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

Under the Mask

HHC 15th Forward Support Battalion Operations Area
1st Cavalry Division Area
Fort Hood, Texas
CONUS
05 Feb, 1992
1300 Hours

I'd taken the coward's way out last night. After the meeting I'd gone to the Rod & Gun to eat, then picked up Chuck and got a hotel room, avoiding the barracks.

The idea of facing Stillwater was something I just couldn't bring myself to do.

I'd had a bad night too. Dreams of Atlas, Panama, Iraq. Dreams of Stillwater, with his shattered face, silently accusing me of leaving him behind. Dreams of failure.

Dreams of that horrible time in the barracks when he was half-dead.

I'd driven Chuck to the barracks in the morning, and found something to do, basically hiding in the motorpool until it was time to go see the Colonel. I'd eaten lunch out of an MRE and sat in the passenger seat of Humvee-5, listening to the radio chatter with range control messages and someone in South Korea doing night-commo checks. I'd sat in vehicle and watched the rain wash over the motorpool, smoking cigarettes and snacking on MRE's.

I knew I was being a coward, but I couldn't face him.

Not yet.

Now I was sitting down in front of LTC Krait, who once again looked like a dumpy, slightly indecisive, vaguely pouting ineffective leader. There was, once again, the sense of a man who ran the political track in the military, and I couldn't seem to parse out that facade with what I'd seen the field and during real world briefings.

He confused me.

I sat silently, listening to the rain on the window, while he kept looking over several files, opening one manila folder then the other, referencing his yellow writing tablet to make notes or read his notes, then moving on to another folder.

The aura about him was that of a man trying to figure out how to earn his eagle with no real accomplishments.

After almost ten minutes of waiting he finally looked up, sighed, and closed the manila folder in front of him.

"Things are changing, Chief," he said softly, shaking his head. He tapped one of the folders. "The section on the former Soviet Yugoslavia is particularly troubling."

I just nodded silently.

"Rwanda and Somalia are troubling, but Yugoslavia was the former home of several Soviet heavy manufacturing facilities that throw more variables into the mix than I like," He said. He pushed an ashtray toward me. "Light one if you want one."

"Thank you, sir," I said, lighting a cigarette.

"I also looked over what data the military would send me on the mission of ChemCorps and Special Weapons in particular," he said, leaning back and cracking the window. "Now Blackhorse has three of you. Yourself, of course, and Sergeant Stillwater," he paused for a moment, "And Sergeant Major Ferris, a man much more decorated than I was aware of."

I just nodded. He was more musing to himself than talking to me.

"This is a Forward Support Battalion, an excellent, career enhancing position. Fifteenth has many awards and honor and has served with distinction for decades under the banner of First Cavalry Division. Our mission is to support 27th Main Support Brigade as well as 67th Armor Regiment," his eyes went to the awards and plaques on his wall before he looked out the window again. "War has changed, Chief."

He almost sounded sad.

"I think that Desert Storm will be the last time we see actual armies facing off for possibly decades," He said. The lights seemed to dim slightly. "Most of the War College and CALL believe that we're moving into a new generation of warfare, one of small cell-like groups, distributed leadership, and fighters that mingle with and merge with the population."