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

Honor

Charlie Company Offices
15th FSB Battalion Area
Fort Hood, Texas
CONUS
Friday
25 October, 1991
1000

The morning had been perfect for PT. Just cold enough to keep me from overheating on the run, warm enough that the rest of the Company wasn't uncomfortable during the whole thing. I'd enjoyed it, even though I kind of missed 2/19th's policy of 'wear whatever you're comfortable in' because I hated the gray PT issue PT uniform.

Of course, I'd hated the old reversible dark blue with gold trim PT uniform that came before it even more than I'd hated the gray.

Since morning formation I'd been in my office, going over the training schedule. I'd resisted the urge, when we'd gotten back from the field, to just load up the schedule. To bring down the hammer on everyone in Charlie and train them till they were puking up buttermilk.

Instead I'd just kept the training at an even course. As it was, I was looking at the November training schedule. The one handed down by Battalion was crap. More training on crap the enlisted had done a million times, no training for the officers or the NCO's. November was when Fiscal Year 1992 started, which meant we'd get our training funds replenished by the DoD.

I sighed, rubbing my temples.

"Problem, Chief?" 1SG Ramirez asked from the other side of the cubical divider.

"Just, trying to figure out what to do for training in November," I said, standing up. I crossed my arms on the top of the divider and rested my chin. "It's going to get colder, and Texas gets cold in the winter according to an old friend of mine. I don't want to run the risk of cold weather injuries, but I want these guys to keep training. I think they're ready for some intermediate training soon."

"Intermediate training, Chief?" Ramirez asked, setting down his pen.

"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt you, First Sergeant," I said, moving my index finger to point at his desk.

"This?" He tapped the papers in front of him. "Just NCOER's I'm checking for spelling."

"Bad enough you're Hispanic, don't want them thinking you're illiterate too," I said without a smile. He gave me a questioning look. "Come on, First Sergeant, you know as well as I do, you or I have one error on any of our paperwork, as far as some people are concerned, it invalidates not only the paperwork, but everything about us."

He nodded. "Yeah," he leaned back in his chair. "My family's been military since the the Alamo, fighting on America's side, but half these rankers, they act like I just swam Rio Grande and stole a white man's uniform."

That made me chuckle. "Apparently my fat tits disqualify me from being a decent soldier. They didn't let women into my MOS until about two years before I went through training."

"And you're the first female Warrant in your MOS," He said, nodding along. "Gotta be tough, and your medals don't help."

"No, they don't," I admitted.

"Come here, sit down," he said, pointing at the chair against the wall.

I set down my pen, grabbed my green notebook, and stuffed it into my left breast pocket as I came around the dividers. I grabbed the chair, dragging it over in front of his desk. He waited till I sat down.

"You're getting a lot of pushback, Chief," He told me, opening a drawer. He pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels, then two glasses.

"I noticed," I said.

"The field exercise just made it worse," He said.

"Because it proves everything I've done and said," I guess.