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

Weak

Grafenwöhr
US Army Training Area
Training Site 22
2/19th Company Area
West Germany
29 October, 1987
2300 Hours

The tent flap opened as a big titted moron finally shoved her way into the tent, pulling off her helmet and spilling snowflakes on the canvas floor. She hadn't even bothered to fix her lipstick, which was smeared across her mouth like a goddamn nickle lot lizard at some Route-66 truck stop. She clomped her way over to the stove and held her hands out over it, shivering slightly from the cold outside before turning and looking at me.

"It's about goddamn time you got here, Nagle," I snarled at her. I saw the confusion flash in her eyes when she realized I'd decided to forego the normal insults. She looked at Bomber, saw the Corporal rank on his color, and saw a flash of jealousy pass through her brown eyes. "While you were busy with your husband, having fun, Corporal Bomber and I have been trying to figure something out."

"What's that, Chief?" she asked, frowning slightly. That goddamn I-Want line between her eyebrows showed up and I had to resist an urge to slap her stupid ass.

"Trying to figure out how to keep your ex alive until dawn, you mooing dime store shopping weak kneed housewife," I roared at her, coming to my feet and slapping the papers that had stacked up, including a recent sat scan that had gotten lucky and had gotten a shot through a narrow gap in the cloud cover. "You remember, Sergeant Anthony Stillwater, your ex-boyfriend, current Squad Leader, and all around fucking menace? Or did you get your married face crammed too full of desperate REMF cock and forget that you're in the goddamn Army and when I say to get your fat ass out here, you better not even stop to wipe that sloppy roast beef sandwich cunt of yours or try to find your panties underneath whatever fucking hobo you convinced to fuck your husband in the ass until he can achieve an erection!"

She stepped back, coloring slightly. The rage had slightly subsided as I had yelled at her, and I took a deep breath before grabbing the bottle of whiskey and taking a long pull off of it. I slammed the bottle down, wiped off my mouth, and glared at her.

"I sent for you five hours ago, Specialist, and when I give a goddamn order, it is not an invitation, it is not a request, I expect to be obeyed immediately, even if he's shooting that watery waste of protein he calls cum across the fat rolls that have built up over your cottage cheese looking ass," I snarled.

"Ant's in trouble," That Texas retard said simply, shrugging.

"What's going on?" She asked, moving over to the map. I stepped in front of her, letting her run into my stomach. I ignored the flash of pain, it was an old pain I was used to, and let it fuel the rage that was pounding at my temples.

"Oh, now you want to fucking play soldier again?" I snarled. "You sure you don't want to run back home and put on a fucking petticoat? If that's all you're good for now, is sucking cock, squeezing out squalling brats, and making dinner out of whatever road kill your retard husband happens to scrape up, then do us all a favor, go over to S-2, and drop from the goddamn program!"

She stared at me in shock, and I could see fear flash through her eyes.

"Because whoever you are now, you're a sorry excuse for the female soldier that was one of the first to complete the fucking program," I told her, turning around and moving over to the table. I put my hands on it and stared at the paper.

"Don't you fucking cry, you sorry bitch," I told her without looking at her. "If you've gotten so weak that just words make you cry, you have no place in Special Weapons, no place in 2/19th, no place in Atlas, and certainly don't belong at Alfenwehr. At least when you were just spreading those fat thighs for Stillwater out at Atlas you seemed to remember you're a goddamn soldier and not some chicken necked Mary Joe Rottencrotch looking for her next belly full of inbreeding rotted semen."