"Whatcha do, Tony?" John asked me. I shook my head. "Come on, Tony, whatcha do?"
He wasn't gonna give up, the stubborn jackass.
"Lost my temper," I told him honestly. "I didn't mean to hurt him so bad, but I lost my temper."
That made him shake his head. "I done seen ya angry, seen ya pissed off."
I shrugged. "That's just angry, Johnny. I lost my temper on the guys."
He tilted his head, his brow furrowing. "Guys?"
"Guy," I said lamely. "I meant guy."
John shook his head. "Ya might've meant guy, but they call that there a Freudian Slip, Tony. Learned about it in college. Your mouth says what yer brain done tellin' yer mouth not to say."
I heaved a sigh. "Three of them came at me in the bathroom. Guards heard the screaming, sent them to the hospital, me to solitary."
"How bad you get hurt?" He asked me.
I just shrugged. "They didn't hurt me," I was quiet for a moment. "Not like I hurt them."
He nodded. "Naw, they would'na," He shook his head. "You go all Atlas Ant on them?"
I nodded, knowing I was blushing.
He shook his head. "Jesus Christ Almighty."
"I can't fight, John, you know that. I don't know how," I reminded him.
He snorted at that. "You did fine in hand to hand," He reminded me.
"That isn't fighting," I shot back. He grinned at me. "Combatives isn't fighting."
His grin got wider and he pushed off the wall. "Why I keep telling you to keep sparring with me, Tony. Teach you up right."
We started walking down the hallway again, silent as we went down the stairs and into the CQ Area. Frost was on the outer glass of the airlock, wind pushing snowflakes to whisper against the glass. I checked the Day Room, saw the TV was on again and turned it off before staring out the window at the darkness.
After a bit John stepped up behind me. "Ten minutes, man."
"Yeah," I told him, staring at the darkness. The only light was through the doors to the CQ Area, letting me stare out at the dark of the Alfenwehr night without any light making the windows reflective on my side.
"Reason I was asking about solitary, Tony," John said softly.
I put my hand on the window, watching the condensation form around my hand and spread out. "Why?"
"How long were you in there?" He asked me again.
"Two months," I reminded him.
"How'd ya do in there? I've heard solitary is bad," he said.
I shrugged. "Didn't bother me. Had books. People left me alone."
John shook his head. "You're an odd one, brother," he said. "Let's go answer the phones."
Three One Seven, alles ist okay.
We sat silently till the next round of phone calls, John nodding off in his chair before the halfway point. We answered the phones, logged the numbers and the times, and sat quietly.
Outside the wind was swirling snowflakes against the glass. A couple times I got up, went into the Day Room, and stared at the darkness outside.
Twice I heard the little Jewish girl tap dancing in Titty Territory, singing her little song and laughing at something I was willing to open the doors and see.
It was after zero-three. John was napping again, the sites had all called in, when Hernandez came into the CQ Area through the doorway to the Near Stairwell. He looked shaken, his tan face pale, when he came up and put his hands on the counter. Carter followed him right after.
"Wake Bomber up, Stillwater," He said. His voice was shaky.
"What's up?" I asked him, frowning.
He shook his head. "I just found Sergeant Mayer."
"Aw shit," I said. "Suicide?"
Hernandez shook his head. "No. He took a tumble in the Middle Stairwell. Broke his leg and bled out," Hernandez looked around. "Thought he was on CQ."
I shook my head. "No. He signed out, said he was going to bed. Had me wake up Bomber, told me to do it myself."
Hernandez shook his head. "Dumbass should have paid attention on the stairs then."
I shrugged. "He didn't listen. Kept talking about First Cav," I said.
"Worst Cav," Hernandez snickered.
I just shrugged. "Kept telling him. Kept trying to warn him. All he wanted to do was talk about how great First Cav was instead of paying attention."
Hernandez shook his head. "Fucking figures."
"Well, Alfenwehr killed him for it," I said.
"Yeah, yeah it did," Hernandez said quietly while I moved over to wake up Bomber.
Now I knew what the little tap-dancing girl had been so happy about.
Questions for the Living
He got sloppy
Alfenwehr killed him for it
There are a 1,000 ways to die in the military
None of them are good
2/19th Company Area
Restricted Area, Fulda Gap
Western Germany, Europe
07 November, 1984
Nancy looked up from where she was kneeling next to Sergeant Mayer, shaking her head. "He's been dead a while, sir."
The Lieutenant shook his head then turned to me, frowning. "You said he signed himself out of CQ Duty?"
"Yes, sir," I said.
"Did he give a reason, Corporal?" The LT looked back at Sergeant Mayer's body, where he was still screaming, his face covered with frost, blood frozen on his hands and in his uniform. His thigh bone was sticking through his BDU pants, bloody icicles hanging off of it.
"Yes, sir," I answered, standing at attention. "He disliked being on CQ duty with me."
The Lieutenant sighed. "Because you don't talk much."
"Yes, sir," I answered.
"Dismissed. Get back to the phones," He told me.
"Yes, sir," I turned and headed out of the stairwell, moving through Titty Territory. There wasn't any reason to call out 'male on the floor', since the only woman staying there since Swopes got injured was Nagle.
Fucking Mayer. Talk about a shitty way to go. He would have gone into shock in minutes, between blood loss and the sub-zero temperatures of the stairwell, dressed only in his BDU's, he would have been hypothermic within around the time he went into shock. From the looks of it, he'd died screaming, which was odd. He should have just went to sleep.
It bothered me, for some reason.
Died screaming in a stairwell.
As I moved around behind the desk I wondered if the little Jewish girl had anything to do with it.
"He dead?" Bomber asked.
"Ayup," I answered. "Died screaming, then froze."
John shook his head. "Jesus."
"Doesn't care about this place," I said, feeling a heaviness settle on me.
John looked at me for a long moment. "I don't want to die here, man."
I nodded. "Neither do I."
"What did the Lieutenant say?" John asked me.
"He said to tell you that you're a faggot," I said, sitting down and digging out my smokes.
John snickered. "He'd know one all right."
That made me laugh. "No shit, right?"
John glanced at the doors to Titty Territory then leaned forward conspiratorially, "Think he knows we saw him?" John asked.
I shook my head. "Naw, it was dark and he was a little busy."
That made John chuckle. "How old you think that guy was?"
I shook my head. "I don't know, fourteen or fifteen. I get the feeling he was younger than I am."
John just shrugged. "Age of consent is what, fourteen here?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. UCMJ is pretty strict on that shit though."
"Pfft," John shook his head. "No shit."
The phones rang, interrupting our conversation. By the time we were done, the LT was standing in front of the CQ Desk.
"Hand me an incident report," The LT said.
"Yes, sir," I said, opening the middle drawer. I handed him the folder with the incident reports.
The Lieutenant pulled his Skilkraft pen from his pocket, clicking it, and started writing. John and
I watched while Hernandez came up, met with us, and started his own. By the time they were done writing, I had gone back to reading a porn mag and John was busying himself with the novel he carried in his pocket.
"Go make four copies of each of our reports, Hernandez," The Lieutenant said, handing Hernandez the reports. "Keep one for your records, I'll take one for mine, give the rest to Stillwater and make him log that he received them."
"Yes, sir," Hernandez said, gathering them up.
"Specialist Bomber, go with him. I don't want any more accidents on the stairs. They're icy and that makes them dangerous," The Lieutenant said.
"Yes, sir," Bomber said, standing up and tucking his book into his back pocket.
I watched as the two other men went into the Near Stairwell, heading down into the Orderly Room where the copy machine was. It was one of those big fancy Xerox machines, the kind that would return stapled copies if you knew how to run it.
About the only people that did were the Orderly Room clerks. The rest of us could barely use the big bastard to make normal Xeroxes.
"Corporal, a question," The Lieutenant said, staring out the windows of the airlock.
"Yes, sir?" I stood up behind the counter.
"You drink much?" He asked me.
"Yes, sir," I answered.
"Aren't you a little young to be working on becoming an alcoholic, Corporal?" He asked me.
"Yes, sir," I answered, sighing inside.
He frowned for a moment. "You're in Second Magazine Platoon, right, soldier?"
"Yes, sir," I kept staring above his head.
"Your platoon takes those medications," he said, "What are they called..."
"Field Warfare Generation One Pack, sir," I said.
He nodded. "That's the one. Is it true that alcohol consumption helps mitigate the side effects?"
I nodded to him.
"You men get headaches from the medications, don't you?" He pressed. Again I nodded. "You get the shakes and nosebleeds due to the medications, am I correct?" I nodded again. "I heard your platoon was supposed to detox off of them in September, is that true?" Another nod. "Still feeling any side effects?"
"Headaches, sir," I responded. "Take a shot of alcohol in the morning and before you go to bed."
"Hmm, less of you becoming an alcoholic because you're weak, and more adapt or die then, soldier?"
"Yes, sir."
The LT turned back to looking out the window. "I wonder what else they do to you men."
I just shrugged.
"Rumors there's a new generation of medications coming out for you Field Warfare guys," He said slowly. "You hang out at bars and taverns often, soldier?"
"I'm at my site, mostly, sir," I told him, sitting down.
He nodded slowly, staring at the darkness. "You get many women, Corporal?"
I shook my head. "Got a girlfriend, sir."
He snorted. "She live in Canada so I wouldn't have met her?"
I shrugged. "Specialist Nagle, sir."
He glanced at me, his eyes narrowing. "She is your subordinate, is she not?"
I nodded.
"Your chain of command know you are having sexual intercourse with a subordinate?" He asked me.
danger, Will Robinson, danger
"Yes, sir," I told him truthfully.
"You're a PRP member, correct, soldier?" He asked, referring to the Personnel Reliability Program.
"Yes, sir," I shrugged.
"Field Warfare life," he mused, still staring at the darkness and snow.
"Yes, sir," I picked up the logbook and opened it so that when Hernandez and Bomber returned I could just put the statements in them.
"That boot knife of yours, Corporal," He mused.
aw shit, here it comes
"Yes, sir?"
"You get much use out of it?" He put his hand on the glass, staring at how the condensation appeared around his hand.
"Yes, sir," I shrugged.
"You a killer, soldier?" He asked me. "Twisted steel and sex appeal?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ever kill a man with a knife, Corporal?"
"Yes, sir."
"You enjoyed it, didn't you?"
"Sir?"
"You enjoyed it. You felt that rush of taking another man's life with that fighting knife," He said softly. He leaned forward and blew on the glass, completely surrounding his hand with condensation.
"No, sir."
"Don't bother lying, Corporal," he said softly, putting his other hand on the window. He leaned forward and slowly exhaled on his hand. When he was done, he pulled back, staring at his clear handprints surrounded by condensation.
"Sir?"
"You enjoyed it, otherwise, you wouldn't still wear that knife," He said. "You aren't the kind to ambush someone, Corporal," he shook his head. "No, you're the type of man that stares his enemy in the eyes when he kills them."
I just shrugged.
Hernandez and Bomber chose that exact moment to come back.
"Cold enough down there that the Xeroxes steam when they leave the machine," Hernandez griped, coming up and sifting through the copies.
"You and I will keep our original copies, Specialist," The Lieutenant said.
Hernandez nodded, handing me three copies of their statements. I logged in the Duty Log that I'd received them, initialed it, had the Lieutenant initial, then Hernandez, then Bomber as a witness.
These statements involved the death of an Active Duty servicemember. Everyone would want copies of it.
"Corporal, don't bother with security checks after this. From here on out I'll be sending two-man teams out during the daytime to decrease the chance of injuries," The Lieutenant said.
"Yes, sir," I said. "I have to log this change of orders."
"Of course you do, Corporal," He said.
I logged it.
Rear-D OIC Changed Security Sweep Times to Day Schedule to Reduce Injuries
He initialed it, I initialed it, and we were done.
With that, they left. The Lieutenant heading up the Near Stairwell, back to the Lobotomy Ward probably. Hernandez went in, bought himself some Cokes, left two of them on the CQ counter for Bomber and I, and left.
We answered the phones when the sites called in.
Once that was done, and we logged it all, Bomber leaned back in the chair.
"It's starting," Bomber said.
That made me nod.
"Think that little kid tripped him?" John asked.
"Might have pushed him. He froze screaming," I said, shrugging.
"What does El-Tee High Speed think happened?" John asked me.
"Slipped on the ice," I guessed. "Seemed to care more about my drinking habits and that I was taking the Gen-One pack."
That made him frown. "Weird questions for him to ask."
"Meh," I cracked open one of the cans of Coke, taking a swig. "Is it just me or Coke without booze doesn't cut the dry mouth?"
"Makes my mouth all sticky," John griped. "Still, free soda ain't somethin' a man turns down."
"Nope."
We were silent a moment. "You know why he wants to know about your drinking habits."
"Yeah," I shrugged. "Who gives a shit. So he was wearing a skirt, big fucking deal."
John shrugged. "Man with his hair color shouldn't wear yellow," he snickered. "Looked like one of those girls in church who put on their makeup with a hand trowel and can't do color picking better than a blind man."
That made me chuckle.
"Ain't like we don't know whether he's a pitcher or a receiver," John laughed. "Course, young as that guy was, don't think he's a wide receiver."
That made me laugh. John watched me out of the corner of his eye and waited till I was taking a drink.
"At least he probably squeaks when he farts instead of sounding like a blown out tire," John said.
I spluttered, soda shooting out of my nose. "You asshole," I coughed. I wiped my face off and glared at him.
"Yer right
though, Tony," He said, suddenly serious. "Ain't like a lot of these assholes after underage tail."
"Dude, that guy spanking his ass was younger than me," I said.
John just shrugged. "Legal age and all that shit."
"Still against the UCMJ age limits," I told him. I turned and stared at him. "You know how I feel about that shit."
He nodded. "Yeah, if I say he's a guy, he knows what he's getting into, we're gonna be rolling around on the floor, ain't we?" I nodded and John shrugged. "Fine," He was silent for a moment. "We could report it."
I shook my head. "It's the word of two drunken enlisted men against that of a fucking officer, you think they'll believe us or him?"
"Him, all the way. He's an officer, he's important, we're just dime a dozen enlisted retards," John said.
I nodded. "True," I shook my head. "Plus, there's the fact nobody's going to believe me because of the bit with my paperwork."
John smiled. "You ready to tell people how old you are yet? Write out a statement and shit?"
"Hell no," I told him.
"Only your hairdresser knows?" He snickered.
"Is it real, or is it Clairol?" I grinned.
"Does he or doesn't he," he smiled back, socking me in the leg and taking a drink of his Coke.
"The LT apparently does," I snickered. John choked and gagged, coughing up soda onto the floor.
"Asshole," he laughed.
"Now we're even. Get a mop and clean that shit up," I laughed, tapping my lapel where the Corporal rank sat.
"Fucking lazy ass NCO's," He grinned, standing up. He went to the mop closet, put warm water in the bucket, and came back, mopping up the soda. He used the lever to compress the mop, then wheeled it back into mop closet.
He sat down just in time for the phone to ring.
Thee One Seven alles ist okay
Calories Per Step
Survival is all about
Cold hard fact
Well, that and luck
On Alfenwehr, lots of luck
2/19th Company Area
Restricted Area, Fulda Gap
Western Germany, Europe
08 November, 1984
The wind howled around us, shoving at us as first it blasted from east to west, hit the mountain, curled back to hit us again, before it howled down the mountain, swirling as it went. It swept the snow around us off the road, off the ice around us, and into the treeline. The gusts of wind kept the visibility down to about thirty feet, the clouds of "dry" snow and ice crystals sweeping over us or all around us, preventing visibility.
Three Little Snowmen (Damned of the 2/19th) Page 9