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

Hatred

GrafenwöhrUS Army Training Area
Training Site 22
2/19th Company Area
West Germany
29 October, 1987
2100 Hours

I stared at the company map, my fist clenched and pressed against the top of the foldable field table, glaring at it with all the hatred I could muster.

The data didn't change.

Over fifty 175kt nuclear tank rounds sitting unsecured in the goddamn motorpool, left there by those goddamn monkeys from 21st Transportation Battalion. I fully planned on having someone's head chopped off so I could mount it on my office wall for that fuckup.

NBC Warfare was not a goddamn joke, it was not some bullshit that I sent men like Stillwater out to goddamn die for just so I could get medal, and having some goddamn REMF  truckers treat it like a fucking joke enraged me.

The tent flap moved and I didn't bother look up. I knew who it was.

That goddamn cold blooded Blackbriar bitch.

She came up and put her hand on top of the map, blocking my view.

"Most that sloppy cunt smelling clit rubber of yours, you goddamn nickle whore," I snarled, lifting my fist and slamming my knuckled in the middle of her hand before setting my fist back down on the table.

The hand yanked back.

"Chief Henley, nothing give you the right to physically," she started.

I didn't lift my eyes from the map. "If you keep wobbling around that low rent cock sucking device at me and gabbling syllables you don't understand, polluting this tent with the smell of dog jizz and stupidity with your breath, I will personally reach down your throat and yank out those rotted hunks of flesh you call ovaries," I snapped,

"Chief Henley, nothing in the UCMJ requires me to be subjected," She started.

I looked up at her.

She was young, looked younger than even those drunken halfwits I had consigned to slow death by chemical and radiation exposure by sending them out to live and work at the hot sites, even though she was probably older. Her black hair was pulled into a bun, light makeup on her face, blue eyes, her uniform spotless but without any patches but the US ARMY strip over her heart. Her expression was outraged and her eyes wide with shock.

"Shut. Your. Whore. Mouth," I snapped. "I am busy and your yapping distracts me."

She got a look at my expression and her mouth snapped shut.

"Better," I told her.

I just snorted and looked back at the map, then reached over and slid the sat-scan of the area over the map, aligning it perfectly, then the report from Naval Weather Service.

"Chief Henley," she tried again, obviously trying to get my attention.

A low pressure system was moving toward Alfenwehr, and NWS estimated another six feet of snow at the elevations less than 20,000 feet, that the winds would reach sustained speeds 55 kph, which meant that Stillwater would be out there in extreme conditions. I knew that the snow wouldn't be piling up on him, but would be preventing Stillwater from withdrawing.

And the eight man Ranger team that those goddamn idiots had sent up the mountain would be buried under more snow, gaurenteeing that nobody would find their stupid corpses until some daughter fucking box-head hiker found their bodies while chasing a boar to fuck.

"Chief Henley," She almost shouted, slamming her hand down on the mimeographed plastic overlay of the view from the satellites, and I knew the heat from her over-used clit rubbers would be damaging my plasticized see-through data sheet.