Kilo-61 (Damned of the 2/19th Book 19)- Ongoing

Melted Snow & Tarmac

Blackbriar Ridge Training Facility
Secure Military Area (Decommissioned)
North Dakota
United States of America
18 Feb, 2002
1600 Hours

Snow crunched under the wheels of the Gypsy Wagon as I crested the hill. I'd thrown her into four-wheel drive before getting back in but I was still careful. No telling if the road suddenly ended in a thirty foot drop because some Combat Engineer or asshole from the Army Corps of Engineers had decided to be an asshole.

The valley below us was hidden by thick whitish gray fog. Trees poked out here and there, and I knew that the only thing we could rely on were memories ten years old, WAG, and a sat-scan in Donaldson's lap. The fog would drop visibility to nothing, muffle sound, and we could get lost easy as hell in no time flat until the fog cleared.

If worse came to worse we'd wait till nightfall. The dropping temperature would cause the fog to freeze and would clear the air. I checked the sideview mirror and noticed that the sedans had dropped back. They were lighter, with narrower wheels, and drivers who were hesitant and uncertain on the snow covered road.

The Gypsy Wagon was a veteran of Alfenwehr, and I'd known her longer than I'd been married to Heather, so to us the roads were nothing more than just a thing to overcome. Sure, I'd picked her up at Crazy Abdul's Humvee Lot in October of 1990, but I'd driven her around Alfenwehr for a couple months before loading her onto the train where she ended up at the Fort Hood wrecking yard and I'd had her rebuilt in 1992.

We started moving into the cloud and I frowned, glancing at the dash, when I smelled burning petrochems and insulation.

The digital readouts were still in the green.

"Hit the NBC," I warned, "Grab your masks."

Donaldson hit the NBC system and my ears popped as the filters engaged and we went to positive pressure. The engine grumbled a bit as some of the horsepower from the big V-8 Turbo diesel was diverted to running the NBC system, but it evened out as I took the mask Heather handed me and leaned forward so Donaldson could wrap it around my waist.

"Stop the vehicle and mask up, Sergeant," Donaldson snapped. "Those men behind us need to mask."

I nodded, bringing the Gypsy Wagon to a stop and masking real quick. Even with all the years that had gone by I masked before the count of 12. Not bad for an old man. I got out first, the fog swirling as the door opened and the fans kicked on to keep the outside air from getting inside with positive pressure. I closed the door and I saw Donaldson watching the dash. When the light went from red to amber to green he got out quickly, his mask on.

The sedans had stopped and I let Donaldson walk forward, noticing something about the fog. I held out my hand and it took a moment to be sure of what I was seeing.

Fine particles of white ash were sifting down through the fog.

Something had gone badly wrong.

I caught up to Donaldson who was yelling at the Colonel.

"...mean you stupid fuckers didn't bring your goddamn masks?" He yelled.

"We didn't draw them from the NBC room!" The LTC yelled back.

I turned around and walked back to the rear of the Gypsy Wagon. One of the 105mm tank round boxes had what I wanted and I pulled it down off of where it was secured to the back. I walked over to Donaldson who was slowly clenching and unclenching his right hand.

"You stupid, arrogant, ignorant..." he was cursing.

"Sir," I snapped, kicking open the box.

Donaldson turned around and looked down. He looked at me and gave me a thumbs up, then grabbed one of the stored masks out of the box. "Hand these to your men, you goddamn moron," he snapped.