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

Part 42

Site Kilo-29
Master Military Operations Command
Winter-1993
Day Four-Early Morning

I stood there, watching the timer, and enjoying my cigarette for almost ten full seconds before someone spoke.

During that time I smiled.

Why the fuck not?

The display showing the parabolic arcs began changing, throwing up estimated populations, estimated percentage of survivors, priority strike levels. The arcs shifted to different locations. The arcs that touched on the old Soviet missile fields rerouted to cities as the computer system tried to figure out what would hurt the old Soviet Union the most.

It was estimating that the first strike had already happened while it slept inside the mountain. Using carefully programmed logic it was coming to the decision that more than likely it had slept through at least the first four hours of the war, and was currently trying to decide if the secondary and tertiary strike fields had gotten off their missiles. It had already written off the boomers and the Air Force, the missile fields in the Dakotas and Southwest, and it was probably trying to decide if they'd gotten off their launches before being hit.

According to what I'd been taught, what I knew, the system would be looking for population centers, industrial centers, and military bases that might have gotten off with only a near-impact or overlooked. It would looking for anything that might support life, might enable the enemy to survive. It would be looking for something, anything, to hit that would spell the end of human life as we knew it.

While I watched during those few seconds one of the parabolic arcs moved to the North Atlantic kelp beds, while another from the same grouping moved to the Arctic ice pack. A third line of dashes moved to what I figured was pretty much the center of the Amazonian rain forest, with a shorter split at the end for the upper part of the Amazon river. Another set of lines had the lines split to touch China, the farmland out there, another touched the Russian grain belt, and another line touched the American Midwest, branching out to the touch the middle of the heartland as well as to touch Yellowstone National Park and the geological fault right there. A third changed the arc to touch several points in the Cascades, as well as the San Andreas Fault. Whatever it would take to cook off the "Ring of Fire" as some called it. The interconnected fault lines and dormant volcanoes whos ignition would dramatically alter the world itself.

Nobody gets to live. Maximize the pain. Maximize the destruction.

You can always take them with you.

"Sergeant!" Donaldson's shout brought me out of a half-daze where I was imagining the oceans boiling, black snow raining from the sky, and everyone else's silos firing off in the response to the eight birds fitfully dozing in the site, slowly coming to full awareness. The whole world going down in a blaze of nuclear fire, poisoned water, blasted landscape, and floating clouds of death.

beautiful

"Yes?" I asked, turning slowly to look at them. I knew I was smiling and didn't care as I took a last drag off my cigarette. They all stared at me as I slowly rolled the cherry off the end and tucked the cigarette into my pocket and ground out the cherry with the toe of my boot.

"Do something!" Donaldson cried out, pointing that the timer. "We don't have much time!"

"So?" I asked.

"Sergeant, you can't let this happen!" Shads sounded excited for the first time since I'd met him. His voice tight with anxiety and fear.

"Why not?" I cocked my head slightly as I dragged the pack out of my pocket and opened it.

"Because everyone will die!" PFC Michaels told me, as if I didn't already know that.

"So?" I asked, putting the cigarette in my mouth and putting away the pack.

"So? So?" Donaldson sounded like he couldn't believe what I was saying. "What the fuck, Sergeant? What do you mean 'So?' This will start a fucking nuclear war!"

"Yup." I lit the cigarette. "And?"

"What about all the people who'll die? My God, Sergeant, can't you stop it?"

"Who cares?" I told him, putting the lighter way. "You heard those CIA goons. My wife and children are probably already dead. Why should I give a shit about everyone else?" I took a drag while they all stared at me. "Even if I could shut it all down, why?"

Michaels lifted his rifle and I smiled and drew my knife in one hand and the pistol in the other. Donaldson pushed Michaels rifle down, shaking his head, not breaking eye contact with me. I put the knife and pistol back behind my back.

"Sergeant Ant, please, think of all the innocent people that this will kill." Donaldson said, pleading with me. "Not just from what this place will fire, but with how the rest of the world will react, and what we'll do in response. Think about all those innocent people, all those children for Christ's sake, that will die!"

"So?" I asked. "You heard the agents, you heard Oakes, Kebble, and Agent Killain, they already slit my son and daughter's throats and raped my pregnant wife while she begged them to spare my unborn child. Why should I care about anyone else's child?"

"You can't mean this, Sergeant." The Mystery PV2 said. "You said before this isn't about you, isn't about us, isn't even about the CIA assholes, that it's about something else. Don't do this."

"Why should I care? This is the second time the world has taken someone I loved and an unborn child from me." I told him, reaching out again to caress the top of the monitor. Behind me one of the computers beeped once and I could hear the hard drive chatter in the silence.

"So you'll blow up the whole fucking world?" Jacobs asked, the pain of the gunshot wound forgotten. "You'll kill everyone?"

"I won't do anything." I smiled. "Just like the world did for me."

"Sergeant, think about your oath." Shads said softly. He frowned for a moment while I stared at him slightly amused. "Think about your wife for a moment." I went from smiling at him to snarling, the image of faceless men, men sent by Agent Fellman's nasty little part of the CIA, raping Heather next to the dead body of my baby girl. Raping her as she begged them to spare the unborn baby's life and they laughed at her before strangling her with a piece of wire.

"She's already dead, we both know it." I told him. "And I'm not doing anything."

Reaching out, I spun the chair next to the console and sat down, leaning back slightly.

"I'll just sit right here." I told them.

Kincaid clomped down the short steps, stopping in front of me, then grabbed the chair in front of the console across for me, swinging it around and sitting down in it. I watched him curiously, wondering if he was going to threaten me with the flamethrower, while he unsealed the hood and pulled it back.

His face was flushed and sweating, and he dug the pack of Winstons out of where he had put them in the pocket of the J-Suit. I knew the pocket was supposed to hold test strips or other chemical equipment, but there hadn't been a reason to have him carry it.

"Sergeant, please, my family." Michaels said.

"Sergeant, you can't do this, my Mom." Jacobs pleaded.

"Sergeant Ant, don't do this. Please, stop it." Mystery Private asked me. Mellins, that was his name. I didn't really care, he was just Meathead #2 to me.

"Please, Sergeant, my sister just had a baby, please stop this." Private Waters asked me. I'd finally remembered his name.

"I'm engaged, Sergeant, please." Private Hetson said. He sounded close to tears.

"She asked please, just like that." I said quietly. "It didn't do any good, they killed her anyway, just like the CIA did to Heather."

Kincaid lit a cigarette, and I faintly heard Donaldson tell the others to shut up for moment, let 'them' handle it.

...she died begging us to stop, Ant, she died begging for your bastard child, and we laughed at her, you psychotic piece of shit...

...we're going to kill that fat bitch Taggart and that scar faced who the same way, Ant. Then we'll feed them to Tandy just like we will you, but you'll get to hear them beg us first...

...don't look, brother. Go with Catherine and Nancy, we'll handle it. Don't look, brother...

The memory I'd kept pushing away threatened to well up, and I felt tears well up in my eyes.

"Never happened, Ant, say it with me, honey." Nancy said, stepping up behind Kincaid and putting her hand on shoulder. "Say it with me, Ant, it never happened. It was a vehicle wreck, there was nothing you could do. Say it with me, Ant, baby."

"It never happened, Nancy, it was just a vehicle wreck." I said softly, looking at her where she was standing in her BDU's with a cigarette in her mouth and a bad black eye. "There was nothing I could do, it was just a vehicle wreck, Nancy."

"Good boy, Ant. Just remember that, and you'll be all right." Nancy smiled.

Kincaid didn't say anything, just sat in the chair staring at me, smoking his cigarette.

Shads came down the steps to the first terrace, where we were sitting, and hopped up to sit on the desk where the monitor and keyboard was, putting his elbows on his spread thighs and resting his chin on his fists.

He didn't say anything as Taggart moved up behind him and began whispering in his ear. His pupils dilated while she whispered, her beautiful eyes locked on mine.

Donaldson came down and crouched down in front of me, Bomber following him and crouching down with him. Bomber had on his cowboy hat, his cowboy boots, Levi 501's on, an open blue and black flannel shirt over a Van Halen T-shirt. He was smoking a cigarette and had a bottle of whiskey in his other hand. He took a drink and stared at me.

"Is this what you want, brother?" He asked me.

Donaldson squatted silently.

"I think so, Bomber." I said. I nodded, ignoring the flare of pain in my head. "I just don't care any more, John. With Heather and the kids gone, I just don't care any more."

He nodded, taking another swig off the whiskey bottle.

"Can I have a turn at the bottle, Bomber?" I asked. "I could really use a drink right now."

"You're hurt pretty bad, aren't you, Sergeant?" Donaldson asked.

I ignored him, staring at Bomber. Taggart was still whispering in Shad's ear, Nancy was staring at me sadly and caressing Kincaid's shoulder.

"Answer him, Fifty, you owe him that much." Bomber told me. I looked a little to the left, locking eyes with Donaldson.

"Yeah." I was honest. "I think I'm dying."

Donaldson reached out slowly and stroked upwards just below my ear along my jawbone, his finger coming back gleaming in the lights, the pinkish fluid coating his fingertip.

"Cerebral fluid." I told him. He nodded, then reached toward me.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Sergeant. Just relax, you know you can trust me." He said gently. I held still while he unsnapped my chinstrap and lifted my helmet off of me. He lowered it and looked at the side, pursing his lips at the sight of a torn patch on my helmet cover and a divot in the fiberglass/Kevlar laminate. "Looks like one of the shots in the stairwell shaft hit you."

"Probably." I said. I took another drag off of my cigarette while he set it down.

"Give me your rifle, Sergeant, let's get you out of that heavy gear." Donaldson said. "Let's get you comfortable, we'll put the rifle where you can reach it."

"Why do you care?" I asked, but handed him my rifle anyway. He set it on the desk in front of the computer monitor and keyboard.

"Because you're hurt, really bad, and you've taken care of us every time we've been hurt." Donaldson told me. He reached out and unbuckled my LBE. "Bomber and Nancy aren't here, we are, and I think someone has to take care of you." He pulled open my Kevlar vest, the Velcro making a tearing sound. He tapped his chest. "You kept me from dying, I'd like to do the same for you. I owe you, and I don't think you can take care of yourself like you did me. I don't think you take very good care of yourself."

"Not really, not when I'm in the field." I admitted, and felt tears starting to spill from my one good eye. "Not since... not since she..."

"It never happened, Sergeant." Shads said softly across from me. "It was a vehicle wreck, there was nothing you could do to save her." I nodded. "Say it with me, Sergeant."

"It was a vehicle wreck, I couldn't have saved her." I said. "I would have, but I was hurt so bad. I almost died, Nancy almost couldn't save me. Taggart and Bomber thought she was going to lose me."

"We know, Ant, it's OK. You did what you could." Donaldson said. He reached up and unsnapped the retainers over the plastic clips on my rucksack straps, then pinched the little retainers so the fast-drop system released and my ruck fell to the floor behind me. "Lean forward, let's get this shit off of you so we can see how badly you're wounded, Ant."

I obeyed him, letting him pull my LBE and Kevlar vest off of me and lay it next to him, in front of Bomber.

The other meatheads were silent, and I could faintly tell that the room was full of the tension.

"Shift Leaders, Team Leaders, please report immediately to supervisors." The woman on the PA sounded angry, and I flinched at her tone. "Site command log in immediately."

"It's OK, Sergeant, she isn't talking to you." Shads said. "It's OK. Dee, hand me his ruck." Donaldson stood up, reached over me and grabbed my rucksack, then handed it Shads before squatting back down in front of me.

Donaldson unlaced my boots, pulling at the speed laces until the knots at the top hit the grommets and then tugging in between the grommets to loosen them up. He undid the knife sheathe's boot heel loop and then took the knife off my boot and set it on the desktop on top of the magazine well of my rifle.

I looked at Nancy while he undid my laces and set my knife on the desk. She smiled gently at me, a look that was uncommon where other people could see me.

"I'm sorry about Lev, Nancy. It just happened so fast, I failed you and your husband both." I told her.

Her smile got sad and she shook her head. "I don't blame you, Ant, you didn't fail at anything. You aren't the one who signed off on the crane's PMCS when it had a blown master cylinder. You were just walking through the motorpool. You had nothing to do with Lev's death, baby." Glittering tears sparkled on her cheeks. "You were there afterwards, when I needed you."

"But I didn't save him, Nancy." I said. Shads was opening the top of my rucksack. "I didn't even move before that Abrams engine landed on him."

"You can't save everyone, Ant." Nancy said. "Neither of us could, remember?"

"We couldn't save her, Nancy. I couldn't..." I choked.

"Never happened, Ant." Donaldson said, pulling my attention back to him. "It was just a vehicle wreck, there was nothing you could do."

I nodded. "There was nothing I could have done. I was dying."

"What the fuck are they doing?" Mellins asked. "Why aren't they forcing him to stop this shit?"

"He's having a nervous breakdown, I think." Jacobs said. "I gotta sit down. Set me down."

"From what Wilkins was saying, he should be fucking dead." Michaels told them. "He had a mine go off only a foot so from him and it bounced his ass like a Raggedy Ann doll."

"His brain's bleeding." Hetson said. The man's name registered, then vanished in a twinge of pain right behind my forehead. "It's like a slow motion stroke."

"Then why don't we make him tell us how to stop this shit?" Waters asked.

"You four shut the hell up." Kincaid suddenly said. I looked at him, and he was still staring at me, the flamethrower's ejector still sitting in his lap. "You have no idea what the fuck you're talking about."

They went quiet, and Donaldson tapped my knee to get my attention. "Ant, give me your knives and pistol, so you can take off your top. I need to see how badly you're injured."

I looked at Bomber, who nodded, then looked back at Donaldson and nodded. I reached behind me with my left hand, pulling first the pistol, then the knife from behind my back, the clip on holsters sliding easily off my belt and from inside my pants. Donaldson nodded and set them on top of the butt of my rifle.

"Give this to him." Shads said. I looked back up to see Taggart smiling in approval as he held out Martin the Sock Monkey to Donaldson.

"That's mine." I said. My voice sounded weird to my ears. I felt like my nose was running and snuffled as Donaldson reached out and took Martin gently. "Please give him to me, he's mine."

"Why are his tears pink?" Mellins asked.

"I have no idea." Michaels said. "I don't think it's good."

"He's dying." Jacobs said. "Shit, the only guy that can stop this is fucking dying right in front of us."

"I said shut the fuck up." Kincaid's voice was harsh, and he popped the igniter twice.

"We know he is, Sergeant." Donaldson said gently, handing Martin to me. "Shads was just getting him out so you can hold him. He's your friend and you're hurt really bad. He should be with you so he's not scared."

Martin was soft in my hands, and still smelled faintly of Heather and the baby despite the time he'd spent hiding in my rucksack. He ooked softly at me as I lifted him up and set him against my shoulder, tilting my head slightly and closing my eyes, pressing my cheek against him and hugging him tight.

It was silent for moment, only broken by the woman on the PA system saying something that I didn't care enough about to bother making sense of, and Martin ooking softly to me as he rubbed my cheek with his little Velcro'd paw, the stubble of the plastic rough against me.

"Oh Jesus, Kincaid, look at this." Shads said, his voice sounding horrified. I heard the crinkle of paper, but concentrated on Martin.

Martin loved me.

Just like Heather and Nancy.

Just like John and Catherine.

Just like my daughter.

I held tight to him, holding tight to the fact that people loved me.

"I couldn't save her." I started.

"It never happened, Sergeant." Donaldson said.

"Christ, he's supposed to be on convalescent leave and they pulled him to do this shit after this?" Kincaid sounded outraged. "Dee, look at this."

I heard the paper crackle again and Martin ooked softly and petted me softly.

"Just read it out to me, Kay, I'm a little busy." Donaldson said. He was carefully unbuttoning my top, trying not to bump my arms too much. "Give me the highlights."

The paper rustled again. "How about 'depressed radiating skull fracture at site of previous skull fracture', 'laceration exposed depressed bone fragment to open air', 'patient suffers from mild multiple hallucinations', 'hallucinations are of people and events from the past and are not violent in nature but reveal serious neurological problems' and 'not recommended for duty due to physiological and psychological trauma' for highlights?" Shads asked.

"Christ." Donaldson murmured. "Where was the skull fracture and how long ago?"

"Looks like about ten weeks ago. Back of the head from where the diagram shows." Shads answered. "Christ, 'CAT scan shows definite ongoing neurological damage from repeated head injuries. Recommended service member be placed on Temporary Disability for extensive medical care.' What the fuck were they thinking of pulling him off of leave and sending him here?"

"He showed the Major some orders, find them in his ruck." Donaldson said. "Ant, lean forward, I want to check your head."

"OK." I said, leaning forward. My head was a confusing jumble of thoughts and memories. I tried to concentrate, but Martin ooked softly and hugged me, breaking my attempt at concentration. I gave up on following whatever it was and hugged him back.

Donaldson started gently pressing on my head, moving his fingers through my brutally short hair. "Shit, he's got a few scars on his head." The first few presses didn't really bother me, except making me wince at the soreness and what felt like a bruise on the back of my head.

"Found them, they don't say why he was pulled off of medical leave, just a piece of paperwork saying that his leave has been officially terminated and he is supposed to report to Fort Meade in Maryland immediately." Shads said.

"What's the originator on the orders?" Donaldson asked, his fingers still probing.

"I can't tell. A lot of these orders are marked out with a black marker." Shads said. He started to say something else, but Donaldson pressed against a spot on the back of my head and I leaned forward and threw up, my vision suddenly vanishing with a snap and my entire body suddenly becoming hot, itchy, and tingling. My mouth filled with the taste of peaches, pork grease, and sour candy. I could hear my sister laughing with glee as she zerberted my daughter who was giggling like only a baby can. I could smell hot pumpkin pie and the bitter bite of tear gas.

"What the fuck did you just do?" Jacobs asked.

"Nancy?" I asked. "Nancy, honey, it's dark, I can't see. That guy with the axe fucked me up really bad."

Martin ooked and squeezed me, and I suddenly remembered that I wasn't in 2/19th any more. That I wasn't laying in the snow in the CQ Area of 2/19th. That Nancy wasn't with me, bleeding from a slash down the side of her face and a stab wound through her boob. That had been years ago and thousands of miles away.

"I think his skull's popped." Donaldson said. "Shit, it probably happened when the mine went off, and he's been wandering around since bleeding in his brain."

"What the hell's this?" Shads asked. "It's envelopes addressed to John Bomber, Nancy Nagle, Catherine Taggart, Command Sergeant Major Ant, Denise Ant, Baby Ant, and Heather Ant in plastic bags."

"Is that why he doesn't care?" Michaels asked. "Is that why he's willing to let the whole goddamn world blow up?"

"He's not thinking clearly." Jacobs said. "I'm fucking amazed he could walk. I had a concussion last year when a drunk plowed my car and I was all fucked up."

"They're letters to be delivered if he dies." Kincaid said. "Give them to me, I'll carry them."

"We were told to write those and keep them on us whenever we deployed or went on mission." Taggart said. "I peeked at mine once when he was asleep. He doesn't think I know he loves me. He thinks he's been able to keep me from knowing." She laughed softly. "It's right there on his face whenever he looks at me. He just loves Heather more. I think it's wonderful that he loves Heather that much." she sighed with pleasure. "It's nice to know someone loves you that much."

My vision came back, shot with sparkles and weirdly in black and white. I lifted my head up and looked at Donaldson, who was squatting in front of me again. Bomber was next to him, in full color even though Donaldson was in grainy black and white.

"You with us, Sergeant?" Donaldson asked.

"Think so, Dee." I said. My head was pounding. Martin was soft in my hands.

"Gonna stop this thing?" He asked me.

"Why should I?" I asked, and grinned at him.

The Fates howled my failures in my ears.

"Let the world fucking burn."