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

One Eye Too Many

2/19th SWG War Fighter Tunnels
Alfenwehr
West Germany
29 October, 1987
1000

My wounds had seeped through the bandages and stuck me to the sheets. When I rolled over to get up, my bladder screaming at me, I pulled at my wounds and had to bite back a scream. My muscles were stiff, where my skin had been torn off by the freezing tile had turned into scabbed cardboard, and my insides felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach for an hour.

I hacked for about ten minutes, coughing up thick phlegm from being out in the cold air of Alfenwehr for so long, and when I was done I got up and started undressing. The bandages I'd have to shower and let the water wash away the crusted ooze to get them off of me. I'd have to have Groom redo my back when I was done. I noticed that the tunnels were nice and warm, warmer than the barracks had been at least.

At least it didn't smell like meals long past and BO like The Fort.

Finished undressing, I sat on my bed and lit a cigarette, looking at my legs. They were bruised in more than a few places, and I had a pair of perfect hand-prints just below my knees. I shook my head, taking a drag and blowing it out at the floor between my knees.

It was hard to believe that less than 48 hours ago everything had been fine. Just another day in 2/19th, hell, an easier day than most. Now I'd been brutalized, my body covered in torn flesh, my insides bruised, and had been chased through the halls of my home by a half-dead.

I was suddenly tired and had to resist the urge to lay back down in the bed. Nobody would fault me, nobody would say anything bad if I just laid down and covered my head and retreated to my dreams. Nobody would say anything.

Let Sergeant Stillwater handle everything. He had years more experience in surviving up here than I did. He'd led more people to survival than I ever had.

I wasn't even nineteen. The average age of the combat soldier during Vietnam.

That got me off my ass.

I slowly put on a uniform, ignoring my bloody panties that I tossed in the garbage, hissing in pain several times as movement caused the serum-scabs to crack and pull at my torn skin. My cracked ribs twinged as I pulled on the brown t-shirt and then the BDU blouse, but I did my best to ignore them.

I wanted a fist-full of percocet to wash the pain away.

Once my boots were tied I left the officer's quarters, heading down the hallway to the 'egg'. I'd heard rumors that despite the massive (to me) size of the War Fighter Tunnels, they weren't really that big compared to other sites.

I wondered what the hell the larger sites had in them.

I'd heard rumors of Event Lockers, Deep Storage Lockers, shit like that, but just whispers at the edges of my training. Continuity of Government stuff hidden in the shadows of the Cold War to ensure that no matter what happened, America and the human race would endure.

The thoughts of massive bunkers hidden in the dark places of America were slithering through my mind when I went into the egg and saw Stillwater sitting in one of the chairs in front of a darkened computer monitor, smoking a cigarette and blowing the smoke into the air. His uniform was clean and pressed, boots bloused and sleeves rolled properly. His other hand held an empty can of Coke for him to flick his ashes into.

Something seemed off to me, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

I sat down gingerly, my insides aching and bruised.

"Good morning, young lady," Stillwater said, nodding at me. The lights turned his glasses into mirrors and his smile was open and friendly.

"Morning, sergeant," I answered, yawning and stretching. "Any problems?"