Roberts stepped back from the video game console, glaring with irritation at the game over screen. He'd gone to dinner, seen Lewis sitting with two other women eating and talking. He had to admit, he'd found Lewis sexy as hell all through training and had hoped to get him a piece of that ass. Every advance he'd made she'd just blown off like he hadn't even tried. He would have sat with her, but the two women were massive and didn't look like they'd appreciate Roberts sitting with them.

Roberts shook his head, staring at his tray with the empty plate on it. He should have known that's why Lewis had turned him down. It was obvious, with her sitting with those two diesel dykes, that she was gay.

Feeling better about the fact that he knew why Lewis had turned him down, Roberts had eaten quickly. He'd put his tray on the conveyor then headed back to the barracks. He'd explored a little bit, finding a Day Room where a bunch of people were watching Armed Forces Network television, a game room with video games and pinball. Roberts had a couple of quarters in his pocket so he played a few games on the older video games, bought a soda, and headed back to his room.

Roberts had to admit, the silence of the barracks was strange, almost an oppressive hush that seemed to swallow his footsteps. The cold was surprising. It was April, warm at Redstone Arsenal, Alabama, where he'd been at training, but here it was cold. Twice he'd gotten dizzy, having to lean heavily on the video game machine, but it went away quickly.

Roberts used his last dollar to buy a root beer, quickly lost two games on pinball, and headed back to his room. He could faintly hear music from some rooms before he went through the double doors.

When he reached the door of 275 he realized that he could hear music coming from inside. Classical music from the sound of it.

"Oh good, my gay room mate is home," Roberts snickered before he opened the door.

"Give me a second to look it up, man," An unfamiliar woman's voice said from the main room. "Which book is it in?"

"Unearthed Arcana, Ell-Tee," A man's voice said. "I'll get beers while you find it."

"Thanks," the woman said.

Roberts closed the door quietly, wondering who was in his room. He saw a short guy walking to the fridge, who glanced over and saw Roberts.

"New meat's here," the guy said. His face was familiar, but he wasn't sure from where.

"Oh joy, we're saved," That growling voice Roberts recognized.

What's an NCO doing in my room? Roberts asked.

"Be nice, Ant," The voice was Texan. "Colonel says no more lone rooms."

"Imagine if they put another E-5 in here? You two would be trying to kill each other before the week was out," The LT laughed.

"Eat me," Ant growled.

Roberts left the hallway, looking over to see the two tables he'd moved to either side of the dresser were back in the middle of the room and the chairs he'd stacked up were back around the two tables. The tables were covered with books, papers and weird covered dice. Patch was sitting behind some kind of foldable partition the height of a book that had four panels. The one who had gone to the fridge came back with a six-pack of beer, setting it on the table. Everyone took a bottle.

Roberts stared at everyone for a second, noting how much different they all looked in civilian clothing. Patch still had his leg brace on, but he didn't look as menacing as he had.

"What are you guys doing in," Roberts started.

"If you say  'my room', I swear to God I'll get up and shove a fist full of dice up your ass," Patch growled.

The Texan looked up from where he was looking in a thick hardcover book with demonic and satanic looking symbols on it. It said Advanced Dungeon & Dragons on it. Roberts had heard of it from church.

"I was assigned here," Roberts said lamely, eyeing the books with disgust.

"You got a problem with me, boy?" the Texan asked, looking up.

"No, I, uh," Roberts said.

"Then stop staring at me like that," The Texan said.

"Maybe he thinks you're hot," A woman's voice said. The woman next to her giggled and Roberts flushed, realizing he hadn't even noticed that they were women. He recognized the blonde from the back of the truck, but hadn't seen the other before.

The Texan laughed as Roberts flushed some more.

"Ever play before?" the woman he didn't recognized asked. She shook her head. "Please don't tell me you're gonna start going on about Devil worship or nerds or some shit."

Roberts jerked slightly.

"Oh, don't look so shocked, new meat," The blonde said. "It was practically written on your forehead in black Sharpie."

"Have a seat, newbie," The Texan said.

"What's your name?" Patch asked.

Roberts looked at the eye-patch wearing man, frowning. "Uh, Roberts," he said.

Patch looked at everyone else. "How about we call it here."

"Come on, Ant, it's getting good," the blonde said.

"Works for me. Pru will be happy to see me before zero-three anyway," The Texan said.

"Give our love to Pru," The blonde said. "Kiss kiss," She made kissing noises at the Texan as he stood up, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair.

"Might as well go too," The unfamiliar woman said. "Henry's having an officer's breakfast tomorrow for all the new officers. I should probably show up."

"Take it easy, Lieutenant Dawson," Patch told her.

"Kiss kiss," The blonde said, again making kissing noises.

Roberts watched in shock as the Lieutenant bent forward and kissed the blonde woman's forehead. "Sleep well, sweety," She said.

"I'll try, Ma'am," The blonde said.

The Lieutenant ruffled her hair before grabbing her jacket.

Roberts watched as everyone gathered up papers, dice, a few of them grabbing books, and left. The blonde made kissing noises at each of them, smiling when some kissed her forehead or her cheek.

Finally Roberts, Patch, and the blonde were left. Roberts sat on the bed, watching the other two move around, picking stuff up, stacking the chairs and table.

What, is it co-ed rooms? Roberts wondered.

He stayed silent as they finished up, the blonde picking up the trash-bag full of beer bottles.

"Kiss kiss," She said. When Patch looked at her she stepped into his arms.

Roberts expected them to kiss, instead Patch just hugged her, holding her tight. "You all right, Jenny?" He asked.

"I hope so," The blonde said. "If I have nightmares again..."

"Come up here and crawl in bed with me, honey," Patch said. The embrace broke and he brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I'll hold you."

"Thank you, Ant," The blonde, Jenny, said softly, reaching up to touch his face. "Love me?"

"Three one seven," Patch said. "Life and death."

The blonde smiled at him. "Kiss kiss," She made kissing noises.

Patch leaned down, kissing her cheek. "Go to bed before I grope your melons."

She laughed, turning around and leaving. Patch walked over to the fridge, pulling it open and pulling out a bottle of whiskey.

"You drink, Roberts?" He asked.

"Why?" Roberts asked, making a face. "I've never understood the need for it myself."

"Not what I asked," Patch replied. He had an ice tray in one hand and the bottle in the other. He walked up and got a glass off the shelf, setting it down before putting ice in it and filling about a third of it with alcohol. "You want in on this?"

Roberts shook his head, wrinkling his nose.

"Your loss," Patch put the ice tray and the bottle of alcohol back in the freezer, then pulled out two cans of Coke, cracking them open and pouring them into the glass before tossing them into the garbage.

Roberts noticed he bounced the cans off the freezer's side, off the wall, then from the end of the bed before it landed in the garbage without hitting the side.

"Nothing but net," Patch chuckled.

Roberts shook his head, not believing that Patch expected him to believe that he'd meant to do that. Roberts knew luck when he saw it. When Roberts looked over Patch was sitting at the desk, in the chair, staring at him.

"What?" Roberts asked.

"Few ground rules, newbie," Patch growled.

"What?" Roberts said.

Patch nodded. "Good. Don't grab me when I'm sleeping. Shake the end of my bunk. Grabbing on me, that's a good way to get hurt. Don't smoke my last pack of cigarettes, drink my last beer or shot of whiskey, or eat my last candy bar. Don't fuck with my rabbits. I know you did before I got here, but I'm telling you now, don't fuck with my rabbits again," Patch growled. "Don't use my toiletries, don't fuck with my computer. Any questions?"

Roberts frowned. "No, but..."

"No buts," Patch said. "Don't like it, I'll have you reassigned. Get you a different room-mate."

"Will she really come in here?" Roberts asked. "I mean, what if I'm changing or something?"

Patch shook his head. "She's Atlas, new meat," He growled. "She's one of my crew. I'll take care of her if she needs me," He took a drink, then rubbed the left side of his face with one hand. "Look, we're getting off on the wrong foot here."

Patch stood up and walked over to Roberts. "Sergeant Anthony Stillwater, squad leader, First squad, Third Magazine Platoon."

Oh crap, he's my squad leader, Roberts thought to himself, taking the offered hand and shaking it. Stillwater had a strong grip but wasn't the knuckle-crushed Roberts half expected.

"I'm the crew leader for Site FSTS-317, in charge of both my squad and First Squad, Support Platoon. I've been here for over three years, ran my site for almost as long," Stillwater said, moving back to the chair and sitting down. "I've lived in this room since the barracks was finished. I was one of the First Twenty in the unit when she was reactivated. Only Sergeant Stokes and my brother have been here as long as me."

"Those rabbits are important to me. One for every time I've been busted up, given to me by my friends," He leaned back in the chair, lifting the front legs off the floor. "I've survived multiple winters here, survived everything that the mountain, the enemy, and the site has thrown at me so far," He slapped the top of the brace, a thick piece of dark green plastic that almost looked like armor that was strapped across the top of his thigh. He looked up, a rueful expression on his face. When he spoke again, his voice was low, almost monotone. "I've been told I can come across pretty harsh. You're part of my crew now, Roberts, that's going to mean a lot down the road. I may not seem like it, but it will."

Roberts stared at him, the sudden whipsaw of the other man's emotions confusing him.

"I don't get it," Roberts said.

Stillwater shook his head. "Not yet, Roberts, but you will," He finished off his drink and stood up, moving over to the fridge and making himself another drink.

"How come I'm in a room with an E-5?" Roberts asked Stillwater's back.

"Because the Colonel hates me," Patch chuckled. He moved over and sat by the computer, his elbow on the desk. He tapped the keyboard. "Don't fuck with this. It doesn't have classified data, I use it to play games, take notes on unclassified stuff, and keep track of my finances. It's an expensive piece of hardware."

Roberts just nodded. He'd wondered why a man like Patch had a computer, but finances made sense.

Patch didn't really look like the computer type.

After a minute Patch stood up, heading for the bathroom. Roberts looked around, trying to figure out what living with Patch was going to be like.

A couple of concert posters on the walls, a framed poster for Friday the 13th Part IV. There was a wooden strip about eighteen inches down from the ceiling that ran the entire inside of the room. There were shadow boxes on the the wooden rail, and Roberts realized with a shock that several of them had Cold M1911A1 APC pistols in them and two of them had bayonets. He got up and started looking at the shadow boxes.

--Cut?

11th ACR, 101st Airborne Division, 82nd Airborne Division, 1st Marine Recon, 2nd Marine Expeditionary, V Corps, VII Corps, 1st Infantry, 10th Mountain. All of the boxes held challenge coins, which were given out for exemplary performance, some held awards. Not the small ribbons  that went on the Class-A uniform, but the big ones that went of Dress Blues or were kept in the award box. Roberts saw weapon qualification for German weapons, NATO weapons, Norwegian, British, Russian, and French weapons, medals for completing British and Italian Airborne schools, Turkish helicopter assault school, Air Assault training in Fulda, Airborne training at Fort Bragg, and even Survival Escape Resistance and Evasion school. Combat Lifesaver, Master Fitness, Armorer's School, Jungle Warfare in Panama, Desert Warfare at the National Training Center at Fort Erwin, California, and other schools. All honor grad or distinguished honor grad. An ARCOM for diving into an icy river to save other troops. Another one for entering a burning building to save people. A third for providing first aid to victims of a vehicle accident despite his own injuries.

---all above?

---use:

The shadow boxes were full of thanks and coins from a whole slew of units, some Roberts recognized, most he didn't. There were awards from schools, training, even medals given out for "service above and beyond the call of duty". Roberts had read three ARCOM awards in the boxes and was about to check the ones across the room when a voice interrupted him.

---Not sure, either the short paragraph, or the whole info-dump?

"It's just metal and cloth," Patch's voice came from behind Roberts and he jumped slightly. "You'll get a chance to go to the same kind of schools. If you're lucky, you won't get the chance to earn the same kinds of awards."

Roberts turned around and was startled to see that Patch was wearing glasses with his eye patch.

"What? My contact was irritating my eye," He shrugged. "It isn't like I wear it at the site where it might get contaminated. I've been at garrison or on the road all day."

Roberts watched him limp over to the chair and sit down.

"What happened to your leg?" Roberts asked.

Patch laughed. "The CO wasn't lying. I got attacked by wolves in March during a Group run. They broke my leg, again, and damaged my already messed up knee."

"Really? Attacked by wolves?" Roberts scoffed.

Patch nodded. "Dead serious. They came out of woods, got me, Staff Sergeant Hamilton, he's the Armorer you meant, and Lieutenant Denton, he's gone now," He shrugged. "They got my leg, Hamilton's eye and one of his ears, ripped off Denton's arm."

Roberts snorted. There was no way he was going to believe something like that. Wolves didn't attack people, everyone knew that. Wolves were skittish and did their best to stay away from human beings, not run out and attack three of them.

"Don't believe me all you want," Patch shrugged. He gave a grin that was pulled lopsided on the left side. "You're thinking of the wolves you've seen on Wild Kingdom or Disney," He snorted. He reached into the desk drawer next to him, pulling out a necklace and tossing it.

Roberts caught it, looking down at it. There was a tooth, a fang almost eight inches long, cream colored with a silver setting around the base. There were runes etched on it, filled in with black or reddish coloration.

"That's from one of the wolves on this mountain, new-meat. I did the runework and cold iron setting," Patch said. He held out his hand and Roberts tossed it back. "They're wargs, dire wolves, pretty much extinct everywhere but here. They're fucking man-killers too."

Roberts shook his head as Patch put the tooth necklace back into the desk drawer. He didn't know what it was from, but Roberts was sure it was either from some normal animal or made of plastic. The runes were just over the top, supposed to make it look like it was some old relic. He glanced at Patch, wondering why the other man expected him to believe he'd done the intricate rune-work on the 'tooth'.

Patch sighed, slumped in the chair, took a long drink off his glass, and sat there, staring at Roberts, tapping his fingers on the side of the one liter crystal glass. After a long moment of silence he finally cleared his throat, sitting up in the chair.

"So, Roberts, where are you from?" He asked.

Roberts looked up, startled. "What?"

"Your home town? Where it is?" Patch asked, his voice back to the rough and gravelly growl he'd been using before.

"Oh, Tampa, Florida," Roberts answered. He shrugged. "Why?"

"Just curious," Patch shrugged. "Why'd ya join the military?"

Roberts gave a disgusted grunt. "Does it matter?"

Patch just shrugged again, this time accompanied by a pop. "Not really. But we're room mates, so I figured we should know."

"My dad was in the military," Roberts said, sitting up a little straighter.

Patch nodded. "Good a reason as any."

"He was special forces and got a Bronze Star for Valor and a Purple Heart in Vietnam," Roberts said, feeling pride in his father well up, pushing away his irritation. "I joined the military like he did, and my grandfather. He fought in Korea, earned a Bronze Star too."

Patch nodded. "Special Forces, huh?"

Roberts noticed that Patch didn't seem that impressed.

"What about you, Sergeant?" He asked.

Patch shrugged. "Father was a drunk. Good way to get out of my hometown."

"I'm going to be a careerist," Roberts said.

"Gonna be the next Sergeant Major of the Army, huh?" Patch asked, taking another drink.

"Maybe not that, but I"m going to do the full 20, maybe even 30," Roberts said. "Going to go Special Forces if I can, maybe even go Green to Gold Program and be an officer."

"Unless we all die in a fucking muddy ditch in a pile of expended brass if we're lucky," Patch said, standing up and heading for the fridge. "Turned to carbonized ash if we aren't."

"What?" Roberts said, jerking slightly, suddenly yanked out of what he'd told people since he'd joined the military.

"Nothing, just... it's been a long week," Patch said, refilling his drink. "I'm tired, that's all."

"Aren't you drinking too fast?" Roberts asked. He hated people who got drunk all the time. His father and the church said it was the sign of loose morals, of a weak man.

"You're not my real dad," Patch said, closing the fridge and limping back to the chair in front of the computer. He took a long swallow. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-five," Roberts said.

"Huh. I took you for about nineteen," Patch shrugged, taking another long drink off his soda.

"How old are you?" Roberts challenged back.

Patch set down the drink. "Twenty-one. I was born in sixty-seven. I turned 21 the day I was attacked by wolves."

Roberts frowned at the other man, looking him over. Grey hair at his temples, hard lines engraved in the scarred face. Thick muscle layered over heavy bone. Green eye intent behind the lens of the glasses.

"Scout's Honor, I'm twenty-one," Patch said, taking another drink. "Been here since I was seventeen."

"No way," Roberts scoffed.

Patch nodded. "Dead serious," he reached into his jean pocket, pulled out a wallet, and tossed it to him. "Check my ID card."

Roberts dug the ID out, turning it over to look at the birthdate. 14 March, 1967. Same with the Washington State driver's license. And his Geneva Conventions ID card, which was different from Roberts's card. He put the cards back in and tossed it to Patch, who caught it and stuffed it back into his pocket in one smooth motion.

Don't drink like you're twenty-one, Roberts thought to himself, watching the other man take a long drink off of his glass, draining it. Great, I'm the room-mates of an alcoholic twenty-one year old E-5 who's full of shit.

"I'm going to bed, new-meat," Patch said, "You had a long flight, I'd get some rack time if I were you."

Roberts watched as the other man went into the bathroom, washed out the glass, urinated, then came back to put the glass on a towel. He took off his glasses, setting them next to the computer, then stretched. He sat down and undid the catches on the leg brace, taking it off and putting it on the desk next to the computer. He sighed, rubbing his leg, wincing as he straightened his leg out and his knee popped.

After a moment Patch got up, stretched, and yawned. Right in front of Roberts Patch suddenly stripped down naked, tossing his clothes on the chair, and climbed into bed.

"Good God, man, what are you doing?" Roberts asked. "You've got a room-mate now."

"Following regs," Patch yawned. "This is a hazardous climate posting, severe Arctic conditions."

"So? You just climbed up in bed naked! That's disgusting!" Roberts grimaced.

Patch just laughed. "You sleep naked, in case of sudden temperature drops, in order to avoid ice forming between the layers of your clothing and freezing you to death," He pointed at the wall where the shadowbox proclaiming him a graduate of Arctic Warfare school sat. "Trust me, I'm trained."

"It's April," Roberts said.

"Fine, don't listen to me, but don't come whining to me when it's September and snowing and you forget to strip naked and freeze to death and I find you dead in your bed and you end up in the morgue and your parents have to bury you and wonder why you were stupid," Patch yawned.

"Want me to turn off the light?" Roberts asked.

"No, I can sleep with it on. But that reminds me," Patch said. "I have a night-light. Turn that off, I'll beat the shit out of you and throw you out that second story window right there."

Roberts looked up at the other man.

"I'm fucking serious, new-meat. You turn off or unplug that night-light, I will end your fucking career with my bare hands," Patch's voice was a low menacing growl.

Roberts swallowed, nodding.

"Good talk," Patch said, then rolled to face away from Roberts. "Anything you mess with, put it back, don't fuck with my computer or stereo. You can watch the VCR, or read a book or manual, or just jerk off. There's porn in the bathroom. No gay porn, sorry."

"I don't masturbate and I'm not gay," Roberts snapped.

"Really? You don't jerk off?" Patch asked.

"No. It's a sin."

"Great. So I'm rooming with a freak or a psycho," Patch grumbled. "I'm going to throw Henry under a fucking forklift."

"Masturbation is a sin," Roberts tried.

"So is staring at that little private's ass the whole time you were in line. What was her name? Lewis? Premartial sex is a fucking sin too, don't forget," Patch said. "Or are you one of those fuckheads who blame the female for the sin as soon as your dick goes soft and you can't see her tits?"

He's trying to get a rise out me, Roberts thought to himself. Why did I have to share a room with an asshole like him that outranks me that far?

Roberts just stayed silent, ignoring the jibe. After a while Patch started snoring and Roberts got up and looked on the shelves. Everything from Zane Grey westerns to the Lord of the Rings to Mike Hammer to post-apocalyptic fiction and classical literature.

Wonder how many of these he's actually read? Roberts thought, shaking his head and snorting.

Another bookshelf was filled with Heavy Metal magazine issues, military FM's and TM's, correspondence course books, even some British and Canadian military manuals.

Does he really think he's fooling anyone with all these manuals? Roberts snorted. He pulled out the British one on building fortifications. On the top was written STILLWATER, A - 3169 in black sharpie. Curious, Roberts opened it and saw that there were papers stapled to the pages with the staples on top. It was redrawings of the drawings in the manual, with notes that didn't make much sense to Roberts. Two sheets he looked at had nothing but math, others had curved lines done in colored pencil. One place notes had been written directly on the book.

overpressure wave of 9.5 oPsi at 1500m from GZ needed
GY = r/10 **
LD(50) w/ 2.5 GY (250r) at 2.5MT 2k
ext: 12.25GY lethal - in cover 111.mGY ops resume 92h ext drop 0.01GY/10mGY
cvr wtr w/ 3.5 ft/1m of loose soil for best protect

Roberts shook his head and put the manual back.

Great, I'm rooming with a crazy person who thinks he's a mad scientist, Roberts thought, walking back to the bathroom. He opened the cabinet next to the shower and stared.

He'd missed it earlier, but on the bottom shelf were two stacks of pornographic magazines almost a foot and a half high. The top ones on each stack had German writing, the one of the left a blonde woman and the one on the right a redhead.

Roberts shook his head in disgust as he got out his kit. He showered quickly then went over and brushed his teeth before going to bed. Patch was a snorer and the nightlight made the room seem bright, making it hard for Roberts to get to sleep.

He'd barely been asleep for any amount of time when he was woken up. Whether it was the light tapping on the door or the thud of Patch's feet hitting the floor, he wasn't sure. He kept his eyes shut, able to hear Patch's feet squeak on the waxed tile as he moved by. The door opened and the light from the hallway made Roberts squeeze his eyes shut tighter.

"Ant," The voice was the kissy blonde. "I had a nightmare." She sounded like a lost little girl and it made Roberts shake his head.

"Jenny," Patch said. "Come in."

The door closed and Roberts pretended to be asleep.

"Ant," The blonde said again. Her voice was thick with pain.

"Tell me, Jenny," Patch said, trying to sound reassuring and failing.

"I had a nightmare," Jenny said. "The explosion."

"Come on, honey," Patch said.

Robert resisted the urge to laugh. This sounded like some crap they made up to try to fool him. He closed his eyes tighter when the door shut and he could hear them coming into the room. The bed squeaked and he heard them get in.

God, I hope they aren't going to pretend like I can't hear them having sex, Roberts thought.

It was silence for a long moment and Roberts opened his eyes, looking up at the top bunk. He couldn't see anything but a lump under the blankets and didn't hear anything for a long moment. He had almost gone back to sleep when he heard Patch speak quietly.

"No," He said.

"Please," Jenny asked. "It'll make me feel better."

"No, it won't," Patch said. "Trust me."

"Please?" There was a kissing sound.

"No," Patch growled. "Roll over, Jenny. I'll hold you, but that's it."

Roberts wanted to laugh at the absurdity. He was pretty sure it was all for his benefit. He wanted to tell them to just get on with it and have sex.

He fell asleep waiting for them to get on with it.

When he woke up, both Kissy Jenny and Patch were gone.