Third Person - Complete

First Arrivals

"You two, Roberts and Lewis, with me," Gilly called out, waving the flashlight with the cone shaped plastic end. Lewis knew it was used to ground-guide vehicles at night, the red coloration designed not to effect night vision.

Roberts shrugged, folding the metal envelope over the rest of the dehydrated fruit cocktail he'd been eating dry, and started walking toward Gilly. Lewis squeezed the last of her chicken ala king into her mouth and shoved the mostly empty metallicized envelope into her thigh pocket. Both of them stretched and yawned, standing up from the pallet of sandbags they had been carrying to wherever they were ordered to before being told to take a twenty-minute break and get some food and water.

"According to Ant, we've got four Chinooks and six Blackhawks coming in with 'reinforcements' of some type," Gilly grumbled. "They'll be landing at the lower helipad, so we'll take the Gypsy Wagon out there and guide them in."

"What is going on?" Roberts asked, waving at the "encampment" that had been built on the Back-Forty.

Six light sets, eight GP-Medium tents, nine GP smalls, two Conex containers dropped into holes that Roberts had dug with the back-hoe, radiation shielding, camo net covering everything, fuel pods, water buffaloes with potable and non-potable water in them, commo antenna, wiring, even a berm with fighting positions that Roberts had built while using the bulldozer.

Roberts started to grab the tailgate so he could sit in the bed of the Gypsy Wagon when Gilly grabbed his LBE.

"Not back there, champ. I've got orders to make sure that you're sitting on seats," Gilly said, waving at the front of the Gypsy Wagon.

Lewis just climbed in the back with Stewart and Sawmoth. Sawmoth patted the bed next to her and Lewis dropped down, then winced as a little pain flared up in her buttocks.

"Any clue what's going on?" Lewis asked. Sawmoth shrugged, popping her gum.

Roberts slammed the door shut, buckling up out of habit. Gilly got in, turned the key so the glow-plugs would warm up.

"God damn, Atlas is too fucking big," She swore, listening to the buzzer and watching the light on the dash. "It's seven fucking miles from here to the Lower Helipad. It takes a goddamn tank battalion and a full blown mech-infantry battalion to guard this damn place if the pfenning ever drops."

Roberts just nodded as Gilly started the truck, the rumbling diesel cutting off conversation as it clanked and wheezed to life. Roberts leaned forward, craning his neck to look out the windshield. He could see the running lights of the helicopters coming in.

"They're getting close," He said, feeling foolish immediately after.

"They'll hold position till we get there," Gilly shrugged, the truck bumping as it crossed the mobile bridge that had been laid over the blast ditch.

Roberts was silent as Gilly drove to the Lower Helipad, swapping out the batteries on his NVG's. He'd been wearing them all night and he didn't want them to die when he was doing whatever Gilly was taking him to do.

Roberts had to admit that the night had been weird. Because of his light duty profile he'd been relegated to standing around by the sandbags keeping count and handing out the empty sandbags to be filled from the dump truck of sand that had been dropped off. At least after a half hour he'd been driven up to Dinosaur Row. There, Stillwater had taught him how to use the backhoe and the bulldozer, standing on the running board and giving instructions the entire time. It had been fun to learn how to use construction equipment and had made Roberts feel useful despite the fact he was still recovering from his injuries.

Roberts understood now why Stillwater was constantly working even with his leg in that heavy brace. Nothing felt worse that standing around while everyone around you was busting their asses to get things finished.