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

Upwards and Outwards

Site Bravo-Three-Ten (Military Command & Control Section)
Blackbriar Ridge Training Facility
Secure Military Area (Decommissioned)
North Dakota
United States of America
19 Feb, 2002
0730 Hours

I staggered over to the side of the RV, grabbed a hold on the front, and threw up between my boots. The last of the meds, the MRE I'd eaten before we'd headed into the Rapid Entry Point, and plenty of stomach acid hit the concrete and splattered.

"Easy, Stillwater, easy. It's just me," The LT rubbed my lower back as I started dry heaving. "It's a post-combat adrenaline drop, you'll be OK."

"Christ, he got 'em all," One of the privates said.

I felt the RV rock under my hand and the female private spoke. "Do not go in there. It's pretty bad."

I heaved again, feeling my sinuses burn as the acid I was heaving up burned them. The LT kept rubbing my back as I heaved and gagged again. The lizard watched the monitors, noticing that the my adrenaline levels were starting to stabilize out and my dopamine production was starting to normalize as my system evened out.

"How the hell did he break the rifle?" One the privates, I think he was the one who said he was a Specialist, asked.

"Close combat," Kincaid said. "Once he got in there with them it was all over but the crying."

I straightened up and the LT stopped rubbing my back.

"Are you injured?" She asked me as I undid my canteen cover. My mouth tasted both dry and slimy at the same time.

I shook my head, "No, Ma'am," I told her. I unscrewed the canteen cap and took a long drink off the lemon flavored water. I poured natural lemon concentrate in my water all the time, just for situations like this. The lemon cut through the nasty taste in my mouth.

"Lot of blood on you, are you sure?" She asked.

Heather chuckled, "None of it's his. They went against the Atlas Ant, they didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell against him."

"That bad?" The LT asked.

Kincaid laughed. "He's still partially medicated, Ma'am, just wait until he's back to fighting shape."

"I'm right here," I grumbled, putting the canteen back.

Heather moved up and took my wrists, smiling up at me. "They missed what happened, Ant."

I leaned against the front of the RV and dug in my pocket for my pack of cigarettes. Heather waited while I lit one and the LT set the privates to gather up the weapons and toss them into the RV as well as dragging the bodies over next to the vehicle. Once I'd had a couple of drags she took my wrists again and squeezed them gently.

"How many were in the RV?" she asked.

"Four in white, one in yellow, two in blue," I told her.

"Do any interrogation?" She asked me. I shook my head and she made a disapproving moue. "We could have used that intel."

"They're mute," I told her. "They can barely scream. They told me all I needed to know when I moved on them."

The LT moved over to me, keeping a slight distance between us, making sure she was close to Heather.

"What kind of intel do we have, um..."

"Corporal," I told her, tapping the rank on my collar. She just nodded.

"It's a psychological thing," Heather tried to explain, then dropped it.

"They have no combat experience, they panic easy, but they're got time in simulations and practical exercise. It's obviously some kind of caste system. Yellow for heavy weapons, white for standard troops, blue and green I don't know yet but I think one's technical and the other some kind of officer control. If I had to guess, I'd put the green as control," I told her.