Training Area, Indoor
Fifth Floor
2/19th SWG Barracks
2/19th Special Weapons Group Area
Secure Area, Alfenwehr
West Germany
28 October, 1987
0730

Stillwater stood by the door, holding a machete that he'd found on top of a cabinet in his hand, slapping it against his leg as he watched me check everyone's gear for the third time. I could feel how urgently he wanted to get moving, but none of these people had ever been up here in the winter, not even me. We knew as soon as we went out that door we'd be subjected to sub-zero temperatures that belonged in an arctic environment more than in Germany, where all of the humidity had been sucked out of the air by the severe cold. Dehydration, as well as hypothermia, was a constant danger. Top it off with every single woman but me had a womb full of water that the cold would seep into really quickly, which put them into even more danger.

The two men had moved up next to Stillwater. Harris and Gordons were near him, but not too close. Harris had the 12 gauge, the other man holding the modified AR-15. Groom and I each had pistols, and I'd overridden the other women's complaints by telling them that Groom was the only other person in the room aside from Stillwater and myself who had ever killed anyone with a sidearm.

"All right, I'm ready, Sergeant," I said, turning away from Groom after checking all of her buttons, snaps, and elastic closures.

He nodded, staring at me. That bandage over his eye in the middle of all the bruising that had slowly risen to the surface on his face made him look coldly dangerous.

"Before I open this door, I want to make sure everyone understands the mission and their place in it," He growled. "Wright, what is the primary mission goal?"

Wright jerked, probably daydreaming. She stared at him for a second while he stared at her, mildly for him, stern for anyone one else. Finally she swallowed thickly and answered. "The primary mission goal is to get the entire group into the War Fighter Tunnels."

Stillwater nodded slowly. "Neelson, what is your job and the job of every pregnant woan?" He asked.

"Keep my balance, do not fall on the stairs, move slowly and carefully, once at the bottom of the stairs I am to hide under the stairs out of way to use the stairs as cover. Get into the tunnels as soon as the door opens far enough. I'm number two through the door," the young woman said, swallowing nervously.

"Groom, what is your job?"

"Bring up the rear, keep watch to make sure nobody falls behind. To provide cover fire and quick reaction fire if we are aggressed from the rear."

"Harris?"

The man shuddered slightly when Stillwater turned to look at him, his fingers tapping on the 12 gauge. "Five feet behind you. When the group reaches the bottom of the stairs, I'm to move up by the stairs and back you up if we are aggressed."

"Gordons?"

"At the back of the group, to back up Groom, and then be first through the door into the War Fighter Tunnels in case there are already enemy forces in the tunnels."

"And who is the enemy, Cromwell?"

"Anyone not us," I said, keeping my voice cold.

Stillwater nodded. He pointed at my hand. "Use that number to get the door open." He reached down and picked up the doorjamb that was on the floor. "The sound of the War Fighter Tunnels opened will be loud. Those are massive bolts, the size of your arms, that will be suddenly yanked back into the door. The crack those will make will be heard by everyone alive."

"I open this door, we go, even if we encounter enemy forces, we keep moving forward. If I go against the wall and cover my eyes, you do exactly that or something old and dark will tear your guts out and eat them in the front of us," He paused. "Crack chemlights and get ready."

Everyone snapped the chemlights in their hands, letting them fall from the string we'd strung through them. The pale green light slowly brightened as Stillwater turned back to the door.

"It's go time," He opened the door.

The darkness seemed to swallow what little light we had, and the cold flooded into the room, destroying the heat.

Heat was simply agitated molecules. Agitated molecules tried to even out the energy held through agitating the molecules they touched by transfer of energy. Heat spread as energy spread through molecules that touched the next and passed energy. The laws of physics said that molecules sought to balance out the energy contained. Energy could not be created or destroyed, just changed form or spread out until it was almost unmeasurable.

The cold swept in, the molecules energy depleted according to science, so that the energy of the air in the room was immediately absorbed by how little energy was in the air that swept in.

That was science.

But the air that swept into the room smothered the heat, killed it, murdered it eagerly. No energy transfer.

Just the cold hunger of the darkness that washed over us. The light too was destroyed, murdered, suppressed, until the chemlights made us look ghoulish in the shadows, a precursor to the death that it sought.

Immediately I could feel the cold trying to slice its way into my skin. Not the normal pressure of cold, not the normal way cold tried to worm its way into your clothing. Instead the cold tried to cut its way in, tried to freeze the fluid in my eyes, tried to enter my brain through my ears, froze the delicate tissues of my nose.

I thanked God for the cold weather mask I was wearing, just like everyone but Stillwater.

Stillwater was already moving. Harris paused for a second and I shoved him, hard, into the darkness, and followed, my gloved hands wrapped around the M1911A1 .45 ACP.

Already the cold was seeping my strength and endurance.

My cootch was already feeling cold between my thunder thighs.

The door took Stillwater twice to kick open, and then he was through, moving. The Army called it "Quicktime March", moving fast, but still walking, not jogging.

The hallway was covered in thick frost on the walls that gleamed like emerald dust as we passed.

...I don't want to meet the Alfenwehr version of the Great and Powerful Oz...

Paint had cracked on the doors, and on the cinderblocks. We passed where the plastic that normally covered the florescent lights had shattered and fallen to the floor, passed where the florescent tubes had shattered and fallen to the floor.

Stillwater moved almost silently, and I cringed at how Harris and everyone else behind me cracked and crunched on the plastic, ice chips, and broken glass.

Agony filled screams sounded out from one of the rooms as we passed it. I heard Groom hiss to keep going, ignore it, then I heard one of the preggos quietly protest and knew that Groom had shoved her to keep her moving.

The old bullet wound near my belly-button began to ache, the ache spearing through my stomach to the exit scar, spreading out into my womb.

...please don't poison my womb, please don't poison my womb...

Stillwater pushed at the mid-point doors and they opened, scraping as ice on the floor tried to jam up the bottom of the doors. I'd seen him like this only a few times, and every single time he was wholly focused on a single goal. Usually it involved blood and screaming, but still his intensity made me feel more comfortable, more confident we'd reach the War Fighter Tunnels.

He kept right on moving, ignoring the screaming from the stairwell. The lights were dimming and I pulled out the chemlight that had been on string and hidden under my shirt.

"Crack second chemlights," I said quietly, breaking the glass capsule inside and shaking the plastic tube.

Everyone but Stillwater dug into their shirts to pull out the next chemlight. If they stayed cold they wouldn't work, wouldn't mix properly.

The scientific side of my brain claimed that the chemlights failed because the cold caused the chemicals to freeze and separate, but the older part knew that in reality the darkness had smothered it, killed it.

Halfway down the far hall.

I was starting to sweat down my back, anxiety and movement heating me up. The sweat evaporated because of the trapped body heat, cooling my body.

That's why the crack of my ass and my spine as cold, not because the cold had managed to slither its way into my clothing so it could begin to chew on my skin with icy teeth.

The far end of the hall was dark, and I realized it was because the snow had piled up over the fifth floor window. Stillwater had mentioned that the snow could get as high as twenty meters, that the barracks itself could get buried under the snow and the roof had to be cleaned off or the people inside could suffocate.

The idea that Alfenwehr could suffocate us all made me nauseated.

He had to throw his shoulder twice against the far door to get us into the far stairwell, a sobbing scream of agony tearing up the stairwell and racing by us with almost a physical pressure, like a breeze or someone passing close by me.

We moved down the stairs, slowly and carefully. I glanced back twice to make sure that the preggo's were helping each other. I'd assigned the ones who were less pregnant to help the ones who were more pregnant.

First Platoon and Motor Pool and Headquarters had kept several of them all the way into their eighth and ninth months, despite Army and DoD regulations that stated otherwise.

Plus, pregnant women were supposed to get the option to chapter out of the military or to take months of maternity leave. Group didn't allow chapters, and only allowed 30 days of maternity leave, yanking the woman back while she was still breastfeeding.

I coughed and shook my head with short snapping movements as I reached the bottom of the stairwell, reached the far end of Queer Country.

Stillwater had the door slightly open already and was squatting down, his head lifted and tilted slightly, his face close to the opening.

I held a closed fist up to tell everyone to stop.

"Cromwell, put them all on O2," He snapped. "You too."

"What about you?" I asked.

"I'm acclimated," He said simply. "We're up high enough where the oxygen is already dangerously low, but I can smell burnt paper and old smoke. Those idiots are burning paper from the offices to stay warm, and don't realize that they're burning up what little O2 the bottom of the barracks has."

I coughed again, nodding, pulling the mask over my face and opening the valve. The oxygen tasted sweet. I know, I know, oxygen has no taste, but at that moment, I could taste it. Once I had taken care of myself I moved through the women, helping them pull the plastic masks out of their thigh pockets and then pull the elastic strap over their head. I used my gloved hand to turn the painted copper wheel to open the valve.

When I looked back to the door it was chocked open slightly and Stillwater was gone. I waited a moment and he materialized out of the gloom, waving everyone forward, before he vanished into the darkness again.

There was frozen blood on the floor and on the wall. It had been so chaotic since Stillwater had set us free that I couldn't remember if anyone had been killed in that hallway. He was pushing open the door, the laundry room where he'd massacred the two guards behind him. He took a quick look and ghosted through the door.

We followed. I saw him roll his shoulders right before he navigated the mid-floor landing and knew he was psyching himself up.

I'd seen it plenty of times before.

The closer we got to the War Fighter Tunnels, the more my stomach knotted, the more I was aware of the knot of ice where my uterus was. I pulled the piece of paper out of my pocket, putting the corner in my mouth as I navigated the last of the stairs.

Stillwater was squatted down next to the door, doing something with his hands. Probably jamming the door.

Under the stairs, where the massive heavy door sat. Circular, like a bank vault, with a spoked wheel in the middle. I moved up to the plastic shield, pushing it up so it locked in place, then holding down the enter key.

The lights lit up after about ten seconds. I grabbed the piece of paper out of my mouth and started punching in the code that Stillwater had written down for me. Six. Six. Red. Four. Nine. Two. Five. Blue. Red. Eight. Six. Three.

Enter.

I started to relax.

There was a loud crack, like a grenade had gone off, and frost and ice showered from the bottom of the stairs and the landings. It echoed through the stairs and I moved to the wheel to crank it to pull the bolts the rest of the way into the door.

A klaxon cut on, howling in the cold air. It was loud enough to wipe out thought, to shimmer the air, and I stopped turning the wheel to stare at Stillwater, who was looking at me.

"I GOT IT RIGHT!" I yelled. "WHEN DID THIS GET PUT IN!"

"STAY ON MISSION!" Stillwater yelled loud enough to be heard over the klaxon. He looked at Gordons and Harris. "GET READY!"

The wheel was still spinning under my hands when the first thump hit the door that Stillwater had moved to stand next to.

There was another thump, loud enough to hear over the klaxon, and I jumped slightly when I heard someone on the other side of the heavy steel door fire a pistol twice into the door. They probably thought they'd shoot through the door and kill whoever was holding it closed. I knew that the door had a concrete and lime core, designed to withstand the blast of a near hit after it blew through the outside door.

The spoked wheel locked back and I leaned back, pulling at the door to get it to open. It started moving, slowly. I knew that without the counter-weights I couldn't move the multi-ton door, but even then a muscle in my back burned. I was strong as hell compared to most women, stronger than a lot of guys, but I needed the door to open faster than it was.

Gordons moved through the crack I'd managed to make, Neelson following him, carefully stepping over the wall section. I stopped pulling, putting my back against the door to try to slow it down so I could close it again.

I turned just time to see the door fly open, two men stumbling in. Stillwater brought down the machete and a man's head separated from his body. The blood gouted out, freezing in the air in a fan, hitting the wall and floor and instantly freezing.

Harris fired the shotgun into the side of the other man, flesh and blood exploding from the exit wound in gout that steamed for a second. The victim went down shrieking shrilly, and again I was reminded of my horse.

A burly man thrust a pistol through the doorway, firing once, hitting Harris high in the chest. The slide locked back, Stillwater brought the machete up in an arc, the man's hand and part of his forearm fell free.

Groom grabbed the shotgun from where Harris had dropped it.

Stillwater hacked into the next man through the door.

"GET THEM INTO THE TUNNELS!" Stillwater bellowed out. "NOW!"

Wright lunged forward, grabbing Harris's top, and dragged him backwards. The door had stopped, and now I was pushing it closed.

"GET THEM OUT!" Stillwater's voice was like thunder as he stepped back when three men came quickly through the door. Stillwater hacked one man's leg off at the calf, splitting open the gut of the fourth with the backstroke. I noticed he was twisting his wrists and forearms to change which side of the blade was hitting. The second man, who Stillwater had missed, swung a crowbar. Stillwater ducked underneath it, but another man who moved through the door grabbed at Stillwater's head at the same time and the hook of the crowbar hit that guy in the face.

The man fell back, yanking the guy with the crow-bar off balance, pulling Stillwater's softcap off.

I saw the bandage was in his hand.

I grabbed Harris, helping Wright pull him into the tunnels. Groom yanked the shotgun's barrel up.

"NO SHOT!" Groom yelled over the klaxon.

"GET THEM OUT, LUGUS STAB YOUR EYES!" He glanced at me, his face in shadow, and I saw that one red eye glowing softly in the darkness.

Stillwater was forced back a step when a man tried to tackle him around the waist and bring him to the ground. Instead Stillwater didn't budge, reversing the machete and driving it into the man's back.

I saw it exit the man's chest.

"I'M SORRY!" I yelled, looking next to the door.

There was a big red button. I looked back.

Stillwater had let go of the machete, pulling out knives, and moving to the bottom of the stairs, moving up two steps.

EMERGENCY CLOSURE

"I'M SORRY!" I repeated, looking at him.

He was entirely focused on the men who were pushing their way into the bottom of the stairwell. He kicked the first one in the face and backed up two more steps. The next scrambled up the stairs, trying to tackle him, and Stillwater kicked him the face and backed up more steps.

"GET THEM OUT, YOU FUCKING BITCH!" He bellowed. All I could see of him was below the waist. Two more men scrambled up the steps. Two others came around the bottom of the stairwell, both of them with knives, both of them grinning at me. One grabbed the side of his head and staggered to the side as a knife hit him in the side of the head, hilt first.

I slapped the button.

"I'M SORRY!" It echoed through the stairwell, even though I hadn't said anything. "I'M SORRY!"

It was Dobbs's voice.

"DAMN YOU TO HELL, CROMWELL, YOU BITCH! GET THEM OUT!" He shouted back. "YOU'VE ALL GOT NOTHING! NOTHING!"

I heard cylinders hiss. Chains rattle. The door slammed shut in less than a second, the bolts shooting closed with a crack like Thor's hammer had slammed to earth.

...i'm sorry...