Middle Stairwell
2/19th SWG Barracks
2/19th Special Weapons Group Area
Secure Area, Alfenwehr
West Germany
28 October, 1987
0750
"STAND AND DELIVER!" I bellowed out, kicking the man I'd impaled on the machete in the face and knocking him down the stairs. He collided with the two men coming up behind him, tangling up, and all of them losing their footing on the icy steps. I grabbed the railing as my knee buckled but quickly regained my footing, ignoring the burning pain in my knee. The others at the base of the stairs fell back as three men tumbled backwards. Someone threw a hatchet and the lizard snatched it out of the air and whipped it back, the hand axe taking the thrower in the chest, spraying blood that froze immediately.
A hasty volunteer climbed up the stairs, grabbing onto the handrails on opposite sides to keep from slipping on the frozen blood. His face was determined, his nose and ears had suffered from frostbite, but he had the yellowish cast in his eyes I'd seen in people who were jaundiced.
"I'M SORRY!" Cromwell's voice echoed around me. I ignored her, her apology was meaningless, I'd tasked her with getting the preggos and the chapters into the War Fighter Tunnels, not holding my hand when it got hot and heavy.
But I knew what she meant...
...Dobbs kicking the door shut on King and the masked killer...
"DAMN YOU TO HELL, CROMWELL, YOU BITCH! GET THEM OUT!" I bellowed out, furious at her wasting time yelling to me to assuage her soul. I was backing steadily up the stairs till I reached the landing. The next volunteer ate the toe of my boot, blood and teeth spraying from his mouth as he fell backwards. "YOU'VE ALL GOT NOTHING! NOTHING!"
I was 210 pounds of Army forged street machine, these guys were punks. I'd faced better men than them, in worse circumstances, and I was the one still breathing.
The next pair came at me at the same time. "YOU ARE CHAFF BEFORE THE SCYTHE!" came unbidden out of my mouth, the lizard firmly in control. I kicked the first one in the face, and when the second one reached the landing I grabbed the front of his field jacket, accepting the punch in the face. The blow was robbed as all strength as the guy's eyes widened in shock. He coughed, blood running down his chin and his face starting to turn blue as his heartbeat suddenly stopped. I shoved him backwards, my knee almost going out as it buckled under the strain.
The door boomed shut as I turned and ran up the stairs to the next floor.
They'd be hunting me now, but I had the edge. I kicked the door open hard enough to shatter the ice and bounce it across the way. The cold had made the hinges brittle and my kick blew it completely out of the frame. I didn't pay attention, I whirled around and ran up the stairs, staying close to the wall to keep the vibration down.
It didn't matter, they were running up the stairs behind me, howling blood lust or worse.
...they catch me, they're gonna eat me...
I hit the second floor landing and blew through the door. I knew that the ice that coated the floor was going to be there and used it to slide into the hallway, hitting the far wall with my left shoulder right before my boots caught traction and I slammed through the ice covered mid-point doors, the ice raining down on me.
I didn't hear them following me, but I still put on the speed, sliding to stop in front of 221. I dug my keys out of my pocket and quickly unlocked the door, shoving it open and then taking off running again.
SPC Marcelone's room was only a few doors down and I slid to a stop again, opening the door and putting my shoulder against the door to get it to open. The ice cracked and fell around me, but I knew it was a detail they'd miss. I shut the door and leaned against it, breathing heavily. I was light-headed, my blood pounding in my ears, and my knee was killing me. I slid down slowly, putting my head between my knees, and breathing in through my nose and out from mouth to keep it under control.
I got my breathing under control slowly, raising my head and wrapping my arms around my legs and putting my hands behind my knees. Warmth came back into my fingers as I heard footsteps in the hallway. Muffled voices came out of the hallway but I was sitting in the fetal position to regain my body heat. My heartbeat had calmed down and I estimated that I was running at 75 beats a minute, my breathing had steadied out, and I could feel my body heat pumping through my veins to my limbs.
The barracks was hostile territory without the murderous cannibals roaming the hallway. I knew it, they were only aware of it. There was a difference.
I had survived years up here. Survived brutal combat against everything psychopaths to the best the Soviet Union could throw at us to members of my own unit just as highly trained and motivated as I was.
I knew how to use the barracks as a weapon. They didn't even really understand the hazards.
I heard a door slam hard enough to shake the air, and the screams started.
Room 221 claimed more victims.
I moved to the window, looking at the snow. It was daylight, but there wasn't any hint of that. The snow was dark as night.
The window squealed when I opened it. I pushed against the snow and found it to be firmly packed. Still, I knew what I was doing and while there was still screaming going on I managed to create a small tunnel in the snow and crawl into it. I pulled the O2 mask over my face as I managed to turn around and pull the window closed. I punched at the 'roof' of the tunnel until it collapsed then pushed it against the window.
Satisfied I couldn't be seen I pulled my dogtags out, letting them hang free while I started to slowly make my way upward. It was cold enough that my cheeks were deep, the flesh around them burning in pain. The chemlight in LBE was providing enough light for me to make sure I didn't get confused and start digging down.
I regretted not wearing a cold weather mask now.
Soon the tunnel was being softly lit, white light overwhelming the green. I paused and took a cravat package out of my pocket and tearing it open with my teeth. I wrapped the cravat over my eyes and began digging again. The CO2 level had been rising steadily as I exhaled until the O2 bottle wasn't enough to keep me from getting slightly dizzy.
...pay attention to the direction. dig away from how the dogtags are falling...
The snow had frozen my gloves but I was already overheated. My body heat combined with the insulating properties of the snow had made it almost hot in my tunnel.
My hand broke free of the snow and I paused for a second, breathing heavily. I could feel my lungs suck up the oxygen, even with the lowered air pressure of the top of Alfenwehr the air was rich and sweet.
I sat there, again wrapping my arms around my legs and curling up in the sitting fetal position, waiting for my body to warm back up, controlling my breathing again. I was panting, not giving my lungs time to get what little oxygen there was to be had and push it into my bloodstream.
My eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness and I reached up and knocked more snow down. Steeling myself I climbed out of the slow, stood up, and looked up at the sky that was hidden by the cloth of the cravat.
The sun was out. I could feel it on my face. No snow crystals slicing my skin and just a light breeze that didn't feel like a knife against my exposed skin.
I sat back down, this time on top of the snow, and slowly took stock.
Assets: Three knives. A half-full O2 bottle. My LBE. My compass. My survival pack in my pocket (a wire saw, waterproof/windproof matches, iodine tablets, a fuel brick, a P-38 can opener, 3 butterfly bandages, and a few other little bits and pieces). My wallet. My dog-tags. Cold weather gear. 1,500 feet of 550 cord. Two lighters, one a Zippo. The C-4, det-cord, blasting caps, and ignitor that Cromwell had recovered from my room earlier. And all of my Arctic survival training. Knowledge of my surroundings and the terrain and all external assets.
Problems: No weapon or sidearm. No ammunition. No food. No access to the War Fighter Tunnels. Severe temperatures. Light wind chill. Snow blindness risk. Twenty meters of snow. No digging tools. Hazardous terrain. Extreme distance to any outside assets due to weather. Cannibal killers behind me and in all group areas except the War Fighter Tunnels.
Runtime Conclusion: Survive.
I knew that Cromwell would have slammed the emergency closure button, which meant a nuclear strike was incoming and the door might have less than a second to close. It wouldn't open for at least 72 hours. Which meant it was time to look over my options.
Which meant I needed to take off the blindfold for a few minutes and take stock of my surroundings. I knew I ran the risk of blindness, but I didn't plan on it being more than a few minutes.
When I moved the cloth off of my eye, keeping it over my dead eye, I winced at the light at first then opened my eye. The dead one was already showing nothing but white, but the good eye wasn't much better.
Black clouds were about a hundred feet below me, flat and mirror smooth. I could see lightning flicker in the depths and knew that it was beating the shit out of main post. The sky was blue and clear, the sun starting to climb from behind a mountain peak that was below me even if it was across the Gap. The snow was solid, no hint of the barracks or anything else.
At least twenty meters of snow.
Part of me desperately wanted to figure out how to get back into the barracks, how to bring the fight to assholes who had first left me for dead and brutalized my crew medic, then tried to kill all of us. But I was an E-5 now, a Sergeant, and that meant I had to do things differently.
...You goddamn idiot, I oughta court martial your ass for getting so busted up and playing the goddamn hero instead of making sure the site was secure, your people evac'd out, and coordinating the goddamn response. You're not fucking John Rambo, hell, you aren't even Big Bird, you little halfwit, and you sure as shit left everyone else holding the bag while you ran off to play Jason Vorhees with those stupid Russian cock suckers....
Chief Henley's voice wound through my brain, although for the life of me I couldn't recall him ever saying that even though the lizard claimed it was a real memory.
The unit and the MP's needed to be alerted that the unit they'd sent up here had shattered, reverted to savagery or worse. The faster I got search and rescue up to the Group Area, the faster a handle could be gotten on this situation before too many more people died. My duty was to more than just my friends, I also had to take into account the larger picture.
Just like I'd learned earlier in the year.
The Group Area wasn't my priority any more. It wasn't like the secure documents weren't safe. Hell, I was pretty sure that DoD would qualify angry killer cannibals as a decent security measure and guard force.
All right. What are my options, little buddy?
Main post as five miles horizontal and one mile vertical, putting it at around eight thousand feet, well back into survival air. The chances of making that 5,000 vertical feet intact inside of those storm wracked clouds was slim to none. I might be able to do it, but it wouldn't be easy and the risks were everything from a band of low-pressure hitting me and knocking me out to a temperature snap turning the moisture in my lungs into razor sharp crystals, which would drown me in blood. I'd die, and nothing would be accomplished.
Strike that one out.
Taking one of the buildings would do no good. High intensity combat for no assets that I really needed. I ran the risk, with each combatant, that I'd make a mistake. That, and while I couldn't remember what happened, the fact I'd gotten taken out once meant that there was someone in that group who was capable to taking me on in hand to hand combat and winning. While I might win, the risks were high, and ultimately, all it did was give me control of that building.
It wasn't my job to sweep and clear the crazed members of the FSB. That was for the Rangers and the MP's.
My job was to alert command.
Strike that out too.
The redoubt? No. That did nothing for anyone. I could get to it, I'd need to do some digging through the snow, but I could reach them. The problem there, was lack of O2, and once I got there, it would actually damage my options, as well as not solving any of the problems as far as getting relief up to the Group Area and ultimately rescue Cromwell and the others.
Strike that out.
The airfield? It was only a mile, but it was further up. The buildings would be buried under even more snow. The air was even thinner at the airfield, and there was nothing that could help me. There was a smaller War Fighter Bunker under the main building, but once again I would be trapped, with no communication. To top it off, the communication equipment was considered high security items and would have been removed. I'd be abandoning Cromwell and the preggos until help would arrive when the roads were cleared sometime in April.
Again, my duty was to a greater thing now.
Goddamn my promotion.
Strike that option out too.
The lizard pointed at a small memory clip on one monitor, showing me that I had a single option.
A mile away and about 200 vertical feet was a CIA listening post. It didn't matter if it was manned at the moment or not, I'd be able to use that to hopefully contact someone else. If that didn't work I could regain my strength and head out from there.
With Cromwell having slapped the imminent impact button the War Fighter Tunnels would be locked down for 72 hours, and after that the only codes that would work would be the ones in my pocket or the ones on the monitors in the command and control section.
I sighed and stood up, digging my compass out of the pouch on my LBE and putting the lanyard over my head. I shot an azimuth and headed toward where the CIA listening post was. After about five minutes of slow, steady movement, struggling through the snow as I went knee deep with every step, I could see the top of the needle tower, with all the instruments pointing east, barely sticking out of the clouds.
I shot another azimuth and kept moving.
My duty was clear.
Contact command, inform them of the situation, await orders.
It sucked, but that was the life of an NCO above a corporal. I'd learned that out at Atlas, Chief Henley had pounded it into my head that my responsibilities were different now that I was an NCO.
...your job is to coordinate responses, not run downrange with your dick in one hand and your knife in the other...
I glanced back behind me once, at the buried barracks.
...sorry, Cromwell...
I kept moving as mist started to gather around me, telling me I was moving into the cloud cover. By the time the fog had completely enveloped me there was wind pulling at my clothing and the light had dimmed to the point that I didn't need it. I kept passing tree tops, keeping a wide berth where I could. The last thing I wanted to do was fall through the snow, bouncing off of each branch, and landing on the ground to bleed out and die if I didn't freeze to death.
I wondered briefly if that was a feeding mechanism that people didn't know about, thinking about all the times we'd found deer or boars dead at the base of a tree. I kept moving forward, several times falling into the snow as my knee gave out and dumped me. Each time I managed to struggle to my feet and keep going after checking my azimuth.
My instincts were good and I found the listening post without too much trouble. It wasn't like they had tried to hide it. A road to it and a helipad, a two hundred foot tall needle antenna tower wasn't too hard to spot.
When I saw it through the fog I smiled, but the smile died when I realized that the small building was completely buried under the snow. The lizard told me that one-hundred-sixty feet of the tower was out of the snow, meaning that I'd have to dig forty feet down just to hit the roof the building.
I'd work up a sweat and keep being exposed to the cold. My hands would get cold, and probably torn up as I tore through the ice. I checked the valve and the small valve gauge on the side and saw that the bottle had a little over half of the O2 left. It wasn't going to be easy, I'd risk hitting an air pocket and falling.
Still, needs must.
Part of me wished I had made it into the tunnels. Another part of my cursed myself for being a coward and abandoning Cromwell and the pregnant female soldiers.
My duty was clear. Cromwell would have to take care of herself.
...sorry...
Thunder boomed in the distance as I knelt down next to the tower and starting digging like a dog, throwing the snow behind me. As I got deeper I started pushing the show to the side when I could, packing it. I dug at an angle, following the tower as I wound around it. If I tried going straight down I couldn't get back up and if it started snowing it would bury me.
My shoulders and biceps burned, my hands slowly went shriekingly painful and then numb as I burrowed my way into the snow, into the cold, into the darkness. I started getting dry-mouth and panting so I pulled the plastic mask back over my face and turned the brass valve, breathing deeply as the O2 hissed out. I controlled my breathing, concentrating on keeping the tower support structural members on my right as I steadily wound down and around. Eventually it went dark and I snapped my second to last chem-light, then went back to digging.
Further into the dark.
Further into the cold.
...sorry...
When I hit the roof I wanted to stop, wanted to quit right there, but that wasn't the goal. I made a small cave around the roof. I then dug deeper along the side until I hit the tarmac, then started compacting the snow to make room to clear around the building. When I hit the closed shed I smiled.
I could survive long enough to make my next plan.
Providing Cromwell kept her shit together and followed her military training and the harsh lessons that Atlas had provided her, she and the preggos and the chapters would survive. I'd seen Harris go down, but I knew wounds, and he'd taken it through the meat of his pectorals and latissimus muscles, missing the joint itself.
My shoulder throbbed in sympathy as I pulled out the pilot's knife and slammed the thick hexagonal lug nut on the pommel against the lock once, twice, three times, and the lock snapped inside and popped open.
Inside were drums of diesel and two large generators. Those wouldn't do me any good. They, like me, needed oxygen, and would gobble it up with the exhaust having no exit. They'd murder me to keep the oxygen.
I checked the twelve 50-gallon drums, finding four of them solid, one of them half-full. I knew that the fuel would be below the gelling point, but I knew how to handle that.
Backing out, I kept pushing the snow, compacting it further.
I make it sound like a big space, but it wasn't. Barely enough for me to get by, and the effort had brought out a lot of sweat, consumed a lot of calories, carbohydrates, proteins, and everything else.
And I had no food.
My chemlight was dying and I cracked my last one, shaking it. I dropped the dying one on the ground and kept moving, kept digging, kept compacting the snow.
I finally reached the door. It was locked, but the knife helped me jimmy the door open.
It was dark, cold, and the communications surveillance gear was missing.
But it was shelter, and the snow would provide insulation.
My chances of survival increased dramatically.
...sorry, Cromwell, but my duty is clear...