Texas Nights - Book 13 of the Damned of the 2/19th

Blackrazor

15th Forward Support Battalion Barracks Area
Fort Hood, Texas
CONUS
19 September, 1991
1500 Hours

It was raining outside when I led SPC Donovan across the parking lot, reaching under the bottom edge of my BDU top to the D-Ring attached to my belt loop. Thunder rumbled off in the distance as I pointed my keys at one of the cars in the parking lot.

I couldn't resist glancing at Donovan's face.

He was rolling his eyes since I was pointing my keys at a beige compact car.

His eyes widened in shock when the lights my car flashed and a truck horn gave a deep bass boop instead of the little sedan.

"That..." he stared at me. "That's your..."

"My car. Yes," I told him.

There was a good reason for that. I'd seen people staring at my car since I'd parked it last week. It wasn't exactly what someone thought of when they thought of a woman's car, and I'd deliberately driven my little compact or just walked when I had to go somewhere on post rather than drive my baby.

Mainly because I wanted to shock people.

My baby was a  jet black 1969 Ford F-1 Mustang, with a 428 Cobra Jet engine, dual carbs, blower, chromed to the gills, dark tinted windows, and jacked up eight inches in the back. Hell, I'd put so much chrome into the engine I'd gone with the clear Lexan hood to show everything off.

"Don't walk into that Chevy," I told him. He jerked, pulling his attention to where he was walking instead of alternating between staring at me and staring at Blackrazor in shock.

Yeah, yeah, I'd stolen the name for my car from one of the old S-series AD&D modules, but there was just something about it.

"Where did this thing come from?" He stammered as I opened the door.

"Detroit," I joked. He frowned and I sighed. "Never mind."

I got in and settled into the leather bucket seat, reaching back for the shoulder harness part of the five point restraint. He got in, looking around nervously.

"Watch me," I told him. He flushed slightly when I grabbed the locking mechanism between my legs and pulled it up so I could start strapping myself in.

"Why not normal seatbelts?" He asked, copying me.

"Why not drive a Jap crap-box while I'm at it?" I snapped back. That made him flush.

"This thing looks like you stole it off the set of Mad Max," He said.

That made me chuckle. "It was what I was shooting for when I started, but I decided I liked gloss black with metallic flake paint when I was done," I reached forward and ran my hand across the dash. "Rebuilt her myself. Bondo, grease, sweat, blood, and bad breath," I grinned at him and leaned back into the seat.

"You're, no offense, not what I expected," He said as I put the key in the ignition. Gave my baby some power, then hit the switches for the fuel pumps and to charge the system.

I'd done a lot of work on Blackrazor over the years.

"First rule, son, the file is not the man and the man is not the file," I told him, turning to stare at him. "I learned that from someone who knew his stuff."

He pointed at the picture on the dash. "One of them?"

I glanced at the picture. The Atlas Crew. I'd taken it at the end of REFORGER 88. We were all smiling. Dirty, tired, but smiling.

And we looked so young. Even Stillwater.

"Yeah," was all I said, and fired up the engine to cut off any conversation.