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

He's So Drunk

Inner Quad
15th FSB Operations Area
Fort Hood, Texas
CONUS
07 February, 1992 - Friday
0545 Hours

The morning was chilly, dark, sunrise a little while away. We were all drawn up in our PT's for morning physical training. There was a battalion run on the menu, ten miles, and more than a few people didn't seem too thrilled about it. That was all right, I wasn't too thrilled with it either, but it needed to be done.

The entire battalion needed to push their endurance, push their limits again. Train hard, fight harder.

I'd only gotten a handful of hours of sleep, so I'd skipped my Seroquel. Instead of feeling slow, logey, tired, I felt fully rested and ready to run. I was behind the formation, dressed in PT shorts, tennis shoes, sports bra, and gray T-shirt with ARMY written across it, just like everyone else was dressed. It felt good, stretching. Some people were waiting to do the stretches as a battalion, putting off any physical strain for as long as  possible, but I was getting ready. I was a big girl, I needed to warm up pretty good.

Misty moved up next to me, dressed in gray sweats, her zip-up hoodie with ARMY on it like most people were wearing.

She'd regret that about two miles in.

"You ready for this?" She asked me.

"Yup," I told her, swinging my arms to loosen them up.

"You're a psychopath," Lieutenant Bradshaw grunted. That made me laugh. "Seriously, how can you look forward to this?"

"It's just ten miles, slow pace. Endurance training," I told them, putting one arm over my head and grabbing my forearm to pull it and stretch.

Lieutenant Hendricks shook her head. "I'm staying back with the profiles," she said.

I just snorted and Misty elbowed me.

The Sergeant Major and the Lieutenant Colonel came out of Bravo's offices. The troops were still taking, mumbling, as they leaned against the railing, obviously talking. I checked my watch. Zero-five-fifty-five, which left five more minutes.

The door crashed open and I turned, like everyone, to look at the stairwell. Stillwater was standing there, wearing PT's and combat boots. He had a mechanical assist knee brace on his left leg, hard plastic on the front of his thigh and shin. He reached for the rail, missed, and stumbled down the steps.

"My God, he's so drunk," Lieutenant Bradshaw said, humor coloring his voice as we watched Stillwater stagger to the back of formation. Stillwater got by the tree and just dropped onto the grass, laying back with his arms and legs spread and looking at the sky. Several people snickered and more than a few laughed out loud. Stillwater tried to sit up, flopped back on his back, and gave a long deep belch.

"Jesus," Lieutenant Hendricks said, looking away. "How the hell can come to formation that obviously intoxicated?"

Misty snickered. "By walking?"

If Colonel Krait or SGM Ferris had noticed they didn't say anything as they stepped up in front of the battalion. They called everyone to attention and everyone followed commands. I was surprised to see Stillwater had managed to stagger over to the rear of Alpha Company's formation and was at attention. Swaying back and forth, but still still at attention.

We went to light warmups. Some stretches, a handful of pushups, some stretches, some situps, some stretches, some side-straddle hops (jumping jacks for you civvies), and, oh, did I mention some stretches.

Stillwater fell down twice trying to do side-straddle hops.

Some people were giggling, others outright laughed, but most of the officers and NCO's were looking at him in disgust as the Colonel told us to fall out to the front parking lot and gather up by companies.