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

Dropping Dimes

Loading Dock
Charlie Company Operations Office
Fort Hood, Texas
CONUS
20 September, 1991
2100 Hours

The rain hadn't let up, soaking my fleece lined denim jacket. I was wearing a battered old BDU hat that was blood stained and too damaged to be serviceable, an old pair of jungle boots, an Iron Maiden T-shirt from Monsters of Rock  '88, and a red and black cross-striped flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Two hours of work in the gym had helped me steady my mood, and dinner at the Rod & Gun as well as fifty rounds through my .45 at the target had improved it.

Every single enlisted from Charlie Company was gathered up in front of the loading dock, all gathered in a crescent around me, shuffling as I stared at them through my sunglasses. Most of them were dressed in civilian clothing, a few in BDU's, all of them obviously nervous. Night was falling, the twilight thick and the cloud cover making it dim, but I could still see clearly even with my Ray-Bans on.

"All right, everyone," I said, lighting a cigarette, "Those of you who don't remember, I'm Chief Warrant Officer Cromwell, your new Training OIC, NBC Officer, and who knows what else."

That got a few nervous chuckles.

"In case you weren't told why I wanted to see you: I want to hear all of your complaints right now, off the record. I'll be writing down your answers, but not your identities. I only require that you tell me the truth. I already know the complaint that the other platoons, squads, or sections like motor pool or treatment or ambulance, that Headquarters, Alpha, and Bravo, as well as Brigade and Division are all lazy, stupid, and incompetent and maybe actually a half dozen monkeys in a clown suit, so just complain about that particular old complaint to each other over beer," I told them, getting some rueful laughter. "I simply ask that you remember that I was enlisted during the Ground War and have been a Warrant Officer for about a month, so I have been right where you are standing more than once."

That got a few murmurs. One girl raised her hand.

"Yes?" I asked, pointing at her.

"Can I ask you a question?" She asked, somewhat timidly.

"You want to know more about me before you start dropping dimes on the chain of command," I chuckled. "Go ahead."

She was silent for a moment.

"Speak freely, soldier," I told her.

"Is it true that you were at Chernobyl?" She asked meekly.

I nodded. "Right afterwards. My crew was sent to assist with sweeping the area for anyone who didn't evacuate, check out the damage, take readings and document everything. Our suits and equipment were better than the Soviet stuff, and two of the members of our crew were experts in the kind of reactor that melted down. We recovered some bodies. The Soviets gave us all a couple of medals, tried to use soft interrogation methods to try to get any information out of us, and let us go home," I gave a chuckle that was more grating than a laugh, "Then we went right back to work in a hellscape as soon as we passed our security checks and they were sure the KGB hadn't turned us or replaced us with pod people."

A few appreciative murmurs went through the group.

"My turn for a question," I told them. They went quiet. "How abusive is Lieutenant Hendricks?"

Silence for a moment, before the one who'd asked the question spoke. "She grabbed me by my bun and yanked my head around during a PT run because I was throwing up."

"She grabbed me by the back of my neck and dug her fingernails in," Someone else said.

"She lost her NVG's and tried to steal mine to turn in," A male said.