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

Unboxing the Past

Barracks Area
15th Forward Support Battalion Company ARea
Fort Hood, Texas
CONUS
26 September, 1991
0930 Hours

Rage still burned in my chest as I stomped up the stairs to the second floor. That son of a bitch had tried to lay his hands me, called me a bitch and a whore, and obviously pressed a man of vast accomplishments into not wearing what he deserved.

Hatred warred with rage in my chest as I reached the second floor, pushing out of the stairwell and into the T intersection, turning to face the CQ Desk. The private at the desk shrank back slightly at my expression.

"Ma'am?" He stopped me. His name was Karlson, E-1, Born 24 May, 1973, O-Pos, mild allergy to eggs with no symptoms, but needed to be noted for some stickers.

"Yes, private?" I asked, as gently as I could.

How dare that fat slick sleeved fuck try to lay his dick beaters on me.

"The movers and the MP's are here. Specialist Crawford is with them in your room right now," He looked nervous.

"Thank you, Private," I told him, turning and heading toward my room, which was down by the end of the left hand hallway. When I walked in I saw there were three movers standing there while two MP's and a Sergeant First Class were going through a photo album.

"May I help you, gentlemen?" I asked mildly.

They all jumped, turning and looking at me. The SFC stepped forward, holding out his hand.

"Sergeant First Class Placer, PRP Liaison for First Cav," He told me.

One of the MP's held up a picture. "What kind of bombshells is this?" I squinted slightly, and saw that it was Stokes, Dobbs, Lanks, Little-Bit, and my self sitting on a H-104 cluster bomb rocket pod. I could tell it was Atlas, Bunker-62, and the summer before we deployed to Desert Shield.

"It's a rocket pod, Hotel One Oh Four, standard cluster bomb six pod rocket," I said, reaching out and grabbing the picture. I stared at him, "Unless you're talking about the fact we're all nude."

That made him flush, "Pass my photo-albums to the PRP Liaison, stop thumbing through it," I told them, snatching the photo album from them.

I turned and handed it to SFC Placer. "Here. It was checked by NATO, and PRP through the whole way apparently. There's four total, spanning several years of duty at a clandestine site. I was careful not to break security."

He nodded, "Any photo albums from Desert Storm?"

I shook my head. "No. I was hospitalized the third day of the Ground War, my equipment was largely destroyed as far as I know."

He nodded at that. "The movers have a rucksack and two dufflebags and what looks like a Special Forces Aid Bag on the data sheet for one box," He said. He nodded at where they were sitting on the bed. "You apparently had a lot of stuff sent from Germany, they've got seals and PRP stamps on them."

I sighed again. "My unit was clandestine."

He nodded slowly. "A Special Weapons posting?"

"Pure. Over-strength Group," I told him. "Almost entirely self-contained, with a cover unit."

He moved over to one of the two desk, setting my photo-album down, and pulling out a pen. "Name of cover unit?"

"144th Ordnance Company, 60th Ordnance Battalion, I think," I told him. He jotted it down. "Our cover area was Wildflicken, but we were on a place called Alfenwehr."

That made him look up, his eyes wide. "How long were you there?"

I shrugged. "Since like 1986," I said. "Survived a couple of winters there."