Kilo-29 (Damned of the 2/19th, Book 15)

Chapter One

Site Kilo-29-External Area
United States of America
Winter, 1993
Day One

The wind was cold and bitter, and the smell of snow carried in the air brought back memories of darkness and death that I pushed away. That place was eight thousands miles away, blown up and burnt down, and I'd pushed it behind me.

"That's it? That's what they sent us out here for?" One of the guys behind me bitched. I restrained a sudden urge to turn around, grab him by the front of his uniform, pull him close...

And ram my knife up under his sternum.

The smell of snow mixed with the smell of blood... for a second before I could push it and the unreasoning anger flooding through me away. I fished the little bottle of pills out of my pocket, uncapped it, and shook one into my mouth, chewing it into paste as I stared at the steel door that was mostly hidden by the overhanging rock.

I looked around in the last few minutes of sunshine we'd have for almost 12 hours and took in what was around us.

Just bare rock, and an almost hidden road that led into the woods that I knew would lead to a concealed helipad, painted to match the surrounding terrain. Next to the door was a peeling sign, white with red letters.

Governmentese for "Get the fuck out" was on the sign, a phrase I was long accustomed to. Order of the Secretary of Defense, Authorization for Lethal Force, Restricted Area, Prepare for Search and Seizure.

No graffiti, unlike a lot of the sites I'd been to in the last year.

"Hey, Sergeant, I thought you said they sent some guys from the Engineers and the Air Force up here." One of the guys said.

I hadn't bothered learning their names. I didn't care.

"Yeah, if they're up here, where's their vehicles?" Another asked. Meathead #5 was what I referred to him as.

"Ask the Major, how the fuck should I know?" I said, looking at the Meathead and waving my hand at the other Humvee pulling up. There was a black civilian car carrying three guys in black suits that claimed they were with the Department of the Interior, but weren't fooling me. They moved wrong, had pistol rigs under their suits, and an almost insulting sneering. Either No Such Agency or the CIA, and my guess, from the arrogance and general assholishness, CIA mooks with little to no field experience and puffed up egos.

"What is this place?" Another meathead asked, throwing a rock at the door. The rock shattered with a tink that meant to me that the door probably wasn't steel.

"It's a hard site." I grumbled, taking a swig off my canteen and swishing it around before swallowing. My head was starting to pound, but the pill would take care of it. I'd been suffering migraines for the past two years and had finally gone in and gotten medication for it.

"What's a hard site?" The same meathead asked.

"It's a Cold War bunker." I answered, closing my eyes and reaching behind my glasses to pinch the bridge of my nose.

"More Cold War garbage." One of the privates sneered.

how would you like a punch in the mouth?

I ignored their bullshit and looked around, taking a good look at the terrain around us. Heavy woods on the mountainside, an old road made with green colored concrete, snow probably 500-700 vertical feet above us. And nothing for over 50 miles in any direction. I'd payed attention on the way up, checking the ambush points, sighting points, and everything else.