Time/Date Error (Damned of the 2/19th-Book Six) - Done

Who Else Is In There?

Training Area, Indoor
Fifth Floor
2/19th SWG Barracks
2/19th Special Weapons Group Area
Secure Area, Alfenwehr
West Germany
28 October, 1987
0130

Stillwater went perfectly still as I moved up on the guy he'd destroyed the arms of, drawing the bayonet out from my boot as I did so. Stillwater was immobile, breathing slow, burbling breaths like he was drowning, coughing every once in awhile. I knew he was clearing his lungs of the clotted blood that had filled them after he had been left to die.

I knelt down next to the injured man, smiling at him. "To quote Tiffany and the Beatles, 'I think we're alone now...', pumpkin," I told him, stealing Stillwater's favorite thing to call other people. He glared at me as I rolled him onto his back, giving a small outcry when his weight came off of his shoulder.

"I ain't telling you..." he started.

The bayonet made a crackling sound as I plunged it into his stomach. Field Surgery School at Blackbriar had taught me exactly where to stab him that would cause agony but not damage any vital organs or sever any arteries or pulmonary veins.

He screamed in agony the cold steel blade ripped through a major nerve plexus. See, bayonets aren't made like other knives. Something about the metal made it so that the blade burned like fire, something about the way they sharpened up made it so the wounds were torn slightly. Stillwater and Stokes had explained it to the entire Atlas crew during knife fighting training, but I had been paying more attention to the hot Ranger Major who was one of the instructors. Intriqued enough I let him pop my cherry on top of a MRLS 11" 6-pack of 350kt enhanced jacketed fusion warheads.

Crap, my concussion was making me drift.

I snapped my focus back on the read world just as Stillwater was bending down, reaching for the guy I was kneeling next to. His hand was dripping blood onto the guy's face, those huge strangler's hands wide enough that if he grabbed him, he'd cover the man's entire face.

"Stillwater, stand down," I snapped. He made a low growling noise, but straightened up.

"Now that you realize I'm not screwing around and your choices are stay silent and die painfully or talk and die quickly, you might want to talk," I told him.

"Fuck you, bitch, you don't have," he started again.

...why do they always say that?...

I stabbed him again. Twisting the knife to make him scream and leaving it inside his chest cavity. I hadn't hit anything important, but a bayonet was cold agony forged into a blade.

"How many personnel in your unit?" I asked him, putting my hand against his forehead and pushing the back of his head against the tile.

He choked and gagged, so I twisted the knife.

"How many?" I asked.

"More than a hundred, less than one-fifty, that's all I know," he shrieked out.

"How many still alive?" I asked him. He clenched his teeth in resistance so I slapped the pommel of the bayonet, jabbing it into him. When he finished screaming I bent down and stared into his eyes.

"How. Many?" I bit off each word.

"At least a hundred. I think only about a dozen have been killed," He gasped.

The retards hadn't actually searched me too well, just pulled the weapons from me and left the rest of the stuff. I pulled a plasticized canvas roll out of my right thigh pocket and unrolled it. I pulled out a morphine sticker, but looking at the clear plastic tube I could see that my body heat hadn't kept it liquid, it was more slush. I put it in between my fat tits and leaned down.