Third Person - Complete

Can We Go Dancing?

Lewis ignored the knocking on the door, just putting her arm over her face, her elbow over her eyes. She winced as the knocking came again, thudding through the room. She heard Heather and Miranda groan with her.

Her head was pounding, her stomach cramping, and her joints felt like they were full of ground glass.

She wanted to die.

"Someone still alive answer the door," Miranda groaned.

Keys jingled and the door clacked as someone unlocked it. The door opened and Lewis could hear boots coming in.

"Time to head to Atlas, troops," Stillwater's growling voice scratched at Lewis's nerve endings, all of which felt exposed.

"Go to Hell," Miranda groaned.

"Recover in the vehicles," Stillwater growled. "Henley just tasked Atlas with a mission."

"Oh, God, why?" Heather said. She groaned as she sat up. "I'm still sick from the drugs."

"Deal with it. We roll in thirty," Sergeant Stillwater said, turning around. "Full kit, pull ammo and gear from the Ready Room."

"What's the mission?" Miranda asked. She stood up, waved, then bent over and retched.

"Rolling the replacement TOW-II series to Atlas to replace the ones we shipped out for destruction last month," Stillwater said, pausing for a moment. "144th loaded it all up the last two days, eight-five trailers total."

"Jesus," Miranda said, standing up and wiping her mouth. She hadn't vomited, but she'd come close to harfing up her stomach lining. "No warning?"

"Henley came up to my room and told me as soon as he got back from ASP #3, this is verbal orders only," Stillwater said. He turned and looked at the three women in the room. "Don't tell anyone where you are going or why. We're running classified."

"Oh, God," Heather said, rolling out of bed enough to sit up. She retched and struggled to her feet. "We're not completely toxxed."

Lewis climbed down out of the top bunk carefully, her joints feeling like they were full of ground glass. She heard the door slam as Stillwater left and groaned at the loud noise.

"Wish he'd remember that he's not supposed to just barge into our rooms," Heather groaned, getting to her feet.

"Henley sent him, he wouldn't care if we were having a threesome in front of a mariachi band in here," Miranda said. She wobbled over to her wall locker. "I don't know what's worse, our yearly anti-interrogation certification or this damn Generation Two Field Warfare Pack."

"The Pack," Heather said. She leaned forward, putting her forehead against the cool door of the locker. "Certification was only three days, we've been down almost a week."

"Did Stillwater take them?" Lewis asked, opening her wall locker and grabbing a hanger. She had underwear, a brown t-shirt, BDU top and bottom, all on the same hanger.

"Shit like that doesn't bother the Atlas Ant," Miranda grumbled.

"Only bothers us mortals," Heather said, pausing for a moment in the middle of putting on her BDU pants.

Getting dressed was painful, but Lewis was somewhat mollified that the other two women, who had been at the job far longer than she had, were both just as discomforted by the medication they'd started taking on Monday.

Lewis had largely spent the weekend alone. The other two women had been undergoing "Yearly Anti-Interrogation Training" at the Dispensary. From the evidence Lewis had seen on the two women's bodies they hadn't had an easy time. On Monday the Dispensary had handed out the newest Field Warfare packs.