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

Working Together

FSTS-317/NATO Site 93
Classified Location
Edge of the 1K Zone
Fulda Gap, Western Germany
22 April, 1986
1000 Hours

"Get offa me," Stillwater snarled, pushing at Nancy with one hand. She looked down at him and shook her head. "I'm fine, just tripped."

Yeah, that was a lie, and everyone knew it. The son of a bitch shouldn't even be walking around. I looked away as he struggled to his feet, glaring at everyone looking at him. There were three M1A1 tanks idling in front of me, a gunner on the nifty-fifty keeping the barrel pointed at the 1K Zone. There were over fifty tanks at Atlas, complete with crews and support.

"Damndest thing," Agent Timmons said, watching Stillwater starting to limp along, heading downrange.

"I know, right?" I said, shaking my head. I took a drag off the cigarette before field stripping it.

"Think he'll make it down to where the engineers are rebuilding the bunkers?" Timmons asked.

I toed out the cherry and put the butt in my pocket, nodding. "Yeah, he will. You'd be surprise how quick he bounces back."

"I read the file," He said, "But I didn't believe it. Two weeks for a broken bone to heal, a week for a fracture?"

Stillwater stopped for a moment, putting one hand against the M1A1 Abrams next to him for a moment before shoving himself off and starting to stagger downrange.

"Well, we got their attention," I told him, pointing out across the 1K Zone. Tanks were rolling in, back a little ways. I lifted the binoculars and checked for a moment, sweeping across, counting them quickly and IDing any equipment I could see. Reactive armor, several different types of main gun, blocky Soviet look. My brain automatically computed the angles without trying, showing me that the deflection was all well and good for the older stuff, but the new 120mm would probably punch right through it like butter.

Well, in theory.

"That we did," Timmons chuckled.

"Stokes," I called out. The big Amazon jogged up, carrying her M-60 and her aid bag. According to the Geneva Convention she wasn't supposed to be carrying anythin heavier than an M-16, but being Special Weapons she'd already given up that protection.

"What's up?" Stokes asked, jingling to a stop.

"Get Stillwater, bring him back uprange. Tell him they're bringing up R-17 Elbrus launcher and I need him to ID the warheads," I told her, "He's better than I am at it."

"Roger that," She grinned. "Nancy will be glad when he's off his feet," she made a face, "Don't help that Fruit Bat keeps fluttering around and painting on him when nobody's around."

"Caught her mounting him last night. Told her to get off, she hissed at me like a cat," Timmons said. He shuddered, "Her eyes glow in the dark, green, and I know it sounds crazy, but I swear there were green fireflies around him."

"Ayup. She's had a claim on him since they were in the cradle," I told him. "It's... complicated."

"Specialist Nagle was watching, told me to mind my own business," He said.

"Ayup, like I said, complicated," I tried closing off the subject again with my tone and by looking through the binoculars again.

"How's it look?" Timmons asked.

"Six R-17's, attendant vehicles packing extra missiles, armored vehicles being parked behind the R-17's, those probably have high-value warheads in them," I told him, "The tanks are a mixed bag, some of the reactive armor doesn't look like it was designed for that model."