2/19th SWG War Fighter Tunnels
Alfenwehr
West Germany
29 October, 1987
1000

My wounds had seeped through the bandages and stuck me to the sheets. When I rolled over to get up, my bladder screaming at me, I pulled at my wounds and had to bite back a scream. My muscles were stiff, where my skin had been torn off by the freezing tile had turned into scabbed cardboard, and my insides felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach for an hour.

I hacked for about ten minutes, coughing up thick phlegm from being out in the cold air of Alfenwehr for so long, and when I was done I got up and started undressing. The bandages I'd have to shower and let the water wash away the crusted ooze to get them off of me. I'd have to have Groom redo my back when I was done. I noticed that the tunnels were nice and warm, warmer than the barracks had been at least.

At least it didn't smell like meals long past and BO like The Fort.

Finished undressing, I sat on my bed and lit a cigarette, looking at my legs. They were bruised in more than a few places, and I had a pair of perfect hand-prints just below my knees. I shook my head, taking a drag and blowing it out at the floor between my knees.

It was hard to believe that less than 48 hours ago everything had been fine. Just another day in 2/19th, hell, an easier day than most. Now I'd been brutalized, my body covered in torn flesh, my insides bruised, and had been chased through the halls of my home by a half-dead.

I was suddenly tired and had to resist the urge to lay back down in the bed. Nobody would fault me, nobody would say anything bad if I just laid down and covered my head and retreated to my dreams. Nobody would say anything.

Let Sergeant Stillwater handle everything. He had years more experience in surviving up here than I did. He'd led more people to survival than I ever had.

I wasn't even nineteen. The average age of the combat soldier during Vietnam.

That got me off my ass.

I slowly put on a uniform, ignoring my bloody panties that I tossed in the garbage, hissing in pain several times as movement caused the serum-scabs to crack and pull at my torn skin. My cracked ribs twinged as I pulled on the brown t-shirt and then the BDU blouse, but I did my best to ignore them.

I wanted a fist-full of percocet to wash the pain away.

Once my boots were tied I left the officer's quarters, heading down the hallway to the 'egg'. I'd heard rumors that despite the massive (to me) size of the War Fighter Tunnels, they weren't really that big compared to other sites.

I wondered what the hell the larger sites had in them.

I'd heard rumors of Event Lockers, Deep Storage Lockers, shit like that, but just whispers at the edges of my training. Continuity of Government stuff hidden in the shadows of the Cold War to ensure that no matter what happened, America and the human race would endure.

The thoughts of massive bunkers hidden in the dark places of America were slithering through my mind when I went into the egg and saw Stillwater sitting in one of the chairs in front of a darkened computer monitor, smoking a cigarette and blowing the smoke into the air. His uniform was clean and pressed, boots bloused and sleeves rolled properly. His other hand held an empty can of Coke for him to flick his ashes into.

Something seemed off to me, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

I sat down gingerly, my insides aching and bruised.

"Good morning, young lady," Stillwater said, nodding at me. The lights turned his glasses into mirrors and his smile was open and friendly.

"Morning, sergeant," I answered, yawning and stretching. "Any problems?"

"No, there was not," he said, tapping his cigarette into the can. "The baby and mother are healthy, good healthy stock, the other pregnant women show no signs of distress. This area is secure, I have walked it several times. The outer doors and the interior blast doors are shut."

"We have commo?" I dug out my pack of Marlboro Lights and lit one.

"We have no communication with the outside world. It appears that the equipment outside has failed due to the storms," Stillwater told me, smiling again. "However, we have heat, water, and sustenance in here, are sheltered from the storms and our enemies."

Wright and Harris chose that time to walk by and I stared at them as they walked back toward the chow hall area. They were talking about heating up some rations so everyone could have a hot breakfast.

"Yeah," I said, distracted by the sight. "It could be worse."

That made Stillwater laugh. "Ah yes, Fraulein, it could indeed."

The use of German was no big deal. He and Bomber had been in-country for so long they'd started slanging up their speech with local words. Hell, it wasn't uncommon for Vietnamese slang from the Vietnam War to be used by us.

Still, I gave him a look.

"CROMWELL!" Groom shouted from the mess hall area.

I jumped to my feet, the thoughts about Stillwater shattering as I ran and Groom called my name a second time.

When I moved into the room Neelson was holding onto the edge of the brushed steel counter, the tendons in her neck and arms standing out, her legs spread slightly, her face red, her breathing coming in fast pants.

Water was between her legs, her sweat pants were soaked.

"Oh no... no..." She moaned, tossing her head. "I'm only eight months."

I moved up, taking her arm and putting one hand on her lower back. "Doesn't matter, sweety, that baby wants out now." She moaned again and I could feel her back muscles tense and turn into iron. "Breathe, sweety, breathe," I urged her.

The contraction lasted nearly sixty seconds.

The baby was coming and coming now. I had no way to stop it.

Once the contraction was over I led her to med-bay, three times stopping so she should squeeze my arm and groan. The contractions were lasting longer and coming faster. Again I had to strip a woman and put her feet up in the stirrup.

According to the monitors the baby was fine, her blood pressure was in tolerance, and when I reached up inside her to check her cervix was only at five centimeters. I took off the gloves and leaned back.

"If your cervix takes too long to open, I'll have you walk around," I told her. She nodded, gritting her teeth and grunting as another contraction rippled through her.

...hoo boy, this is gonna be fun...

2/19th SWG War Fighter Tunnels
Alfenwehr
West Germany
30 October, 1987
0600

I was exhausted when I staggered out of the shower bay in my sweats. True, Neelson and her son were probably more tired, but I was wrung out. Second baby in as many days.

During Field Surgery Course more than one person thought that our having to learn how to deliver babies was stupid. I'd have to send the instructors a thank-you note for including it.

Stillwater was sitting at the console, feet up, smoking a cigarette and watching the monitor that displayed the status of all the doors. When I got close he turned his head and looked at me, the lights turning his glasses to mirrors, preventing me from seeing his eyes.

Again that little tag of concerned worried its way through my thought process.

"How is the mother and child?" Stillwater asked, his voice mild.

I got a feeling of deja-vu so strong it almost made me dizzy.

"They're sleeping. Healthy baby boy, seven pounds six ounces," I said. My exhaustion vanished as a cool trickle ran down my back.

He nodded, steepling his fingers, the cigarette stuck out at an angle. "We may be down here for many months, Corporal Cromwell, time enough for all of the women to give birth."

"Yeah," I said, holding back an urge to frown. "I gotta get some food."

He waved his hand at the mess area. "There is Salisbury Steak, mashed potatoes, and green beans, with apple cobbler for dessert in the eating center."

He went back to leaning in the chair as I stood up and walked toward the chow hall area. Goosebumps prickled between my shoulderblades as I walked away, unsure of what exactly was wrong, what I had missed that had my instincts screaming.

Maybe I was just tired and traumatized?

Groom was sitting in the mess hall, positioned in such a way that she was in the dark, looking out the door but unable to be seen by anyone out there. She had an XM-16E3 in her hands, running her fingers across the forward handgrips.

I ignored her, moving over and dishing myself up some food. Three of the pressed hamburger patties that masqueraded as steaks, a heaping of potatoes with gravy, a scattering of green beans, and a double helping of the apple cobbler. I set my tray next to Groom and went and got myself a cold soda. Root beer foamed and quietly hissed in the glass as I moved back over and sat down.

"You see it too?" Groom asked softly, not taking her eyes from Stillwater.

"See what?" I asked, shoving potatoes in my mouth.

"Stillwater," She said. She looked at me and her eyes had the gleam of someone convinced that reality isn't quite what it is supposed to be.

"What about him?"

"Tell me what you see?" Groom asked urgently.

I looked out at the man, on his left side in profile. His hair was a precise flat-top, that cowlick in the front giving him a boyish look despite the scars and lines on his face. His boots were spitshined to a mirror brightness. His uniform starched and pressed, the creases so sharp you could cut yourself...

"He's wearing a BDU uniform," I started.

"Not his uniform, him," Groom's voice was urgent and yanked me out of looking at his BDU top.

He was leaning back, boots u on the console. Big feet, size 11XW; large heavy strangler's hands with prominent scarred knuckles; wide shoulders, the right one slightly lower than the left from shoddy reconstructive surgery; strong jaw with a scar along the edge; thick legs from miles of running with straight knees; bull-like neck with the hairs shaved; battered and worn face with scarring on the left cheek.

Something wasn't clicking.

"I see... something..." I said softly, the prickling between my shoulders intensifying.

"Watch," She said softly. She handed me the XM-16E3 and got up. I watched curiously as she walked into the egg, approaching Stillwater. She was moving almost silently, and when she got within about ten paces of Stillwater he turned his head slightly, smiling, already speaking.

"Private First Class Groom, how are you this evening?" He asked mildly.

"I'm fine, Sergeant," She said. He was keeping one eye on the monitor, the other on Groom as she fidgeted. "I've got cravings," she said, pointing behind her. He just nodded.

"If what you crave is in the pantry, than feel free to open it. Our food stocks are well beyond what we would require even if we were here for a year," He said, and I could tell he was watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"Thank you, Sergeant," She said. She did an about face and I could tell by his body language he was watching the monitors again.

Groom walked back into the room and I kept looking at Stillwater. Something didn't match. Something didn't add up.

She sat back down next to me.

"Did you see it?" She asked.

I shook my head.

"I'm not crazy. There's something off about him," She said softly. Her warm breath tickled my ear. "Something's not right."

I looked back out at him, in time to see him turn his head and look at the two of us, his glasses flashing in the harsh lights.

Paranoia took over and I reached over to grope Groom's breast and turn my face to look at her. Her eyes were wide as I leaned forward and embraced her. I kept watching as Groom's eyes shut and her arms went around me.

Groom was bi, and heavily into women. Nobody who saw us would think anything out of the ordinary was going on. They'd mistaken my chastity for lesbianism and I had made no effort to correct them.

"What..." she started saying into my ear. She was on the opposite side of my head from Stillwater.

"Shhh, just relax and go with it," I told her. I grabbed one of her breasts and squeezed, then kissed her, my tongue pushing into her mouth as one of her hands came up to squeeze my fat tit as she pulled me against her.

Stillwater turned back around, going back to watching whatever it was on the monitors that fascinated him. The kiss broke and I still embraced Groom, putting my mouth next to her ear.

"You're not crazy," I whispered. Her body went stiff under my hands at the next part.

"That's not him."