Atlas Reloaded - Book Five of the Damned of the 2/19th

God Help Us

"Specialist Dillinger from 108th MI is here to see you, Corporal," Lane said, sticking her head into the tent like some kind of macabre flower.

"All right," I said. I grabbed the canvas cover and flipped it over all the paperwork on the table. "Send him in."

"Right away, Corporal," Lane smiled, giving me another wink.

I'd give her credit. The flighty and whimsical girl I'd known growing up had metamorphosed into a hell of a soldier since the long winter. She was still a weirdo, and could be whimsical and silly, but right now she was holding together the military discipline.

The tent flaps parted, letting in a lean black haired man wearing BDU's with the figure eight pierced by an arrow of 8th Infantry Division on his left shoulder and an airborne insignia above his US Army stripe. He gave me a smile, moving up and looking at the lumpy canvas covering all the data.

"You're busy," he said.

"Have a seat. I might not have time later," I told him.

He nodded, sitting down. I lit a cigarette, offered him the pack, then handed him my lighter. I poured him a cup of coffee and held up the bottle of Wild Turkey. He nodded and I poured him a glug in his cup and one in mine, then recorked the bottle and set it down.

"What's this about?" I asked.

"Blunt and to the point. I like that," he smiled. "Have you gotten into contact with your counterparts across the 1K Zone yet?" he asked me. He saw my expression and shook his head. "I've read your reports you've been developing a relationship with them. It's a good idea, make them hesitate to go at you, get information from them, all that good shit."

"No, I haven't contacted them," I said.

"Good," he smiled. "I want to change your relationship slightly."

"How?" I asked, narrowing my eyes in suspicion.

"108th MI is going to supply you with contraband. VCR tapes, porn mags, alcohol, Levi jeans, novels, whatever. You can give them as gifts or try trade, but we're going to supply you now," he said.

"They search it pretty good. They're Spetz, they're naturally suspicious," I warned him. "Any bullshit tricks probably won't work."

"The trick is the goods themselves, not anything we add to the contraband. Black market nodes provide cracks in the Iron Curtain, we want to establish a black market node through you," he told me. "All you have to do is be yourself. No tricks, no dirty deals. I'm being attached to 2/19th's Strategic Planning Operations, so it'll come through me from the 2/19th barracks."

He gave me a big grin. "I'm a known black market supplier. Have been for two years," he laughed. "Hell, I've robbed the Wildflicken Class-VI three times and the Shopette in Fulda twice, they just couldn't prove it."

"Anyone else know we're pulling this?" I asked.

He shook his head. "That's classified."

"This goes sideways and you try to throw me under the bus, I'll rip open your chest and eat your fucking heart," I warned him.

He just laughed. "This goes sideways, I'm going to be too busy worrying about my brand new US Army issued cratered head wound to try to force you under any bus."

That made me smile.

"It's just dirty trick and MI Cold War Bullshit, Stillwater. You have my word," He told me. He leaned back in the chair, balancing it on two legs. "I'm Eric, by the way."

"Anthony. People call me Ant, and no, it isn't short for Anthony," I told him.

He nodded, sipping at the coffee.