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

GET! OUT!

Room 275

15th FSB Barracks
Fort Hood, Texas
CONUS
17 March, 1992
1230 Hours - Tuesday

My barracks room was quiet and dimly lit as I sat on my bed, sitting next to Chuck, my arm around him as we both relaxed after sex. I was smoking a cigarette, my hands clean now. I'd gone with Stillwater to Darnell Army Medical Center. They'd splinted his fingers, put butterfly bandages on his forehead. X-Rayed his head after determining he had a serious cerebral contusion. It didn't require surgery, but that injury was easy to miss on him with his left pupil permanently blown.

I sighed and leaned against Chuck a little heavier.

They'd done the intake for Stillwater on the 5th floor, the psych ward. They'd shot him up full of Chlorpromazine, had him take Seroquel and Propanolol. The doctor had told me the first thing to do was sober him up and let him sleep.

Colonel Krait and Captain Arthur had gone down to the Bell County and Killeen police departments to get statements and photographs of the wreck that was now all over the news. Thankfully the baby Stillwater had walked off still had a living parent. A father in 328 Military Intelligence, who had been grateful that Peel had sat in the dayroom with his surviving child while his unit walked him through identifying the bodies of his wife and daughter.

Jesus, what a cluster fuck

"Why did you spend the morning with Stillwater?" Chuck suddenly asked me.

"Because Tony's my friend," I told him.

"He put a gun in your face," He protested, looking me in the eyes.

I laughed at that. "Wasn't the first time. Probably won't be the last," I told him. "Besides, I've done it to him."

"You did?" Chuck seemed shock.

"Yeah. I locked and loaded my M-3, shoved it in his face and started screaming at him. How if I shot him, I could go home, the rest of the crew could home, the Russians could go home, and the war would be over. We could all go home," I managed not to laugh.

"It'll all be over, Stillwater. I'll just shoot you, and we can all go home. The war will be over."

"What happened?" Chuck licked his lips and I wanted to kiss him, but he was obviously shook up.

"He talked me down, took away my M-3, I spent about a week in Wurzburg 5th floor, came back, and the war went on," I shrugged. "Psychotic breaks aren't that uncommon in my job."

"What war? Desert Storm?" He asked me, frowning.

"No. Out on the 1K Zone in West Germany," he said.

He made a scoffing a noise. "There wasn't a war in Europe since 1945."

I jumped up, grabbing his arm and yanking him off the bed. "GET THE FUCK OUT!" I screamed at him.

"What?" He said.

"GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT!" I screamed.

He scooped up his uniform, going to put on his shirt.

"No. Get the fuck out. Get the fuck out of my room," I shoved at him and he stumbled. "Get your goddamn ass out of my room!" I shoved him again, yanking open the door. "Get the fuck out and dress in the goddamn hall!"

He stumbled when I pushed him out, naked, his uniform in his  arms, and slammed the door. I stomped back to my room, grabbing my uniform and pulling it on. I was furiously, wildly furious.

All that blood, all that pain, all that death, and he just blew it off.

Five years. Five forsaken years in that hellscape. Seeing people dismembered, disemboweled, radiation poisoned, chemical poisoned, killed. And he just blew it off with 'there wasn't a war."