FSTS-317/NATO Site-93 AKA Atlas
Secure Area, Fulda Gap
West Germany
27 October, 1987
1540 Hours

When Foster tapped the bottom of my boot to wake me up, I'd been napping in the "Clinic" that previously had been the female room. I groaned theatrically and moved my softcap, turning my head and squinting to stare at the person who had dared wake me from my naptime.

"What?" I grumbled.

"Chief Henley called, he wants you and Stillwater to pick up the preggos from Graf, take them up to the barracks to get their personal effects, then drop any of them less than eight months pregnant at Darmstadt and take the rest to Rammstien so they can start their convalescent leave," he told me.

Wow, all in one breath.

"Ugh," I told him putting my softcap back over my face.

"You need to go. Two of them are in their ninth month and Henley wants you there in case they go into labor," Foster continued, tapping on the bottom of my boot.

"Ugh," I tried again. "Tell Stillwater to take Nagle or Stokes, hell, take Groom, take Satan for all I care."

"Stillwater said to wake you up," Foster tried again. "He said that if you aren't out there in ten minutes he's going to kick you dead in your axe-wound. His words, not mine."

"Fine," I grumbled, sitting up. I yawned and stretched, while Foster walked out of the clinic. I hopped down and checked the locks on the med cabinets. How Stillwater had convinced Henley to let us stock a pharmacy worth the Class-III meds, I had no idea, but the fat old reprobate had made sure they were kept under lock and key.

My XM-16 and my M-3 were laying on the table and I grabbed them up as I swept out of the room, hitting the lights on my way out. The whole crew was in the main room of The Fort, most of them reading books, a couple laying down, and Stillwater talking with Groom.

"...use Bradley-19 to get up to the barracks. That plow will take care of things, and I can walk in front of it so you don't go flying off the edge of the road," he was telling her.

"Look, just because I'm knocked up doesn't mean I'm retarded. I remember my Blackbrair Ridge training, I can stay here," She snapped. "I'm only three months, I don't wanna go to Darmstadt."

"Tough shit," He answered, ignoring my little noise is displeasure. He didn't need to swear, but I hadn't had any luck cutting down on it. "You're pregnant, you aren't staying out here. Henley said to bring you back, and I agree. He and I have enough blood on our hands, we ain't adding no baby to it. Get. Your. Shit." The last was punctuated by the crunching of his knuckles.

Groom knew when to stop arguing. She turned around and swore, walking toward her cot. Stillwater shook his head, moving over to me. He was in full battle-rattle, like we were about to charge the Soviets across the 1K Zone, but that was normal for him.

I'd seen him sleep in his Kevlar and LBE before. He'd gotten really weird the last few months, but nobody was sure why. All we knew was that back in March he'd been walking down the hallway, sober, on a Saturday morning, and then he was gone. Nobody knew where he went and he had been listed AWOL for nearly a month. He showed up one night, wearing Sergeant rank, and never mentioned where he had been. I'd asked Henley and he'd told me to mind my own business in his less than charming way, that Stillwater hadn't been AWOL, the CO and XO were just mentally deficient.

Half of the reason I did a body inspection on him when he returned to Atlas was to check him for new scars.

I found several not quite healed wounds.

I also didn't tell anyone.

"Cromwell," he started.

I held up my hand, stopping him. "I get it. Just dreaming I was dead and nowhere near here."

He smiled at that and I held back a flinch. I mean, I don't have a weak stomach, hello, Field Surgery School, but there was just something about that smile of his that frightened me. I couldn't put my finger on it, it looked friendly enough, but it was...

The smiles and grins never touched his eye, which was dead and empty half the time.

Especially when he had found out.

"Lucky you," He said, and I knew he had meant it.

"Foster, stay here. Bomber, you're in charge till I get back," He snapped out, picking up his weapon where he'd left it next to his bunk. "Here, put it in the weapon's rack, I'm not going to need this crap." He tossed to Foster, who caught it out of mid-air and headed into the radio room. "Stokes, you're in charge of medical."

"Foster, mind taking mine?" I asked. He shrugged, took my grease gun and sixteen, and waited for me to unclip my pistol and hand it to him.

"Hey, Sergeant?" Nagle asked. She was looking hopeful.

"Yes?" Stillwater seemed to go perfectly still to my senses, almost like he was trying to vanish.

"Any chance I could have a three day at Fulda?" She asked, sounding hopeful.

"Take CUC-V 32, anyone who wants to go with you out of the Privates can go, you're in charge of them," He looked at the room, "Female soldiers first. Lowest ranking to highest ranking. I want you women showered and take care of personal hygiene. Two man rule at all times," He looked at Nagle. "Can you arrange someone to put them up?"

She smiled, a bright smile, "Sure, Sergeant. Jerry can arrange it easy."

...Jesus wept, Nagle, really?...

Stillwater just nodded, "Make sure they've got chow hall privileges," He half turned, "Little-Bit, I want..." his voice trailed off.

Everyone looked busy. Stillwater flushed and turned toward the door.

"Stokes, you're in charge of rotating everyone out. Twenty-four, then rotate out. Nagle, you can have the time off," He walked toward the door and everyone looked uncomfortable. "Bomber, take Nagle off the rotation. When I get back, I'll start rotating everyone for some time off and you can be first on the list."

"Roger that," Bomber said, looking grim as his attention went from Nagle to Stillwater.

"Remember, two man rule," Stillwater said, and pulled open the door. He glanced at Foster, "When I get to Graf, I'm going to sign your leave form. You didn't take leave and I'm tired of hearing about it from Henley. You and Aine both are on leave when I get back."

Foster smiled and it lit up the room.

Sometimes I was jealous of him.

Bomber gave me a look and nodded toward the door. I hurried after Stillwater, catching the door before it closed and slipping through.

"Get in the Gypsy Wagon, we'll ride in that. Groom can drive the Bradley, meet us at the outer guard gate," Stillwater said, moving around the front of the truck, "You're driving."

"Yes, Sergeant," I said.

Groom came bustling out of The Fort, heading toward me.

"Sergeant Stillwater wants you to drive the Bradley, says to wait at the lower guard gate for us," I relayed.

Groom just grimaced and headed downrange.

I got in the truck and hit the keys to warm the glowplugs. Stillwater reached into his pocket and dug out a pack of cigarettes. He lit two, handed me on, and turned to stare out the window. When the light flashed ready I hit the ignition and the big diesel V-8 roared to life, rough sounding to my ears. Stillwater snapped on the radio and grabbed the handset.

"Three one seven Alpha to Three One Seven Echo, commo check, over."

"Three one seven Alpha, reading you loud and clear, out," Foster answered less than a second later.

"Out," Stillwater said, then slapped the handset back into the cradle.

The big Bradley, still dented and scarred from its encounter with a whole bunch of thermobaric artillery rounds last year, clanked out of the vehicle area in a cloud of blue smoke. It rotated smoothly and headed toward us.

I threw the truck in reverse, backed up, then pulled toward the gate. The German guards pulled it open right before Groom caught up and together we headed down the forest bracketed road. We passed the snowmen we'd made the week before, all of them staring silently at us as I maneuvered the heavy vehicle through the slush.

The roads cleared right before we hit town, and I was able to relax a little.

"I'll rotate you out for a 72 hour pass after we get back," Stillwater broke the silence suddenly.

I just shrugged. "No thank you, Sergeant. No reason for me to go to Fulda."

"You could drink at the Goose," He suggested.

"No thanks," I told him. I lit another cigarette and leaned back into the seat, driving with one hand. I held out the other and Stillwater put a can of Pepsi into my hand after cracking it open and throwing the tab out the window.

"Don't litter," I chided him.

"Keep America beautiful, litter Germany," He said.

We drove in silence for awhile. We'd left Groom behind. She was supposed to have a vehicle with her, but let's be honest, nobody cared right now and neither did we.

Stillwater suddenly sighed and lit himself a cigarette.

"You all right?" I asked him.

"You asking as Corporal Cromwell, Special Weapons Medic and well known snitch, or as Medical Chief Cromwell, site medic and well known snitch?" He asked me, bitterness in his voice.

"How about Heather, one of the people who has known you for a year," I told him, "Something's bothering you today."

"Henley called me, told me how Little-Bit is doing," He said. I could hear the self-recrimination in his voice.

"How is she?" I asked.

"They say she's recovering well enough that she'll probably be back this coming spring," He looked out the window. "She's walking unassisted now."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

That killed the conversation for a while.

"Wanna talk about Nagle?" I asked.

"No."

We drove in silence for longer.

"I just... I... hell, I don't know, Heather," Stillwater suddenly broke the silence as we got off the Autobahn. I stayed silent, letting him gather his thoughts, "I mean, I get it, nobody knew what happened to me. I just vanished into thin air. Hell, they even had the Rangers doing search and rescue around the barracks looking for me."

"Nobody knew what happened to you," I said quietly when he didn't speak for a few minutes.

"Yeah, I get it, Heather. I do," his voice was flat, dead, "Didn't help that command told everyone I was AWOL when they finally found out where I was, the bastards."

I cleared my throat, glancing at him, but he ignored it. "Just, coming back, you know, and all of it getting dropped on me."

His hand went up to his collar, "I mean, it isn't like I wanted this damn rank, Heather. They pinned me because I made the point spread and it was mission essential."

This was more than anyone had heard about what had happened to him. I kept silent, accepting the cigarette he handed me and keeping my eyes on the road.

"I know I'm being childish, but I kind of want things to go back to how they were before I left," He said.

"Not childish, Anthony," I told him gently. "A lot changed while you were gone."

"It was only a fucking month. Years have passed out at Atlas, we're all still there, nothing changes, then BAM! My whole life is just destroyed because I went downstairs to get a soda at zero five hundred and made the mistake of being sober," He was talking faster now, his voice getting heated. "I mean, one goddamn month, Heather, just one fucking month."

"It was pretty shocking," I told him honestly.

"They ship my shit home, and get the address wrong, so my mother burns everything I own because they sent it to a fat psychopath instead of my real Momma. They move Bomber out of my room and make me room with some worthless fucker who keeps thinking it's his room, not mine. It's been my room for years, since the barracks was goddamn rebuilt. Who the fuck does he think he is?" He was getting more worked up than I'd seen him since he had come back.

"I should fucking stab his ass. See what he thinks of that. The next time he gets into my food, or breaks into one of my lockers, I should just stab him right in the fucking heart," He snarled, slapping his hand on the dash.

"I hear Leavenworth's nice this time of year," I interjected.

That made him shake his head and chuckle.

"I'm just pissed, Heather," He said softly after a few moments.

"You got reason to be, Anthony," I said, hitting the blinker to turn into the back entrance to Graf's massive field exercise areas.

"The way Nancy's acted since I got back, Christ, it just infuriates me."

"Yup," I said. The guards waved us through.

"Now she's all Miss Prim and Proper," He slammed his fist against the dashboard, "That doesn't even bother me. The fact she's just erased all our history. That she acts like Bomber and me don't even fucking matter to her any more. Even that isn't what fucking galls me."

I knew what he was going to say.

"One month. One goddamn month. She couldn't even wait until my fucking supposed body was cold," he snarled. He sat back, rubbing his face, then adjusted his eye-patch.

"I know, Anthony," I told him. To be honest, Nagle's complete conversion into Ms. Goody Two Shoes aggravated me too.

"Every time I see that wedding ring, it reminds me that she didn't even wait till my body was cold," He said softly. "You know what the worst part of that ring is?"

"What?" I asked. I knew they'd argued over that ring, but didn't know what about.

"That's the ring I gave her when I proposed," He said. His voice was full of pain. "She's wearing my proposal ring as a goddamn wedding band." He sighed, "It hurts, and I don't know how to make it stop, Heather. I just want the pain to stop, you know?"

"I get it, Tony," I said softly.

"I asked her to take it off, she said it was hers, I gave it to her, and she'd wear it if she wanted to," he said gently. "I'm gone for a little more than a month, and when I get back, she's married to some mechanic out of 11th ACR and wearing our engagement ring as her wedding band." His voice was bleak, cold, leeched of all humanity and emotion. "She moved off-post and into a house with him, and just left Bomber, me, and everything we've been through behind, and that goddamn ring just rubs it in my face. It's just fucked up, you know, Heather?"

I nodded.

Yeah, fucked up sums it up.