side by side lockers had a three drawer chest shoved inside, again, with packing lists for each of the drawers.

The middle single locker, when Roberts opened it up, held cases of beer.

"Oh, come on, how much beer does one guy need?" Roberts asked. He pulled the cases out, stacking them next to the fridge.

Next to the beer was bottles of hard alcohol.

"Really?" Roberts asked, shaking his head. He removed the bottles of alcohol.

Then got down to packing his stuff in the wall lockers. When he was done, he found that the far dresser was empty, with packing lists taped to the bottom of the drawers for civilian clothing and underwear. He packed what little civilian clothing he brought with him into the dresser.

When he was done he sat on the bunk, staring at the stuffed rabbits.

"What kind of faggot has stuffed animals on his bunk?" Roberts asked the empty room.