The snow and ice covering the road crunched under our feet, the cleats of the extreme cold weather boots biting into the ice-covered asphalt. The extreme cold weather gear we were wrapped in kept the wind from stripping away our body heat even as it slowed us down with the weight and the bulk. Each step was a struggle, each step required our core muscles to work harder and keep our balance, required more effort to move forward.
Like I had argued, the sun had set before we'd hit the mile mark, and now it was completely dark around us as we slowed down, looking at the cliff next to us.
"Orange paint!" Carter yelled out, his face hidden by the extreme cold weather mask and the goggles he was wearing. I looked over and he was pointing at the cliff, where I could see someone painted the number ten on the rock.
"Almost there!" I shouted. We were tethered together by 550 cord, John and Hernandez carrying the heavy steel 'tanker bars' that were basically long inch to two-inch thick steel bars, one end rounded, the other in a wedge. Usually used to work on the tracks of tanks or the new Bradley Armored Fighting Vehicles. Well, they'd started arriving in units a couple years ago, but as far as the military was concerned, they were pretty new.
John and Hernandez were using the bar to check ahead of us. The last thing we wanted to do was hit a short ice shelf that covered where the road had washed out or broken free.
We kept moving together, watching the numbers count down. At two we moved slower, panning our flashlights on the road in front of us.
One thing about Indy's Instant Cliff was the fact that there was water that came out of the rock face, running across the road.
The road in front of us was covered in a thick layer of ice. The water was steaming as it ran down the cliff face, freezing into a massive chunk. The water had to be heated by the pressure enough that it took a few feet to freeze solid.
"Roads out!" John yelled. "Take a Bradley or an Abrams to bust that!"
"Roger that! Let's head back!" I shouted back.
We turned around and started moving through the darkness, moving slow and steady, struggling against the wind. Now Carter and I were in the lead.
I wasn't cold, but it still felt like my muscles were turning to lead, getting heavier.
I pointed at a lee in the cliff wall and moved toward it. Once we got there, the wind was screaming around us, but we were out of the worst of it. I unbuttoned my parka, pulling out the canteen I had between a loosened LBE belt and my field jacket. I pulled the mask down, exposing my face long enough to take a drink from the warm canteen before passing it on. I pulled the mask back up, held my parka together, and waited till everyone took a long drink before putting it back against my belt in the canteen holder.
John handed me an MRE he'd pulled out. He'd agreed to carry mine, since I was carrying the canteen. I popped the strip covering my mouth, letting it hang from the tab, and used my teeth to rip open the MRE. I wolfed it down quickly, partly because I didn't want it to get too cold, but in reality, because it actually tasted good.
That was never a good sign. If an MRE tasted delicious, like the best thing you ever tasted, it was because your body was starving for fuel.
Curious, I'd done the math once.
Each step out in conditions like this consumed one point five calories.
Doesn't sound like much? The average human stride is three feet. A mile is roughly fifty-two hundred feet, which is roughly one thousand seven hundred fifty steps. That meant that a single mile, your movement alone consumed roughly two thousand five hundred calories. Normally, exertion brings body heat, but the cold of Alfenwehr robbed your body heat because your heartbeat had to speed up to keep your blood flowing through your core so it didn't get too cold in your limbs. It had to burn more sugars and calories to keep your heat up.
A mile was a minimum of 2,500 calories. Eighty percent of the people on Earth didn't get 2,500 calories a day.
You needed 2,500 calories just to walk a mile on Alfenwehr.
Luckily, an MRE is roughly three to five thousand calories.
This was our second one. We'd eaten one on the way.
We'd be hungry as hell when we made it back. We had a mile and a half to go.
We started moving again, the wind ripping away even the sound of our cleats on the ice-covered asphalt, the snow and ice in the air making it difficult to even see one another.
It devolved into just putting one foot in front of the other. Leaning against the wind, my skin beginning to feel bruised, my joints aching, and stabbing pains in my side like I'd run ten miles. The goggles were protecting my eyes, but they still felt painful, and each blink felt like I had sand in my eyes.
Step. One foot in front of the other.
We passed the Dispensary first. Stopping and checking the door. It was locked. The two and a half inches of layered tempered ballistic glass still holding up against the wind and cold.
Step. One foot in front of the other. The lizard was drowsy, half asleep at his station. My mouth was dry, my saliva thickening up like I was in the middle of a marathon.
The Chow Hall. We moved up to behind it, standing under the heavy awning, taking another drink from the canteen. We were silent and I noticed we were moving even more slowly.
Still, half mile to go.
I could run a half mile in three minutes. I could run two miles in twelve-minutes nineteen-seconds on my last PT test.
It was a struggle to make that last mile.
Step. One foot in front of the other.
There. A road flare.
I started pushing myself, the lizard waking up, raising my core temperature, pushing the blood, sugars, and calories through my system.
I staggered up to the road flare and took a left, moving along the edge of the white picket fence. Twenty steps and I was to the door at the Far Stairwell.
I hammered on it with a fist.
Two heartbeats and it didn't open.
I can't make it to the airlock
four heartbeats
it's not going to open
six heartbeats
they left you out here to die
The door opened, Nancy and the others stood just inside. We staggered inside and they started stripping us. SP6 Jakes wrapped each of us in blankets that had been warmed in the dryer.
Nancy hugged me tight. She was talking, but I couldn't understand what she was saying. It was just noise, just random sounds, for a long time while she held me tight. I was shivering hard, my body reacting to having more heat by making me shiver to generate even more heat.
"Eat," Nancy's sounds finally made sense as she held up the foil package. I opened my mouth and she squeezed applesauce into my mouth.
It was sweet, almost like it was made of honey and sugar.
"We gotta get you warmed up, all of you," Nancy said. She held my hand, leading me down the hallway. "Get them in the showers, heat them up."
Someone answered, I wasn't sure who.
My brain wasn't working correctly yet.
Step. Step. One foot after another.
The doors to Titty Territory squealed as we moved through them, but I was only vaguely aware of what the doors were leading to.
"Come on, Ant, keep walking, baby," Nancy said.
"Love. You," I gasped as she moved me down the hallway.
"I know you do, baby," she told me. She stopped, opening her door. "Didn't lock it."
When we moved into her room, I could hear the shower running. The lizard relaxed, enjoying the heat, enjoying the steam. Nancy moved me into her main room, taking the time to strip me of my cold weather gear, my BDU's, my wool long underwear, my boxers.
"Come on, baby, keep moving," She said, pulling me into the bathroom, into the shower.
I screamed when the water hit me, feeling like it was scalding me, burning me. I fought against her for a moment as she turned me so that I was directly in the spray. She wrapped her arms around me, pinning my arms to my side, and kissed me.
Her lips were soft, and I re
flexively closed my eyes. It moved from her squeezing me to her holding me tight, hugging me close, as we kissed.
After a long moment, she flexed her hips, rubbing our skin together, and she broke the kiss.
"Feeling better or a survival reaction?" she asked me, looking up at me with sparkling eyes.
"Feeling better," I told her.
"You guys were half dead," Nancy said. "I can't believe the LT sent you out in that."
I shook my head. "He didn't believe me how fast the sun would set," I told her, shivering.
"I'm going to write him up for this bullshit," Nancy said. "They need to make it against the rules to send people out close to dark up here."
I nodded.
She smiled at me. "First, though, you've got something I want."
I frowned at her and she slowly got to her knees, sliding her hands down my body, until she was looking up. She opened her mouth, sticking her tongue out real quick and crossing her eyes, making me chuckle, then gasp when she filled her mouth.
It was fast, it was good, and after a bit I felt warmed up, just exhausted.
"Come on, stud, let's get you in bed," she said.
I yawned as she led me to the bed in her room.
"You sure?" I asked her as she sat me down and pulled the covers down.
She gave me an odd look, then shook her head. "It's OK."
She got me in bed and climbed in with me. We laid in the dark for a while before she turned to look at me.
"You going to be all right?" she asked.
The little lizard checked the monitors. Core temperature stable. A little hungry, but nothing else.
"Yeah, I'm OK."
After a moment she kissed the tip of my nose. "Can I ask you something?"
I sighed. "Everyone seems to be asking me that lately."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
She kissed the tip of my nose again. "Well, can I?"
"Yeah, go ahead," I told her.
"When we get off Rear-D in the spring, want to put in for a four-day pass and go to Barcelona?" She asked me.
I thought about it, "Might be fun. I've never been to Spain."
She nodded slowly. "We'll see who else wants to go, make a trip of it," she stretched, then relaxed in my arms.
"We can fit five of us in my car," I told her. "We'd make pretty good time."
She nodded at that. "That might be fun."
"When I lived in California, they used to have bonfire parties on the beach. Maybe we can do that," I said.
She shook her head. "Barcelona's a tourist city. No way they'd let us light fires on their beach."
"Oh," I was a little disappointed. "Do you speak Spanish?"
That made her giggle. "No, I'm only half Hispanic. Nobody in my house spoke Spanish," She giggled again. "Do you speak Gaelic, being Irish?"
"Yeah," I told her.
She was silent. "What, really?"
"Yeah."
"Huh, damn."
"John speaks Spanish, so we'll be OK," I told her, forgetting that John would be gone by then. "We should all go, it'll be fun."
"We'll get a hotel room, you and I, and spend a little quality time together," She whispered, kissing my nose again. "Get some sleep, stud. Tomorrow the LT's probably going to have you do some more stupid and dangerous shit."
"Army all the way," I grunted, closing my eyes and sinking into her arms.
The night was cold, but she was warm.
It Contaminated Us All
2/19th Company Area
Restricted Area, Fulda Gap
Western Germany, Europe
09 November, 1984
"Carter, Hernandez, Bomber, Stillwater, post," The LT snapped.
The four of us turned from where we were loading basic loadouts onto the pallets, moving over to the LT and stopping three paces from him, standing at attention.
"You four men are dragging ass today," he said. "Stay up too late drinking?"
"No, sir," I said.
"Joints ache today, sire," Carter said.
"Jus' fillin' a might bit loggy, suh," Bomber drawled.
"I'm beat," Hernandez said.
"Checking the roads must have been a bit more taxing than I had presumed," The LT shrugged, "But then, it also got darker sooner than I had anticipated," He inhaled, then exhaled sharply. "Very well, you four are dismissed. Formation at zero-nine tomorrow in the CQ Area."
"Thank you, sir," all of them but me said.
I took two steps when the Lieutenant's voice stopped me. "Corporal Stillwater."
so close...
I did an about-face, coming to attention. "Sir?"
He walked up to me, looking me in the eyes. "You are the only one here that was here last year," he said slowly.
"Yes, sir."
"How bad was the snow?" He asked me.
"Barracks burned in October," I told him.
"The Group moved to Graf after that, correct?" He asked.
no, we all built igloos and hunted polar bears, dipshit
"Yes, sir," I told him.
"Very well," he told me. "Dismissed, Corporal."
I saluted, held it till he returned the salute, then did an about face and walked away. John and Carter were waiting at the large heavy door for me. The door the "War Stocks Storage" was two meters wide and three high, four inches thick, steel with a concrete core.
When I passed through Carter let the door go.
"Man, this sucks," Carter said as we headed up the stairs. None of us said anything, although Hernandez crossed himself when we passed the bloodstain on the landing in between the first and second floor.
"Jakes on CQ?" Bomber asked.
"Yeah," Carter said.
"Well, at least we're out of that basement," Hernandez said. "Goddamn thing stinks like a dead cat crawled in the walls."
I just grunted. "Always stunk like that. Even before."
"You guys hear the rumor?" Carter asked.
Everyone shook their head.
"Talked to one of the boxheads that did the foundation excavation," Carter told us as we walked down the hallway toward the far end of Hammerhead Hall. "Said they dug up nearly a hundred skeletons, all missing their teeth, all with shot out skulls," He told us.
A low moan drifted down the hallway.
"Think it was Jews?" Bomber asked.
"That did it? Naw, probably the Nazis," Hernandez said.
John laughed and shook his head. "No shit, Sherlock. Hey, who's room we drinking in?"
"I hosted last time," Carter said.
"Guess mine," I said, stopping at the door. I unlocked it, opening it and stepping inside. "Me casa si casa," I said.
"Christ, you can't even use slang right, you fucking hick," Hernandez laughed, following me inside.
"Fine, how do you say it in Spanish?" I asked.
"How the fuck should I know, man? My family's been here since World War One, ya fucking racist," Hernandez laughed. "What, all Hispanics look like fucking wetbacks to you?"
"How about you sing us a song about a cabana before I tell your redheaded wife you won't let her sing in the show," I told him, opening the fridge.
That made him laugh. He grabbed the bottle of beer I held out, held it like a microphone. He sang Babalu as I tossed Carter a beer.
"Damn, man, yer good," John said, catching the beer I tossed him.
I nodded, cracking open the beer with the church key superglued to the fridge door above a can I'd hung on a hook I'd glued on the door. The cap clinked as it dropped in with the others.
"My gramma liked her music," Hernandez shrugged.
"Shit, that was good enough I'm not even gonna make any I Love Lucy jokes, dude," Carter told him, holding out his beer so Bomber could pop the cap with the church key on his keyring.
"To Grammas and their music," I said, hefting the beer in a salute.
"Salute," they all answered, raising their beers. We all set our beers down, in sync, then took off our BDU tops, hanging them on
the corners of the double bunk bed or just laying them on the lower bunk. No sense in risking getting them dirty.
Bomber and Carter sat on the single bunk, putting their backs against the wall and keeping their boots off the blanket. Hernandez took one chair, I took the other after sliding a table in between all of us and setting an ashtray on it.
"You think that skeleton story that boxhead contractor told me is bullshit?" Carter asked.
I shook my head. "Naw, I believe it."
Hernandez and Bomber looked at me. "Really? What makes you think it's real? Wouldn't we have heard about it?" Their voices ran together.
I shook my head. "You guys know how embarrassed the Germans are about that shit."
They all nodded.
"Hell, ask what happened in 1938, and every German will about stroke telling you that everything was fine, everyone was on vacation, and Poland invited them to stop by," Hernandez snickered.
"Don't forget all the rifles and bayonets they dug up when they built the motorpool," Bomber pointed out. "The German guys looked like they wanted to die of embarrassment. I never seen someone vanish shit so fast."
"Wish I coulda stole a couple," Hernandez said softly.
"Yeah, I can believe they found old bodies. Remember, the bottom of the old sub-basement was wood over dirt, and a lot of those boards weren't nailed down," I told them.
"Dude, how the fuck would we know? We weren't here," John laughed.
"It true that the old sub-basement was full of Nazi shit?" Hernandez asked.
I nodded. "Yeah. Basic rank, uniforms, ceremonial pistols, knives, basic kit," I told them, "You know, the kind of shit you give to officer candidate graduates."
They all nodded.
"Didn't Captain Bishop give you and your brother those knives in return for you two turning over those Nazi SS daggers?" Hernandez asked.
I held my hand out, tilting it back and forth. "William, yes, me, I already owned it."
"Huh," Hernandez said, squinting at me.
Three Little Snowmen (Damned of the 2/19th) Page 10