Gas & Blood (Damned of the 2/19th Novella) - Rough Draft Finished

Strange Doings

FSTS-317/NATO Site 93
Classified Location
Edge of the 1K Zone
Fulda Gap, Western Germany
17 April, 1986
1300 Hours

I stared for a long moment at the guy's hand before lifting my eyes to stare into his. The agents behind him frowned, but I didn't drop my eyes, knowing I was giving him what my grandpa always referred to as the 'gunslinger's squint' as I put the cigarette in my mouth and lit it, curling my lip and holding the cigarette in my teeth as I glared at him.

The CIA was responsible for over twenty deaths in 2/19th, left us holding the bag, and then tried to use the mess they caused to get the Senate Intelligence Subcommittee to raise their funding in Western Europe. A contact of Stillwater's father, The Sergeant Major, had passed us a tape through backdoor channels of the CIA's testimony, how if it wasn't for their heroism, bravery, and maybe a little bit of magic, they barely kept the Soviet Union from overrunning my unit, blaming the deaths they caused on our supposed 'incompetence and lack of training'.

As far as I was concerned, they were traitors.

After a long moment he dropped his hand, but his smile stayed on his face.

"Well, then, guess you're still upset about what happened this winter," He said, flushing slightly.

"Just a wee bit," I growled, "Give me a goddamn good reason not to have you shot in the face and dumped outside the gate like the dogshit you are."

One of the ones behind him sneered at me and reached inside his jacket, "Like to see you try, you little..."

That was as far as he got. As soon as he started to move I smoothly drew the .45 with my off hand, stepping forward, pushing Creepy Uncle Fester out of the way and slamming the barrel into the smartass's mouth. His front teeth broke off on the sight and the metal slashed his lips as I rammed it all the way into his mouth until he gagged on it. His eyes opened wide and his hand came out of his jacket empty to grab my forearm as he choked on the blood and steel.

"Lucky it was me. Stillwater would've just shot you," I warned him.

"None of that is needed, I assure you," The Creepy Uncle said, stepping back and holding his hands out to his side, "Everyone just relax," He smiled at me.

I pulled the pistol out of the smartass's mouth and slapped him across the temple with the saliva and blood smeared barrel. He staggered to the side and went down to his knees, his hands going to his mouth as he spit out blood and teeth, still choking and gagging.

I held everyone's eyes as I stepped forward and drove my knee into his mouth, pitching him backwards in the mud of Atlas's main drag.

"Still ain't convince that I should let any of you CIA scumbags live," I told them, making sure they saw that I didn't holster the M1911A1 .45 pistol. The CUC-V with whoever had decided they wanted to try to survive Atlas moved around us slowly, heading over to pull up next to the wreckage that was the Gypsy Wagon.

Uncle Creepy just nodded slowly, still holding his hands out to the side. "I realize there was, unpleasantness this winter, but I assure you, I am not part of the Special Activities Division, rather I'm with the Directorate of Science and Technology, specializing in Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical Technologies and Analysis Division, currently on loan to the Directorate of Operational Analysis, Soviet Union Division."

I wasn't sure if he was trying to dazzle me with brilliance or baffle me with bullshit, but either way I followed the whole thing. Ever since last winter Stillwater and I had been interested in uncovering as much as possible about who had killed our friends and tried to cash out wearing our bloody shirts.