Nuclear/Biological/Chemical Warfare Field Specialist Training
End of Phase Four
Blackbriar Ridge Training Facility
Secure Military Facility
North Dakota, United States of America
1983
Bomber's nudge woke me up from a sound sleep. I'd dozed off before we'd even taken off from the airfield in New Mexico, slightly curled around my rucksack that I'd drooled all over. I shifted my BDU pants to hide a dream inspired erection and looked around.
"We're here," John said. His voice was nervous and he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. I just nodded, looking at everyone. Most were yawning, waking up slowly, but a few had the glittery eyes of someone who didn't get enough sleep and that fear had kept up during the flight.
"If you get off this plane, you will be entering the next phase of your training," A Master Sergeant was saying. "This phase of training will be the ultimate test for your fitness to serve your country as a Special Weapons Field Specialist, to be on the front line of the America's NBC Warfare division. It will be you who will be staring Ivan in the eyes, you who will be responsible for returning any attack upon America or its allies tenfold."
He surveyed us all.
"At this time, you are able to drop on request," He said, his lip lifting in a sneer.
"Seatbelts off, recruits!" The Navy Petty Officer yelled. My fingers fumbled at the belt as I licked my dry lips. What kind of hell waited us outside the plane?
Idleson, some kind of Navy officer, a real officer not an enlisted Petty Officer, that I didn't care enough to learn the rank of, raised his hand slowly as the door opened and the lights shined in. We could hear vehicles outside and the unique sounds of an airfield.
"What, Idleson, you gotta pee or something, you little Navy momma's boy?" The Gunny Sergeant who had been with us most of the way sneered.
"I'd like to drop," Idleson said softly, his eyes looking a little wild.
"Are you requesting to drop from the program and return to your previous military occupational specialty, you goddamn ungrateful weasel?" Gunny asked, moving up into Idleson's face so fast it was like he had teleported. Their noses were touching as the Gunny continued, "After everything the military has done for you, after the favoritism that Uncle Sam showed in choosing your lazy Navy ass, you want to spit in America's face and drop?"
Idleson nodded slowly, swallowing thickly.
"Recruits, attention!" The Chief Petty Officer snapped. We all jumped to our feet. "Leave your goddamn baggage on the seats, you goddamn animals. Single file in the center, facing me!" I took a single step forward and did a right face. Bomber was standing in front of me.
"You little shit, I should rip your goddamn head off and shit down your neck," The Gunny snarled. "Look at this, Chief, one of your Navy crybabies wants to quit."
"EYES FRONT, GODDAMN IT!" An Air Force Master Sergeant bellowed.
"Who is it? What little weasel dicked cock sucker is disgracing my Navy by wanting to drop out so he can run home and cry to Momma?" The Chief said, obviously turning us over to the Air Force. My legs were shaking, exhaustion, hunger, thirst, and just plain constant fear turning my knees to jello.
"Recruit Idleson here feels like Special Weapons is just too tough for the Navy," The Gunny said.
"You greasy little wop cocksucker," The Chief said, now Idleson had both men up in his face. "If you don't get to your feet right goddamn now, I swear to the Lord Jesus Christ and his blessed mother Mary that I'll drown your ass if I ever fucking see you again."
Sweat ran down my back. I could see sweat beading up on John's neck.
"GET TO YOUR FUCKING FEET, RECRUIT!" Gunny yelled.
"GET UP, GET UP, GET UP!" The Chief bellowed. I glanced out of the corner of my eye in time to see the Gunny grab Idleson by his lapel and sling him to the deck of the plane.
"Get the fuck up!" Gunny yelled.
The Chief kicked him in the side. "Get up, you greasy wop motherfucker." I could hear the real fury in the two men's voices.
When I looked forward the Army Master Sergeant was in front of me. I almost screamed at his sudden appearance and the raw fury in his eyes. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT?"
I went still, silent, small.
"I ASKED YOU A GODDAMN QUESTION, YOU POTATO EATING MICK COCKSUCKER!" He screamed.
still, small, silent.
"That's right, recruit," The Master Sergeant said, turning away from me. He jumped in Quintin's face, but like me, the little brunette didn't move a muscle. "You sure you can hack it, split tail? You think being a part time carpet chewing bull dyke when you aren't smoking cock out back of the E-Club for cheap drinks is going to get you through this next part?"
She didn't react.
"Just keep on like that, recruit, or you'll be back to sucking spic cock for drug money," He snarled. He leaned closer. "Do you not like that kind of language, recruit? Are you some kind of spic loving nigger fucking dyke?"
She still didn't react.
still, small, quiet
The other two men had given up on getting Idleson up on his feet and moved to the open door.
"All right, you goddamn inbred morons, single file off this goddamn transport so the Air Force can wash your goddamn stink of failure and stupidity off of it," The Gunny said.
We got off the C-141 single file, silent, our uniforms covered with dirt and grime, our hair greasy and our skin unwashed. We had spent a week in Hell. Cordoning off a 'town' and searching it. Establishing control zones. Hunting down 'civilians' with flamethrowers and then burning the mannequins with flamethrowers while recordings played that cried, begged, and screamed. Sweeping the buildings one by one, killing any 'animals' found in the zone, and eventually, once we were sure that we had contained the initial infection of the 'unknown infectious disease' in the area, we had detonated an atomic simulator before boarding the C-141 for a long flight. The Air Force guys back in the cabin wore their masks and were silent, just checking our buckles to make sure we were strapped in.
We were down to thirty-two of us. Less than half.
Two months to go.
We filed onto the tarmac, bunching up slightly when we noticed that there was nobody left to give us any instructions. The NCO's that had been screaming at us had stayed in the plane, making goosebumps rise up on my skin as I took in the deserted airfield. As a group we slowed down.
Vencilla and Bomber gravitated together, his hand seeking hers to hold it tight. As I drew close she grabbed mine, squeezing it almost painfully.
There were two instructors on the flight line waiting for us. Unlike previous changes of training area these two didn't look all grim and hard assed. They were smiling gently and waved us over. The one on the left blew a whistle and we saw men and women run out of the hangar behind them, jogging toward, and then past us, toward the plane.
I could feel everyone's fear and confusion as we drew close to the two men and got in a half-assed formation before they waved at us to get close to them.
"All right, ladies and gentlemen, let's get some hot food into you, get you some showers, and some clean clothing." The one of the right said. Like most of our instructors the last few months they didn't wear nametags, unit patches, or anything else, not even rank, just the US ARMY over their hearts.
"You are now entering Phase Five of your training." The one on the left told us, waving at us to follow them. The group of people in BDU's were throwing our rucksacks and dufflebags into the back of a deuce and half truck, working under the spotlights of the runway. "Now is when we teach you to take everything you have learned in the separate phases and combine them together. Unlike the other phases this part will be as intellectually demanding as it is physically strenuous. The emotional toll you will suffer here will be like nothing you have ever experienced."
"But enough of that, let's get you guys cleaned up and fed." The one on the right said, leading us toward a bus. It looked more like a modified Greyhound than the converted school buses that the Army usually moved us around in. "After that you will be assigned houses and house-mates for the next few weeks of training. If you cannot drive, you will paired with someone who can and you will attend driving classes. Those of you who can drive, will be paired with someone who cannot." He stopped at the door of the bus and smiled at us.
It looked alien on his face.
"Welcome to Blackbriar Ridge." The one on the right said as we boarded the bus.
Only two more months to go.
...I don't know if I can make it...
Nuclear/Biological/Chemical Warfare Field Specialist Training
Phase Six
Blackbriar Ridge Training Facility
Secure Military Facility
North Dakota, United States of America
1983
I stared at the table in front of us, scanning the contour map quickly then glancing at the weather report before checking the list of available assets. The Soviets 6th and 9th Armored Guards were moving in on the Fulda Gap, backed up by the equivalent of three infantry divisions. 8th Armor Division was mostly tattered, caught by the initial blast front of the Soviet nuclear surgical strikes, with most of V and VII Corps either gone or engaged in fighting with Soviet airborne forces that managed to get deep into Germany. There was much I could do, my assets were limited, so it wasn't like my plans would win the war, but I could make it too costly for them to prosecute the war or follow up on any advances they made.
I wrote down my answers, what I would do, the orders I would give out, and the estimated effects of the weaponry, then started planning for the second set of strikes that had less to do with the war and more to do with punishing the enemy for daring to attack those under my protection.
"Time." Came the word as I was halfway through secondary punitive strikes. I set down my pencil and compass, then grabbed the paper and got up, walking to the front and handing in my answer sheet to the instructor sheet.
When we filed out I bumped Bomber with my shoulder. "What scenario were you doing?"
"Fulda Gap." He said, shaking his head. We caught up to Vencilla and he took her hand. "What scenario, Pencil?"
"Afghanistan armor gambit." She said, shaking her head. "You guys?"
"Fulda Gap." We both said.
"Ugh, Juggernaut Scenario. You just can't win with that one." Vencilla said as we pushed out the doors and into the chill of the evening.
"The. Only Way. To Win. Is. Not." Bomber started with a bad imitation. Venicilla elbowed him in the stomach and he laughed.
William caught up with us, humming to himself, and smiling when he punched me playfully in the shoulder. "I got the Pacific Onramp again. You guys?"
"Fulda Gap." Me and John said.
"Afghanistan Armor Gambit." Vencilla said.
The class placement was me, Bomber, William, Vencilla, but not very many points separated us. Thirty-three between me and Vencilla, that was it. It was getting tight, but we couldn't resist wondering how many of us were going to make it. Only two had dropped, one would probably recycle since he'd been hit by a car crossing the street, the other just couldn't take the massive casualty rate we were supposed to rack up. For example, the estimations of the one I had done today were up in the tens of millions. Almost all of them enemy civilians, but there had been two cities that I'd hit that were on our side but occupied by major armor forces using the heavy industry in the cities as well as the extensive gasoline stores. I had just done it, not really caring. The one I had been handed had been a total war option.
"Any plans?" William asked.
"Gonna go play pool. My chest still hurts from the PT test." I told him. He nodded.
"Gonna go study." Bomber said.
"Me too." Vencilla said.
We broke up, going to enjoy ourselves with our little escapes. I liked playing pool, even though I didn't really do very well. The last small group of us were pretty close, not as in knowing everything about each other, and I knew more about them then they knew about me because of my habit of silence, but we still knew quite a bit about one another. I knew Petty Officer Nakamara had served twelve years and liked him some brown sugar. I knew that Senior Airman Balwick was deep in the closet but had poked his head out long enough to admit it to the instructors to have it included in his psych profile, PRP writeup, and security clearance, and still managed to find someone to enjoy one of the few things there was to enjoy in Special Weapons Training.
It was nice to play pool. Balwick was with Sternmeyer, and the fact that once in awhile they'd kiss didn't bother me at all.
You took love where you found it.
Besides, why should I look down on them, I'd spent three years the property of a strange dominating girl who had intoxicated me to the point where I wasn't even my own person. My Father had always said that hating someone for loving another person was against what Jesus taught. That gay people were just that, people. People with wants, desires, loves, fears, everything that made me up, so who was I to judge?
The Russians would kill them just like they were going to kill me.
At 2000 hours Balwick looked up and set down his pool cue. "It's time." was all that needed to be said.
We went back to our rooms. The first few weeks we had been in houses, sharing it with a trainee of the opposite sex that was undergoing some different kind of training. As of two weeks ago, they had moved us out of our little houses, and into the "Last Barracks." I'll admit, I missed the chubby cute blonde girl that I'd been partnered with.
I promised myself I'd never tell Tara that after a few days Jackie and I had shared the same bed. It had started off to deal with nightmares I had been having, and then had moved to sex. I had talked to Bomber, who had been separated from Vencilla, had quietly told me they both were having nightmares too. Vencilla had asked me if Bomber would understand that she had started sleeping with her house-mate, less than an hour later Bomber asked me if I thought Vencilla would understand. I had told them both to talk it out and gone home. I knew I'd be going back to Tera, that my relationship with Jackie was a strange one, that in her arms, and talking to her in the darkness, the nightmares had eased up.
I missed Jackie.
It wasn't cheating. You wouldn't get it. You weren't there. I wouldn't have made it this far if it wasn't for her. Wouldn't have made it to the point where I was in a room alone. They'd separated us up, one man rooms, and only out of our rooms for a few hours of PT, some mingling in the common areas, and classes. I understood why, it was to keep us isolated and make us learn to deal with the isolation of job. We had all heard about how in most units we would be ostracized, unwelcome around most soldiers, and we would be working with stuff that people feared and didn't understand. Jackie had helped me through the worst of it, made it so that being alone in these rooms didn't drive me mad.
I still missed Bomber, even if half the time I saw him he and Vencilla were joined at the hip. I hadn't seen Jackie since we had both packed our stuff under the watchful eyes of our instructors.
I know now that she was psy-ops, gently smoothing away the trauma I'd endured so far. Heather and I had met her in 1992 when we had gone to Blackbriar. Heather had cried and hugged her, same as I had. She had been Heather's counsellour during training, helping her ease the trauma of Atlas.
She had told us that she still loved us.
The time was going by slowly, and I kept getting up and pacing before getting myself under control and sitting back down. This was serious.
Finally there was the three knocks at the door. I got up, opened it, and Instructor Tammerly stood there. Without a word he handed me a small sheath of papers, did a left face, and moved on to the next door.
"STILLWATER, A. 3169" was on the edge of the folder.
My fingers were shaking as I opened the manila folder.
First up was a list of class rankings.
99.9% - Stillwater, A.
99.7% - Bomber, J
99.7% - Stillwater, W.
99.7% - Vencilla, T
96.8% - Nakamara, P
92.3% - Johnson, R
The breath I didn't realize I was holding whooshed out. I'd managed to do it, graduated top of the class. They'd already been telling us that we didn't get any ceremony, we weren't going to have our parents there to watch us, and this sheet of paper was all we might have to celebrate. Bomber, William, and Vencilla had tied, and I'd managed to eek it out just barely. There was a huge gap between Vencilla and Johnson, but Johnson had done his best, nobody could fault him, but he'd usually only scored 98-99% on the tests while the four of us, nicknamed the Four Horsemen by the Instructors, usually got 100% on the tests. I'd gotten exactly two 99% scores.
Next were my marksmanship scores. Bare minimum on the M-16A1, Marksman on the LAW rocket and M-79, expert on the M1911A1, Sharpshooter on the M-60 and M-2, Expert on the M-203 and hand grenade. Then my PT scores, the lowest being a 260 when I entered basic, the rest 300 or more. My skill qualification scores and dates.
Everything that was me, as far as the military was concerned, was in the packet.
My eyes opened wide when I saw the set of pin-on E-2 rank and the orders promoting me from E-1 to E-2 for achievements in training. Sure, everyone else was eligible for promotion due to time in grade and service, but that would be up to their respective units when they finally arrived.
I'd been turned down for Airborne. I sensed my Father's hand in that.
Under that were my orders to report to Redstone Arsenal for additional security clearance work and finalization of my orders. Initial orders mentioned something called 2/19th Special Weapons Group in Western Germany and I barely suppressed a smile.
I had wanted to go to Germany more than anything else.
But that wasn't the smile.
I'd done it. I'd passed Special Weapons school.
I was officially in the Army.
This was going to be great, I just knew it.