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

In the End We Only Had Each Other

We'd gotten back to Hood at Zero-Nine, and Lieutenant Johnson, First Sergeant Ramirez, and I had all put Charlie to work. Unloading the gear. Putting it on trucks. Taking it to the motorpool. PMCSing the vehicles. Turning in gear.

They'd supervised the troops working off some of their shock.

I'd escorted Misty to mortuary affairs.

They would have come and "ONE" gotten her if we'd called it in, but everyone in the decision making process had wanted her escorted.

She'd commanded a lot of "TWO" loyalty from everyone, with her gentle mannerisms and how she always had seemed to care about how the troops were doing. People had liked her.

Which was more than I could say for "THREE!" myself any more. I'd learned a valuable lesson today. One I shouldn't have ever forgotten. I had, briefly, but now I remembered that lesson.

The door rattled and I knew Stillwater had slid his ID card in between the doorknob and the doorjam.

Nobody really likes the fat girl.

The door slid open an inch and jammed up against the chair.

I never made friends easily. I'd learned my lessons in schools, in the foster homes. Fat girls didn't get friends. Not really. Nobody likes to date the fat girl unless she puts out, and even then, well, beyond her holes, nobody really likes her.

"Goddammit, Cromwell," Stillwater yelled.

It was all right, though. I had my career. Sure, every medal I had was smeared with blood, every tab on my uniform was just to signify how many ways I knew to kill people.

But at least I was still useful to someone.

"What's wrong?" Donovan asked.

At least the Army still loved me. The Army was still here. I knew Captain Hiddle and I would go back to arguing over everything. If nothing else, I'd pick a fight with the bandy-legged little man, give him someone to focus his anger and rage on aside from himself.

That kind of guilt could eat a man alive.

"She jammed it with a chair," Stillwater said.

Come Monday, I'd take them out to the range, keep the unit from connecting the sound of gunfire with Captain Jane's sudden and shocking death on the tarmac of the Sarajevo airport. Let them burn through the rest of the ammunition rather than turn it in.

Keep the men busy.

"Momma, open the door!" Peel called out.

I'd need to watch Peel. She was still unstable, but recovered from the BZ exposure for the most part. I'd found the approval for her to attend Special Weapons training in the inbox of my desk when I'd gotten back to the Company.

If I sent her, she'd be like me.

If I didn't, she'd still be contaminated by me.

"Open the goddamn door, Cromwell," Stillwater growled.

Tomorrow I'd help Captain Johnson move her stuff into the empty CO's office.

Captain Hiddle and I had cleared all of Captain Jane's stuff from her office.

"Fuck this, they can bill me," Stillwater suddenly growled.

If worse came to worse I'd...

The door blew in, the chair breaking into pieces as Stillwater drove his boot into it, kicking it clear off the hinges and into my room.

I looked up, blinking at the bright rectangle of light.

"Stay here, she might have her pistol," Stillwater growled.