Kilo-29 (Damned of the 2/19th, Book 15)

Part 31

Site Kilo-29
Sub-Levels
Winter, 1993
Day Three-Early Afternoon
Status: Full Offensive Measures Engaged
Facility Status: Alert Two

Natchez was screaming, Nancy was yelling in my ear, Donaldson was stepping forward, the Fates were howling out their choir, Kincaid was squinting down the hallway, Wilkins was staring at the blood spattered door shield as the massive door shut, and Shads was just frozen.

Blood splashed across my face as Natchez went down, bright red arterial spray coming from the severed arm, the tissue at the end blackened and frostbit looking, his mouth a raw red wound in his face that bellowed screams of agony as he went down on his knees, grabbing at his stump.

I kicked him in the chest, knocking him over backwards, and he ended up half sitting because of the flamethrower fuel pack on his back. I reached down, popping the quick release tabs, and drug him off of it, ignoring his screams of pain. Flat on his back, he stared at his arm, holding just above the stump and screaming. I straddled him, reaching for his mask carrier and pulling the leg strap off as fast as I could.

"Sergeant, I've got movement." Kincaid said it again, or maybe the first time was just registering.

"Handle it." I snapped, putting a knee in his chest and putting all my weight on it. Natchez was still screaming, still flailing his arm.

"Shads, grab his arm." I yelled out.

In the movies, I could knock him out. One punch to the chin would put him down.

Reality, he was pumped full of adrenaline, his body responding to massive physical trauma, terror, and everything that had gone on. I doubted even a sleeper hold would work in time to save him.

Shads dropped down on his knees, his hands shaking as he grabbed Natchez's arm at the biceps and pinned it down.

Natchez kept screaming.

"Three fingers above the wound, you don't have to worry about saving his elbow joint." Nancy told me, bending down and peering at the wound. "He's got frostbite on the flesh from where Tandy grabbed him, so that'll go necrotic anyway."

She turned and looked at me, from where I had reached back and yanked out the bayonet sheath from behind my back.

"Move, you goddamn ape!" she snapped. "His life depends on it."

"I'm hurry, Nancy." I told her, looping the mask carrier leg strap around the stump, about three fingers up, like she'd told me. Shads gave me a worried glance, but kept holding the arm as I tugged it tight, then slid the bayonet sheath in and used it as a lever to tighten the tourniquet.

"Only till the arterial spray stops, Ant." Nancy told me as I began turning it.

"I remember, Nancy." I told her.

...Hutch jumping out of the CUC-V and vanishing in a cloud of sand and the crack of an explosion...

...Stay in the Gypsy Wagon!...

...Hutch silently staring at the wreckage of his leg, shredded meat from the knee down...

...my ears ringing from when the MRLS bomblet went off as I helped Nancy tie off his leg...

Shads opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"I can't tell what it is, but it's coming closer." Kincaid called out.

"Donaldson, Wilkins, take Kincaid's place." I snapped, watching the blood flow from Natchez's arm. It was just a steady trickle, about what you'd get from a bloody nose. "Kincaid, get back here, I need you."

"No, Ant, don't do it." Nancy told me.

"Shut up, Nagle, I'm the closest thing we have to a doctor." I told her without looking up from Natchez's arm.

"It'll cause problems to fit him with a prosthetic, you fucking hammer head." Nancy told me, jabbing a finger at Natchez's arm.

"I can't carry him, Sergeant, not with my baby on my back." Kincaid told me, stepping up next to me.

Shads face went pale when he realized what I was about to do.

"Hit the ignition button, but don't fire it." I told Kincaid. "I need that igniter flame."

"Ant, I'm telling you, do not do this." Nancy said.

"I said shut up, Sergeant Nagle." I put all the authority I could in my voice. "Unless you have a better idea what to do when he won't get medical attention for at least 48 hours."

I could hear the hiss of the flamethrower just over my shoulder. It was a living, metallic thing, it spoke of pain and destruction and was malevolent in its own right somehow.

Nancy looked at Natchez, then shook her head.

"Do it fast." She told me. "He'll go into shock, and he'll need an IV as soon as possible, possibly a blood transfusion."

I nodded.

"Shads, lift up his arm, keep back." I said. Shads nodded, his face pale and his eyes looking sunken.

"I get it, Sergeant." Kincaid told me.

"Do it fast." I told him. "Hit him with the igniter flame, run it over the whole wound." I looked at Shads. "Hold him, he'll go berserk on us."

Shads nodded again, and leaned back from Natchez's arm.

Kincaid lowered the barrel of the flamethrower and ran the ignition flame over the stump. The smell of cooking human meat filled the corridor. Fat crackled, blood hissed, and flesh bubbled and seared.

...I turned from where I'd dropped the kid, facing the flames that roared up...

...yanking on her arm to pull her free of the flames, the flesh tore just above my hands and slid down her arm, the meat and fat cooked through and sliding from the bloody yellow bone...

...The Burning Man burst from the flames, a child under each arm, his body composed entirely of flame. He shone in his glory, an angel made of fire, and plunged back into the crowd. I screamed my adulation and hatred from where they held me down...

Natchez's eyes popped open and he screamed, a raw animal sound of agony, his eyes rolling, an animal that didn't understand the pain that had suddenly become all of existence.

Tears were running down Natchez and Shads' faces, one from agony, the other from what was happening right in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Wilkins shouted.

"Pay attention to the hallway, we don't want to get jumped right now." Donaldson barked. "Eyes front!"

...even an enemy soldier wounded puts stress on the enemy. It takes at least three enemy soldiers out of action to care for one wounded, where a dead enemy soldier is just one out of action...

...shoot to wound. The screaming will let others know what will happen if they come at us again...

...the khaki covered knee poked out from behind the building, and I grinned. His cover wasn't as good as he thought it was. Bomber nodded when I told him where it one, and a single trigger pull sent the Iraqi tumbling out from behind the building, screaming and holding his knee. We killed the two who ran out to help him and left the first guy to scream...

"Sergeant!" Shads' yell yanked me out of the desert.

I looked at Natchez, who'd passed out again, then at the stump. The flesh was blackened and raw looking, but no blood oozed past the tourniquet.

"It'll have to do." I said, standing up. "We have to move him, we can't stay down here." I turned to Wilkins and Donaldson, who were still staring down the large hallway. It was big enough for two 5-ton trucks to sit side by side with room on either side for people to walk by.

Only a few lights were on, the tunnel dim, and I could see the blast deflection curve less than 200 feet away.

Goddamn this place was big.

"You fucking maimed him, you one eyed moron." Nancy told me, looking up from where she was crouched down next to Natchez. "You forgot to tell him to open his hands. I fucking told you how important that was."

"Shut up." I told her, then put her complaining out of my mind. The Fates were still howling, and my mother was whispering I was a failure, but I brushed all that aside and motioned at Kincaid. "Let's swap out your tanks, we'll leave that one here."

"There's nothing down there." Wilkins told Donaldson.

"Bullshit, there's something moving down there." Donaldson answered.

"Papa Kincaid got somethin' fer them in about a country fried minute." For a second Bomber stood where Kincaid did, and I shook my head to clear my vision.

"Shads, swap out his tank." I reached under my chem-pants and dug in my pocket, pulling out a bottle of painkillers. I rolled two into my hand, then capped the bottle and shoved them back in my pocket.

"You're getting paranoid." Wilkins said.

"Dude, I've been attacked by killer cannibals like a dozen times, I'm not paranoid, I'm prudent." Donaldson answered.

Natchez was unconscious, his mouth open, but tears still coming from his closed eyes. I opened his mouth up, and dropped both painkillers into the back of his mouth, then shut his mouth and pinched his nose.

He swallowed reflexively, and I let go, standing up. They were Hydrocodone 7.5's, it was probably enough to keep him knocked out.

"Wilkins, Shads, you two carry Natchez. Donaldson, you're on drag, Kincaid, you're on point and I got your back." I told them. I reached for the machete sheath and found it empty.

Where the fuck had I dropped it?

"Where are we going?" Wilkins asked.

"You'll know when we get there." I snarled at him. "Mind your job, let me handle this."

"Like you handled what happened to Natchez?" He asked, stepping forward. "So far you've gotten one of us killed and cost Natchez his goddamn arm."

"Step off, Wilkins." I warned him. "I'm not in the fucking mood."

"Casualties happen in combat." Kincaid said, his voice muffled.

Wilkins took two steps toward me, starting to raise up his rifle. "Fuck that, we need to go back upstairs, not whatever bullshit plan you've pulled out of your ass." He told me, still moving forward, his rifle no longer pointed at the ground but right at my belly button.

Behind me, I heard Shads slap the top of Kincaid's helmet to let him know he was ready to go.

...do him, Ant...

...we're going to die here, aren't we, brother...

...STAND AND DELIVER!...

Wilkins pushed the barrel of his M16 into my stomach hard. "You don't know what the fuck you're doing. I'm not getting..."

I used my left hand to brush his rifle to my left, stepping forward at the same time. The bayonet was back in my hand ???where did I get it from??? and came up to push the flat of blade against the underside of his jaw.

Shads dropped the almost empty tank pack.

"Do you understand what is going to happen if you say one more fucking word?" I asked him gently, pushing on the blade so his head tilted back.

...just kill him and get on with the mission...

"Shut up, Nancy." I said, looking to Wilkins' left, where Nancy stood in chocolate chips, a bandage on her face and a pressure dressing on her leg. When I looked back, Wilkins was pale as death.

"Someone stop him." Wilkins said. Sweat was running down his face. "He's fucking crazy."

"So?" Kincaid asked. "I'd be crazy too if some dead dude was hunting me for sport."

"You're a fucking idiot, Wilkins." Shads said, shaking his head.

"I'm with Sergeant Maniac." Donaldson chuckled. "Never bet against the crazy guy with a knife."

"Don't ever point a weapon at me again, or I'll cut your fucking throat." I told him, reaching up and grabbing him around the throat with my left hand and squeezing. Wilkins grabbed my arm, but my fingertips and thumb were dug into the flesh around his trachea. I brought up the knife and rested the point just under his left eye.

"Do we understand each other, Private?" I asked him, letting up on the pressure.

"Yes." Wilkins whispered.

"Yes, what, Private?" I asked, smiling.

"Yes, Sergeant." he said. Sweat was pouring off of him.

"Good." I let him go and stepped around him, sliding the bare bayonet into my LBE, next to the buckle where the nylon belt gaped open.

"And in case you're thinking of shooting him in the back," Kincaid added, "I'll burn you down as soon as you raise your fucking rifle." He popped the igniter for emphasis.

"We need to get our bearings." I said, moving up next to Donaldson. "Any movement?"

"Something's down there, but I'm not sure what." He told me. "Got a plan?"

"Always have a plan." I told him, then grinned. "We're still golden, I haven't hit the go to hell plan."

"What's that?" Donaldson asked me.

"Everything burns!" Kincaid yelled his plan. I chuckled.

"Pull back..." I started.

"Nuke it from orbit." Donaldson, Kincaid, and Shads finished.

"Let's move out." I said. Shads nodded, grabbing Natchez and pulling him into a fireman's carry.

Kincaid moved up slightly ahead of me, and we started moving down the tunnel. Something crunched under our boots, and a glance up told me what it was.

"You should have killed that Wilkins kid." Bomber told me. "He's not another Kincaid, he's never going to forget that he pissed himself and he hates you now."

"Shut up, Bomber." I told him. He shrugged, the hole in his cheek edged in frozen blood and frostbit flesh, then dropped back, hefting his rifle and slapping bottom of the magazine in the well.

We rounded the corner, and trudged down the dark hallway. Natchez's groaning echoed in the tunnel, reverberating and mingling with out bootsteps into something eerie and unworldly.

"That Bomber dude you were just talking to and that Nancy chick you were talking to when you were working on Natchez's arm still alive?" Kincaid asked me.

"Yeah." I told him.

"Good." Kincaid answered. "Were they ever in shit this bad with you?"

"Worse. Way way worse. More than once."

"Even better." He kind of shrugged under the armored J-Suit and the flamethrower weight. "At least I know that I'll get out of this alive then."

"What makes you so sure?" I asked.

"Because I'm motherfucking Spec-Four Kincaid, baby. Made of iron, never run, fight to the last, go out in a blast, baby." I recognized the cadence, someone had pounded it into his head during Basic Training. "They might hurt me, hell, they already have hurt me, but I refuse to die in this fucking hole."

I nodded, then remembered he couldn't see me. "Keep that in mind, Kincaid."

"I understand now why you do the thing with the knife." He told me. "It was a huge deal at the time it happened. You scared the ever living fuck out of me." He paused for a second, the snapped the flamethrower igniter. "But that was nothing compared to when that bastard carved my goddamn face." Another pop. "I thought I was fucking dead, I just froze, all I could think of was that I was going to die in this goddamn hole in a fucking mountain."

We walked in the darkness, both of us silent for a long moment.

"Then I saw your face while you were fighting." There was a shift in the suit I knew was a shrug. "I saw over its shoulder, and realized that you wouldn't die here."

"They might get me, but it'll be the most expensive piece of land they ever fucking bought." I said, unable to keep the snarl out of my voice.

...come on, bitches, who's out to buy a farm?...

...you're a fucking dead man, Ant, just like your fucking bitch...

...please, Ant, don't kill me, I'm sorry, plea...

...enough, Ant, he's fucking dead...

...IT'S NEVER ENOUGH! I'LL KILL EVERY FUCKING ONE OF THEM!...

...let him go, Nancy, Bomber, it's time to finish this...

"Sergeant?" Kincaid's voice brought me out of the dark and cold, away from the howls of bloodlust and hot sweet revenge.

"Sorry, flashback." I told him. "You were saying?"

"I'm not giving up." He told me. "I'll burn down the whole goddamn world and then blow it up if that's what it takes."

I chuckled. "You'll be fine."

"Watch Wilkins, Sergeant. He's a punk." Kincaid told me.

"Hold up." I said, raising a fist up, elbow at about a 45 degree angle to my shoulder. I couldn't raise my arm all the way up since the last surgery, which wasn't a surprise, since the last surgery didn't take, and instead of fighting fucking cannibals in an old supervillian base under a goddamn mountain I should have been laying on a table about to have two broken pins and a screw torn out of the bone removed. I'd dislocated it, and from the feeling, I was pretty sure that I'd wrecked up some more of the hardware.

I'd checked the date before we'd started out.

I was supposed to be having surgery today.

I couldn't feel my pinkie or ring finger any more.

"What's up, Sergeant?" Donaldson asked me.

"There's something ahead of us, staying just out of vision range." I told them. "Keep an eye out, might be a scout, watch for any side doors or any side corridors."

"Yes, Sergeant." Donaldson's tone basically told me that I was telling not to smash himself in the nuts with a hammer while masturbating.

"Yeah, sorry, Corporal." I told him.

The tunnel turned again and up ahead there was a single light on in the middle of a four way intersection. I glanced up, and saw that the light bulbs were broken. The darkness above me sparkled.

"It's a trap." Kincaid said, almost a perfect imitation of the good Admiral.

"Ya fucking think?" I asked. "Get ready."

"Always ready, baby." Kincaid imitated me this time, popping the flamethrower. The kid was good at imitations, that was for sure.

We drew closer to the intersection and I could feel the hair raise on the back of my neck, the itching starting between my shoulder blades.

A football field from the intersection, my shoulder felt like someone slid an icicle into it, the cold spreading out from my shoulder.

It looked like static was in my vision and I shook my head, watching the static sweep across the light in the intersection. I could feel the tickle on my face.

"Sergeant?" Donaldson's voice.

From the darkness behind us there was a low chuckle.

"Keep moving." I said.

"We gotta hurry, he's behind us." Wilkins yelled.

"Stay together." I snapped.

"Fuck this, he's behind us." Wilkins yelled. I could hear boots as he came up behind us. He ran by us, racing toward the light.

"Don't!" I yelled, I tried to grab him, but he got by me, my hand missing him the same as Bishop/Tandy had missed him in the snow of the cavern.

"Stay in formation." I barked out. "Don't break formation."

"I should burn your ass down, you fucking coward!" Kincaid bellowed.

"Stand down, Kincaid." I snapped.

Wilkins reached the small circle of light in the middle of the intersection, bending forward and gasping. He turned around to face us.

"We've got to get in the light." He yelled at us. "He won't take us in the light."

Klaxons cut on, filling the tunnel with their wail, the howl echoing and re-echoing through the tunnel, and the air shuddered around us. Wind shrieked down the tunnel, blowing snow around us, and the temperature dropped.

Tandy/Bishop's chuckle floated down the tunnel, still audible through the screams of the klaxons.

Steel panels recessed in the wall snapped back, and strobing red lights kicked on, the snow filled air turning bloody around us.

We couldn't see Wilkins any more, lost in the bloody snow.

...Ant, don't look...

...don't, brother, you don't need to see this...

...come away, Ant, come with me, honey...

My temples were pounding, reliving the memories pushing combat chemicals through my bloodstream, adrenaline licking down the my spine like cold fire, and that thrumming feeling my muscles got when the metal met the meat.

"You gotta be getting cold." Kincaid said. "I'm starting to feel it."

"Stay sharp." I told him. I figured we'd crossed half the distance.

"Roger that, Sergeant." Kincaid popped the igniter again and kept up the pressure on the trigger. Flame was spattering from the end of the muzzle, telling me I'd made a bad mistake. The barrel, feed line nubbins, and everything the barrel needed to keep fuel pressure up without it leaking out corroded and probably warped by the heat. I should have grabbed one of the spare barrels.

The klaxons cut off, the panels over the red lights snapped shut, and the hallway was dark again.

The snow got thicker.

Tandy/Bishop's laugh was loud in the silence, seeming to echo around us.

"Where is he?" Shads asked, his voice showing the strain from carrying Natchez.

"Everywhere." I said. "Shit, nowhere."

"Where are you guys? Hurry up!" Wilkins yelled.

"I'm going to kill that asshole." Kincaid said, barely audible through his suit.

I was counting the steps. Something wasn't adding up.

"Wilkins!" I yelled.

"Sergeant?" He yelled back.

Behind us.

Or to the left?

Oh fuck.

There was a scream, and another one of Tandy/Bishop's chuckles.

Something came at me out of the snow, arms outstretched and the figure lurching, and I yanked my rifle up and out of the way.

"No threat!" I yelled, grabbing one wrist and pulling him tight to me.

It was Wilkins.

"Stay close, you goddamn idiot!" I yelled at him. He looked half frozen, his eyes wide.

He nodded.

"Help Shads with Natchez." He nodded and moved toward the back.

He had frostbite on the back of his neck.

The snow was coming from everywhere, I could barely see.

"My NVG's are fucking useless, Sergeant." Donaldson called out. "It's too goddamn cold."

"Keep going." I yelled. "Donaldson, Shads, Wilkins, get close."

Tandy liked to pick us off if we spread out too much.

...between one step and the next, the door flew open, and Tandy snatched Kebble into the room...

Or when we least expected it.

The snow suddenly cut out, leaving the corridor bare of snow or ice, but ice and snow was all over our uniforms, Kincaid's suit steaming in the sudden cold. He had to be hotter than hell in there. When I'd taken my test, during the day it felt like I was baking.

The lights suddenly cut on, over half of them broken, but still filling the corridor with white light.

"What the fuck?" Shads said.

"He's fucking with us." I said.

"What, he's fucking magic?" Wilkins scoffed.

"Fine, then nothing happened." I snapped. "Whatever gets your fucking dick hard."

"How can he do that?" Shads asked.

"We don't know." I told him honestly. "But this isn't too bad, the site itself doesn't hate us."

The sprinklers took the chance to cut on, dousing us again in water.

For some reason it ran through my mind that the charcoal in my chemical suit was soaked, completely compromising it.

And ruining another fucking uniform.

Goddamn it.

"I think the site hates us." Kincaid said.

The line on the wall was white with a red stripe. Above it was a blue line striped with white, and below it was a yellow line striped with red.

"If it did, we wouldn't be in this corridor." I told him. "We're heading toward medical." I waved at the white and red line.

"Can you help Natchez?" Shads asked, he was panting.

"I'm not Nagle." I said. "I'll try."

"Who's Nagle." Wilkins asked.

"Someone who would break your goddamn neck." Nancy snarled from next to me.

"I know, Nancy." I told her. She smiled, hungry, wolfish.

"Who's he talking to?" Wilkins asked.

"People." Shads said.

"Leave the Sergeant alone." Donaldson said. "Mind your fucking business, you chickenshit bitch."

"He's talking to goddamn people who aren't there." Wilkins said.

"And he's led us this far. He can just keep on being fucking crazy." Donaldson told me.

"Tell Natchez that." Wilkins said.

"Tell me and Kincaid that we aren't doing good." Donaldson snapped back. "He might be fucking crazy as a shithouse rat, but I don't think we can do this without him."

"He's right." Shads said quietly. "I've heard of him before this."

I stopped dead, turning to look at him. My knife was in my fist.

Donaldson had lifted his rifle up to his shoulder, pointing it at Shads.

"One of the guys in my unit talked about you." Shads said, not stopping. "Natchez is getting heavy."

I put the bayonet back in my LBE. "Start fucking talking." I snarled at him.

"His name was Carter, big dude, pumped iron all the time." Shads said quietly. "He got busted from E-5 after he broke a guy's skull in a fist fight."

"I remember him." I said, trying to hold back the memories.

...US RANGERS! WE'RE HERE TO GET YOU OUT!...

"He drank. A lot." Shads voice got lower. "One night just before Christmas I came back from the E-Club and he was sitting in there with a pistol. He made me sit down. He told me story."

"Which one?" I asked.

I felt like I'd never be warm again.

"The guy with the axe." He said quietly. "When you all went crazy and killed each other."

It was dead silent, only our boots thudding.

"About what he heard when your acting CO beat you almost to death." Shads said. "And the worst part was later that winter."

"Stop." I said.

I didn't want to hear it.

"Please stop." I begged.

I couldn't hear it.

"He told me how you all killed each other."

I stumbled, falling against the wall.

"He told me about how it started, how it happened."

"Sergeant?" Donaldson asked.

"neverhappenedneverhappenedneverhappenedneverhappened" I mumbled, sliding against the wall.

"Sergeant Ant?" Kincaid was turning around.

"What they did to her." Shads voice was almost inaudible, but I couldn't make his words go away. "He kept talking about how much blood there was, how long she screamed."

"Jesus." Wilkins said softly.

"IT NEVER HAPPENED!" I screamed, spinning around. My bayonet was in my hand and I stepped toward Shads. "YOU SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!" Wilkins jumped back, away from me. "HE WAS A GODDAMN LIAR!"

Donaldson stepped in front of me, putting his rifle across my chest and pushing me back. "Sergeant Ant!"

"YOU SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!" I screamed, dropping the bayonet and reaching past Donaldson to try to grab Shads. "I'LL CUT YOUR FUCKING HEART OUT!"

"Sergeant Ant!" Donaldson yelled, dropping the rifle and grabbing me by the front LBE straps.

"Shut up, Shads!" Kincaid yelled.

"Carter said you didn't give up. That you and what was left of your crew killed all of them and hiked out in a goddamn blizzard." Shads was still talking.

"GODDAMN YOU! SHUT UP!" I screamed.

"Carter said you never gave up. You kept going. Even when Nagle cut you open, you kept going." Shads wouldn't shut up. I couldn't get at him, I couldn't get past Donaldson. I couldn't make him shut up.

"He doesn't give up." Shads kept talking, staring at me but talking to everyone. "Carter gave up. He blew his fucking head off in my goddamn room."

"Shut up, Shads." Kincaid stepped forward, raising the flame thrower. "So help me fucking God, I'll burn you fucking down."

"Carter gave up. Ant doesn't give up." Shads eyes were still locked on mine. "Will you, Sergeant Ant?"

I straightened up and shoved Donaldson away from me.

"No." I told him. I made sure I had his complete and undivided attention. "If you ever so much as breathe her name I'll cut your goddamn heart out."

Shads nodded, his eyes dark and shadowed.

Now I knew what he was carrying with him, why he looked at me like that.

"It was just a dream." Nancy told me, coming up from behind Shads and stepping through him and Natchez. It left a streak of blood across her face. "Carter lied. She died in a vehicle wreck."

"I know it was really a vehicle wreck, Nancy." I answered, turning away from Shads. "Will you help me save Natchez?"

Donaldson made shushing noises at Wilkins when he opened his mouth, raising his rifle.

"I'll tell you what to do, Ant." Nancy promised me, stopping and letting Shads step through her. "His blood pressure is dropping, he's lost a lot of blood. He's in shock, and his heartbeat is thready."

I nodded, turning and walking again.

"He's going to die unless you get him somewhere where you can work on him." Nancy told me. She waved the Field Surgery FM at me. "I'll help you, Ant. Trust me."

"I trust you, Nancy." I told her. "You tell me what to do, I'll do it, if you'll save him."

"She was killed in a car accident, remember that, Ant." She told me. "Say it back to me."

"She died in a car wreck, Nancy."

"What the hell is he..." Wilkins started.

"Don't." Shads whispered. "Just be quiet."

"It wasn't your fault, there was nothing you could do, Ant." Nancy whispered. "Say it with me."

"Nothing I could do." I repeated. "I couldn't save her."

"Who's he talking about?" Wilkins asked.

"For the love of God, Wilkins, shut up." Shads panted.

"Give me Natchez, Shads." Donaldson said. "Sergeant, stop."

"You're almost there, brother." Bomber told me. "Line's pretty narrow, only a couple hundred feet." I looked at the line on the wall. He was right, it had dropped from about 2 feet thick to a little over six inches.

"Only a couple hundred feet, Bomber, right." I said.

"I got him." Natchez breathed. "I've got him."

"How does he know? Why are we listening to him? He's fucking crazy." Wilkins said.

Donaldson didn't even turn around, just backhanded Wilkins in the mouth.

"Because he's the fucking Sergeant." Donaldson yelled.

"That's your boy, him and Kincaid." Bomber told me.

He stopped by a door marked "EVENT MEDICAL THREE" on the wall beside it.

"Hurry up, Ant." Nancy told me.

Kincaid let go of his flamethrower long enough to throw the bar, and the door hissed up almost immediately.

We crowded into the airlock, and stood underneath the water as the old decon system kicked on. The warm water felt good after the snow and the cold, even if it smelled like iron and iodine.

The inner door raised up, revealing a lit area that looked just like any ER trauma room in any hospital in Europe or America. Operating bays on the right of me, triage on the left.

"Get him in one of those bays." I snapped, pulling off my gear. "Pull his tags, get his blood type, we need a transfusion. Kincaid, you're on watch, kill anyone that isn't wearing a US Army uniform."

I dropped my LBE and vest on the floor, my NBC top following it.

"Donaldson, your with me, I'm going to need help." I told them, pulling off my BDU top. It was dark with charcoal. I bent down and started undoing my wet weather boots. "Wilkins, you're going to hold the manual for me, Shads, you're going to keep him on O2."

"I see the books." Shads said, pointing at the long shelf full of medical books as he moved toward the bay. He was shuffling, almost out of gas.

"What book am I supposed to fucking grab?" Wilkins asked.

"Get the blast and crush trauma manuals." Nancy told me. Shads pulled open the door and staggered into the room.

"Blast and crush trauma, they should be labeled." I told them, kicking off the boots and pulling the pants off. "We'll need to look for crush amputation." Shads laid Natchez down on the bed.

"How the hell do you know this?" Wilkins asked, still not moving.

"Correspondence courses and OJT." I told him, unbuttoning my pants and dropping them, then pulling off my T-shirt.

"Sergeant, catch!" Donaldson yelled. I looked up in time to see a plastic wrapped pair of scrubs coming at me. I snatched them out of the air and tore open the plastic with my dentures.

"What the fuck OJT?" Wilkins asked, still not moving toward the books.

"On the Job Training. Do you need a goddamn lecture?" Donaldson asked, moving to the books. "Found three on crush and blast trauma. Which one?"

"Find amputation. Check the index." I tossed the scrubs on a gurney and hustled over to the decon shower.

"Can you really do this?" Kincaid asked me, throwing the bars to all four entrances to the medical bay to the middle. I hit the switch with my elbow and stepped under the spray. It was real cold, then almost scalding hot.

"We'll see." I said honestly, scrubbing at my head. "Donaldson, if they have medical terms in them, put them back. Look for one that is step by step, in plain English, that uses small words and has lots of diagrams. Wilkins, find something useful to do."

"You're going to kill him." Wilkins told me.

"Shut up, Wilkins." Kincaid snapped, then turned to me. "Do I stay suited?"

"No, strip down. Hit the shower." I said, stepping out. Donaldson tossed me a towel, then went back to looking through the books.

"Thank God." Kincaid said. He set the flamethrower down on a gurney. "Don't worry, baby, daddy ain't goin' nowhere."

I started pulling on the scrubs.

"Found one. Reads like Baby's First Surgery." Donaldson said. "It has parts where it reminds me, the reader, to tell you, the surgeon, not to pass out from the blood."

"That's the one." Nancy said, grinning.

"Nancy says that's the one." I said.

"And what happened to her wasn't your fault, Ant." Nancy said.

"I know it wasn't, Nancy." I said.

"You're seriously going to..." Wilkins started.

Kincaid stepped out of the suit in his boxers, took two running steps forward, and hit Wilkins square in the face with a straight arm punch.

Wilkins lifted up off the floor and flew backwards spread-eagled, hit the tile, and slid about a foot.

"I told you to shut the fuck up." Kincaid snarled, stepping forward and kicking the semi-conscious man in the side. "I mean shut up!" He bent down, grabbed Wilkins weapon, and slung it across the room. It flew through Bomber and hit a tray filled with still vacuum packed instruments and it all went down with a clatter.

"I cut off his uniform. His tags say O-Negative." Shads said, coming back in. He looked at Kincaid, who had drug Wilkins up by his top and was shaking him. "Problems?"

"No problem." I said, moving past him.

"I'll stay out with the chickenshit." Kincaid said, walking back over and sitting next to the flamethrower.

"Don't kill him." I said.

"Just save Natchez." He said.

"Open the book up to surgery preparation." I said. Donaldson nodded, skimming through the pages of the thick book till he found the page.

"All right, tell me what to do, step by step." I said.

"I'll help you, Ant." Nancy smiled. "You helped me study, I'll help you now. Tell him to look up how to turn on the equipment, hook up the oxygen sensor, the heart sensors, and then how much anesthetic to mix in with the oxygen."

"Nancy says to look up how to turn on the equipment, hook him up to the oxygen sensor, and how much anesthetic he needs." I relayed.

Neither man blinked an eye.

"Oh, and look up how to administer charcoal to someone who is unconscious." Nancy said, moving over by Natchez and looking down. "You need him to empty his stomach, so he doesn't puke during surgery."

"Find out how much and how we give him the charcoal to make him puke." I said.

"Says right here, Sergeant." Donaldson said.

"Let's fucking do this." I said, walking up and looking down at Natchez.

"Sergeant!" Kincaid yelled. I looked over to see him yanking on the backpack for the flamethrower on his back. "Incoming!"

The far door was rising.

"Get him on a gurney!" I shouted, and ran for my weapons.

They swarmed out of the door at us two steps from where I'd dropped my gear.