Roberts sat on the bed, watching TV, his pillow behind his back to cushion the headboard he was leaning against. Stillwater was laying on his bed, his leg elevated by pillows, reading a field manual and jotting down notes on a yellow legal pad with his left hand. His right arm was still strapped to his stomach, forcing Stillwater to set down the book every time he wanted to write anything down.

Roberts was a little irritated that Stillwater kept lounging around in his boxers instead of putting on at least sweats. Those bruises made his stomach churn in disgust. They'd spread across his chest and down his side, up and down his leg, turning all kinds of different colors.

They looked just plain grotesque.

His eye was worse. Stillwater wasn't bothering to wear his eyepatch, just his glasses, and he was constantly dabbing at his cheek with a cloth to blot away bloody tears.

That practically made Roberts sick.

Instead Roberts just stared at the TV, militantly ignoring the other man.

There was a knock on the door. Three heavy, carefully spaced knocks.

"You better get that. It sounds official," Stillwater said without looking up from his manual.

That was starting to annoy Roberts more and more. It seemed to Roberts that the other man could at least ask instead of just telling him to answer the door.

Roberts got up, hit pause on the VCR as he walked by, and walked over to the door.

"What?" He asked, swinging open the door.

"Is that how you were trained to answer a door, Private First Class Roberts?" The big amazon woman asked, staring down at him.

The first thing he noticed that she was in full BDU's, with highly shined boots and the uniform starched and creased. She was staring down at him, her face aloof and stern, reminding him of the Drill Instructors from Basic Training and AIT.

"It's my room," Roberts started.

"That is now how you answer a door, soldier," The amazon stated coldly. She motioned at him to step back. "I will instruct you on how to properly answer a door."

Roberts felt his spine stiffen and knew he was turning red. It was the door to his room, how dare she come up on a Friday night and lecture him on answering his own door.

"Don't you glare at me, soldier," The amazon said. "Now step back," She turned to look outside the door. "Sergeant Cromwell, will you act as the demonstrator?"

"Of course, Sergeant Stokes," The fat girl said from outside of Roberts's vision.

Roberts stepped back reflexively when the big woman stepped into the room. She did a crisp about face and faced the doorway.

"When you hear someone knock, you answer the door politely, as an NCO or an officer may knock on your door at any hour," She said coldly. "As well as higher ranking, or even lower ranking people may be sent on official business to see you or your room mate."

She closed the door.

"Correct military etiquette is not optional, Private First Class," the big amazon said.

There were three crisp clear spaced knocks.

"May I help you?" Stokes asked, opening the door fully to expose the fat girl standing in the doorway. Roberts noticed that she was dressed in a starched and pressed uniform with mirror polished boots.

The amazon did a right face and looked down at Roberts. "Now, you do it," she said as Cromwell closed the door.

Roberts felt himself getting redder. How dare she come into his room and act like this.

"Why?" He asked, folding his arms.

"Because I've been tasked with instructing you on basic tasks, soldier," The amazon said. "I have my orders from the OIC of Mag Operations, and I will carry them out," Her expression hardened. "No matter what effect it has on your pride or sense of outrage, soldier, I will carry out my orders."

The knock came.

Roberts opened the door, knowing his face was red. "May I help you?"

"Excellent," The amazon said.

"Stillwater doesn't," Roberts started.

"Sergeant Stillwater," The big amazon corrected.

"Sergeant Stillwater doesn't answer it like that," Roberts protested.

"What Sergeant Stillwater does or does not do has no bearing on what are required to do, Private First Class," The big amazon said, gesturing for Roberts to step to the side. "Sergeant Stillwater is well known for his lack of military decorum and etiquette, however, unlike you, he has been here for four years and has earned every inch of slack that others provide him."

"I am Sergeant Cromwell, primary medical care specialist for First Squad, Third Magazine Platoon," The fat girl said, coming in the room. Her face grim beneath her sun glasses. "I am here to ensure that you are following proper hygiene protocols."

"What?" Roberts blurted out. What the hell did that mean?

"What, Sergeant," The big amazon stated coldly.

"That means, soldier, that you will receive instruction about proper grooming and hygiene as well as be inspected afterwards to make sure you meet cleanliness standards. I will be ensuring you receive detailed instructions, step by step in many cases, in how to care for yourself," the fat girl said. She pulled out a notebook. "Now, are you circumcised?"

"None of your business!" Roberts blurted out.

"You are in First Squad, which operates under Special Weapons protocols, which you may or may not be trained on," the fat girl said, her voice cold. "Stillwater!"

"What?" Stillwater sounded bored.

"Circumcised or not?" The fat girl asked.

"You know good and damn well my foreskin's in a landfill somewhere," Patch said, still sounding bored. "God knows you've had to stare at my dick enough."

The fat girl turned back to Roberts. "So, circumcised or not?"

Knowing he was blushing. "Circumcised."

She jotted it down. "All right. Blood type?"

"A Positive," Roberts said, feeling sulky.

"Let me know when you're done. I'll inspect his wall lockers, afterwards," The amazon said.

Stokes walked in to the main room, grabbing a chair and pulling it over next to Tony's bed. "How are you, Tony?"

Patch sighed, setting his book down.

"I'm going crazy just sitting here," He complained.

"Are you taking notes on a TM?" Stokes asked. She leaned forward and picked it up. "FM 27-10, Law of Land Warfare. Huh. Any particular reason?"

Patch shook his head, pointedly ignoring Cromwell asking Roberts pointed and personal questions to get the same information she had for the rest of the crew.

"No. Figured I might as well go over things. I figure I'll tackle five thirty-one next."

Stokes frowned. "Which one is that again?"

"Booby traps," Patch shrugged. "They're talking about taking it out of circulation again. The Armed Services Committee got their panties in a wad about it again."

Stokes shook her head. "Every couple years they want all those old dirty tricks manuals pulled. How the hell do think we're going to fight a war, harsh language and shame?"

Patch snorted. "As far as the politicians are concerned we've lost any war before we even start fighting. They figure since Vietnam we can't win."

Patch shrugged. "When it goes down, it's not going to matter. They'll all be dead and those of us who remain will be ruling over the wreckage and ashes."

"Works for me. Gimme a smoke," Stokes said.

Patch made a grumpy noise and handed her his pack of cigarettes. Stokes lit one and passed the pack to Patch, freezing when the man suddenly leaned forward and started coughing deep wracking coughs.

"Cromwell," Stokes called out.

"Strip to your underwear, I need to document your scars and distinguishing marks," Cromwell ordered, turning from jotting down Roberts's medical history. "What's up, Stokes?"

"Come here and check Tony real quick," She said, watching as Patch flopped back on the pillows, gasping.

"Your color is bad, Tony," Cromwell said, moving into the room. She dug into her hip back, her hand finding what she was looking for. She put the stethescope in her ears and squatted down next to the bed. "Are you OK?"

"Just a cold," Patch said.

"Uh-huh," She said.

"Gimme the notebook," Stokes said. Cromwell handed it to her, digging out a thermometer. Stokes got up, walking back to Roberts. "I'll record your scars and marks, I'm a former medic before I went Special Weapons."

Roberts was less than thrilled at having to strip down in front of some oversized dyke, but started stripping off his shirt anyway. In the room Cromwell put a thermometer in Stillwater's mouth, checking her watch, then listened to his lungs.

"Breathe deep," She said. She listened to both sides, then looked at Patch's neck. "Veins aren't standing out. Trachea isn't deviated. Tony, I don't like the way your lungs sound."

"It's just a cold," Patch said.

"If it isn't better by Monday, I'm going to get you a chest X-ray," Cromwell said. "Your ribs were badly bruised with as close to blasts as you got, and I'm a little worried about internal organ damage from concussive force."

"You were as close as I was," Patch protested.

Cromwell stared at him for a long moment. "Keep saying it, it still won't be true," she said softly. "I was looking right at you. I know what I saw."

Patch looked away. "Things were confusing."

Cromwell didn't push it. She'd seen Stillwater vanish into the thermal bloom of the artillery round's explosion, saw him stagger out of it, his Kevlar vest smoking and his helmet cover torn and ragged, only to vanish in the fire of another hit. He'd come out, battered and dazed looking, but he'd still picked up a wounded soldier and carried him over to where Cromwell had been hunkered down behind sandbags treating patients.

She hadn't put it in a report though.

Cromwell owed him that much at least for taking care of her when she'd been blind and her guts had been split open.

"You're leg's looking better. Bruising is fading now. Shoulder is looking good, although that dent in the top really bothers me. I think your rotator cuff is torn. Still, you're healing nicely. You should be able to get up in a couple of days on your own," Cromwell said. She stood up, slapping her hands together. "You'll still be on bed rest, but you should have some mobility back."

"What the hell is going on, anyway?" Patch asked, glancing over to where Stokes was jotting down that Roberts had a small mole on the right side of his lower back.

"Your room-mate messed up royally during training and tried to throw your brother under the bus to Henley," Cromwell said softly so her voice wouldn't carry.

"Oh crap," Patch said, shaking his head.

"Henley decided since that your boy here complained that he didn't get specific instructions and had been forced to assume things, he'd get everything in the Army explained to him until further notice," Cromwell said.

"Toddler Time," Patch said, shaking his head. "Great."

"Hey, at least you don't have to do it," Cromwell grinned. "Gimme a smoke."

Patch handed her the pack, then wiggled to get more comfortable against the pillows. "He getting the full treatment?"

Cromwell nodded. "His attitude pissed of Henley, and you know how he can be."

Patch nodded. "Yeah."

"All right, let's move to hygiene instruction. It's almost twenty-two hundred, so we'll worry about locker and equipment inspection tomorrow," Stokes said, waving Cromwell forward.

Roberts felt humiliated as Cromwell went into excruciating detail about how to shower, repeating constantly to use soap as well as shampoo and in what order to wash things. Then to top it off she stood there while he brushed his teeth, telling him to brush up and down instead of side to side.

The worst came at the end, when Stokes looked at him. "Bed time for you is twenty-two hundred hours at the latest. You'll be woken at zero-five tomorrow, as tomorrow is considered a duty day for you," The big amazon said. "You will have bed checks during the night. As your room-mate is unable to walk, you will have to answer the door so we can confirm you are in the room."

"This is bullshit," Roberts tried to say. "I'm not in Basic Training any more."

"Command does not want you to be forced to make assumptions due to incomplete instructions or lack of details," the big amazon said, her voice cold and her face impassive. "Your leadership does not want you to feel as if you have to operate without proper training and instruction."

"I'm just being punished because that big Sergeant forgot to tell me to get the radio, map, or anything else," Roberts protested.

"His name is Sergeant Stillwater," the amazon answered. "You complained, to the Operations Officer in Charge, that you felt that the instructions during the training exercise were incomplete. To prevent that from happening, Chief Warrant Officer Three Henley, who you spoke to and directly made an official complaint to, is ensuring that you will be properly instructed and trained so that you can perform your duties within Group."

Roberts clenched his jaw, feeling his temper rise up. He couldn't believe he was being punished just because that big guy was incompetent.

"Stillwater, lights out at twenty-two hundred for you too," Cromwell called out. "You need sleep to heal."

"Fine," Patch grunted, gathering up the yellow legal pad, his pen, and the softcover manual. He twisted and set it on the top of the dresser. "Get my meds, Cromwell?"

Roberts stood there, fuming, while Stokes inspected his bed. She looked up after pulling the corner of his blanket back.

"These sheet corners are not in regulation," She said.

"His bed isn't in regulation," Roberts protested, pointed at the bunk beds, which were covered by thick quilts.

"Civilian blankets, providing they provide adequate warmth and are clean and in good repair, are permitted on a case by case basis for soldiers assigned to Group," The amazon said. "Tomorrow, I will instruct you and watch you demonstrate the proper way of making a bed."

She leaned forward slightly. "And tomorrow, every time I speak to you, unless you are performing a task I have instructed you to perform, you will be at parade rest. Do you understand?" She snarled.

Roberts nodded, swallowed.

"Good night, Private First Class Roberts," The big amazon said, turning away from him. "You done?"

Cromwell looked up at her from where she was putting the lid back on the last medication bottle. "Yup. Ready?"

"We will see ourselves out. See you at bed-check," The amazon said.

"See you for PT tomorrow, Private First Class," The fat girl said.

Roberts laid down on his bed, furious at the way the two women were treating him.

He wasn't a child. He'd graduated top of his class in Basic and AIT. How dare they act like that toward him.

This was just that big one-eyed NCO getting revenge. He couldn't even complain about it because the guy's brother was Roberts's room-mate.

It wasn't fucking fair.

Come Monday, he was going to complain to the Platoon Sergeant.