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

All Hallows Eve

Killeen, Texas
CONUS
Thursday
31 October, 1991
2200

The OD green van's door slid open and vampires, ghouls, zombies, princesses, fairies, and minature soldiers piled inside, all giggling and laughing, all carrying bags. The seats quickly filled up, and Donovan slid in next to me. A buddy of his, Steward, from Bravo-Company 3/67, slid in beside Donovan and shut the door.

"You kids all buckled up?" Steward asked, turning in the seat to look at them all. Some shook their heads and he wagged one finger. "Buckle up, kids."

They all laughed and I could hear the buckles clicking as I fired up the van.

"This was a good idea, Chief," Donovan said, leaning toward me.

"Learned it in my first unit," I told him, cracking the window. Then I remembered all the kids in the back and rolled it back up.

"Is everyone all buckled?" Steward asked. They all yelled yes, so I threw it into drive and pulled away from the curb.

"All right, kids, we're gonna go to the fire house now!" Steward called out.

All the kids in the back cheered. They knew, as well as I did, that the candy all had to be X-rayed before they could have any.

Nobody wanted to bite a razor blade or hypodermic needle.

Crackheads thought that was funny.

Steward started them singing the theme from Halloween III, clapping on the "Silver Shamrock" line and laughing with them as I drove to the fire station.

When we got out, he was first in line to chivvy the kids toward the X-Ray machine while I hung back by the van and smoked a cigarette.

I'd had a bad week.

I was hoping that was behind me now. I'd watched as Mrs. Ramirez's body was loaded up on the plane, walked First Sergeant Ramirez onto the plane myself Tuesday. I'd walked him through it all. He'd already been on leave, but he'd been inconsolable, his bereavement leaving him stunned and numb. I'd arranged it all.

And stared down anyone who tried to remark on it.

I treated him as a suicide risk. The only privacy he had was when he went to bed in his own bedroom. I slept on the couch, smoked outside, and made sure he ate. He stumbled from one task to the next, not drunk, just stunned by his wife's death.

Sometimes I could see he wanted to blame me. Blame my presence on her letting go. Monday night I'd let him scream at me after I asked him if he was going to bring his children back for her funeral or have it somewhere else.

It was fine, let him hate me if that's what carried him through this.

Wednesday had been my Mental Health appointment.

I didn't sleep all that well last night.

I watched as the Battalion's little ghosts and goblins dumped their candy for the fire-fighters to examine. Donovan was keeping an eye out on one particular little princess that obviously wanted to climb the fire trucks when Steward came wandering out.

"Spare one, Chief?" he asked. I dug out my pack and shook one out to him. He had his own lighter, which surprised me. He took a long drag and blew out the smoke. "Reminds me of taking my little brothers and sisters to the surrounding farms then to the firehouse."

"You a country boy?" I asked, leaning against the van.

"Yup. Colorado," he said. "San Luis Valley. Barley, potatoes, wheat, carrots," He blew out smoke. "Fourth generation. Do a tour or two, go back home," He shrugged. "Tank and a combine ain't too different. Whatever it hits gets shredded."