(For those of you who read the previous chapter, now un-published, and wonder where it went: After writing nearly 25K words on that operation, I decided it'll be a side novel, not part of the Damned exactly. I unpublished it and figured I should continue with this story without getting into a full length novel)
CIA Listening Post #487
Secure Area, Alfenwehr
West Germany
29 October, 1987
0300
I woke up feeling like knives were slicing into my chest. My right eye was glued shut and I had to reach up and rub at it. I'd slept with my face against the pillow, and apparently I'd been bleeding from my nose and mouth as I slept. The pillow in front of my face was soaked in blood, now dried to a rusty brown hue. The inside of my little shelter was damp, but not frozen.
It was actually warm inside. I inhaled, cough, but didn't taste pennies, and determined that the stabbing pains were from torn flesh busy knitting and possible fractured ribs.
I knew I'd been attacked, and I knew whoever had done it had managed to put me down, or would have put me down and delivered me to Alfenwehr if it hadn't been for Aine. She'd had a baby, had little breasts full of milk, and that increased her power rather than diminished it. She'd been able to reach out, through the odd connection we'd always shared, and diverted Alfenwehr's cold touch into keeping me alive but not leaving me in the mountain's power.
I rolled onto my back, reaching under my clothing to press on my ribs.
Across my right side. At least four of them were popped. They didn't shift under my fingers, although the pain made me inhale sharply. No jabbing feeling of a broken rib, just cracked.
Someone had thrown several hard right hands into my rib cage, probably while their buddy was shanking me. It was too far forward to be the guy behind me, so that meant at least two attacked me. One grabbed me from behind, the other worked me up from the front. The stab wounds weren't from my knife, it was still in my boot, so that meant they had to use a knife, not a weapon. My holster was empty, so they'd taken my .45, but from what I'd seen in the hallway before I'd been forced to run, they were out of ammo since the ammo pouches were still on my LBE and full. I had a full basic load for a 2/9th NCO, 8 magazines (I stretched my magazine pouches by cutting the inner straps, soaking it in water, and pushing four magazines with spacers in there to stretch the canvas, giving me two more mags than normal) for my M-16, and two ammo pouches with a total of four .45 magazines, for a total of 28 rounds of .45 caliber sledgehammers. Two 9mm pistols with one magazine each, for a total of thirty rounds of 9mm ammo, fast penetrators that couldn't guarantee an instant kill.
There wasn't anything else to do. I needed to piss, and I was hungry and thirsty, so it was time to leave my little cave. Judging from the way I'd passed out I hadn't gotten my ventilation right and had suffered from carbon monoxide and carbon dioxide poisoning. The oxygen level as high up as the Group Area was for shit to begin with, and I'd been burning C-4 and diesel fuel to warm everything up. I'd need to redo the ventilation, probably pipe it directly. I'd lose some heat, but the hotter exhaust would go up and out, leaving me with oxygen.
The only problem was I'd need intake paths so that the stove didn't gobble up all my available O2 for the fire, which was probably another mistake I had made.
Ice crackled as I pulled the mattress aside, the muscles down my side screaming in protest. I crawled out and stood up, taking a deep breath. It tasted clean, clear, and I stretched slowly, already feeling the cold trying to creep in through my uniform.
I closed the upper windows, leaving every third lower window open, then went outside. The interior snow was all ice, but I figured the temperature was sitting at about 38 or 40 degrees Fahrenheit. That increased my chances of survival by quite a bit.
I went back in, pissed in a container that I set to the side, then ate two MRE's, my body desperate for fuel. That was good, that meant my internals were still working at a high efficiency. One thing was always standard. Any injury and my body went into overdrive as far as the food was concerned. My body ripped through food, with, at the risk of TMI, meant that my body scraped every bit of nutrient out of every scrap of food. I knew, with the amount of injury I'd taken, my feces would be sticky and full of dead red blood cells, which would suck.
I finished eating then took stock. I'd done my duty, alerted command, but sitting back didn't feel like the right option. It wasn't fear, it wasn't concern for myself. I'd sat on a beach with a breached environmental suit for six days without fear, overcame my fear and charged into hostile fire with nothing more than rage and training, and proved to myself and anyone who cared that I wasn't a coward.
But running back in to kill everyone didn't feel right either.
OK, what did I know?
A) The FSB unit was an entire battalion, not a company. I remembered that from my briefing.
B) They were separated and isolated from one another, drawn up into factions.
1) I didn't know or understand the faction divisions
2) I didn't know the force makeup of the factions
3) I didn't know the leadership or lack thereof of the factions
C) I didn't know how well they were armed. I doubted they'd gotten into the armory. If they had there would be a lot more damage to the building.
D) Cromwell and the preggos were safe in the War Fighter bunkers.
E) I'd contacted the Chief, the Chain of Command, but I had no idea about the response.
F) A storm had dropped meters of snow on the ground, there would be no access, nobody coming to my rescue of theirs.
G) I couldn't make it by foot, overland, to Main Post, even if I did, it wouldn't do anything.
H) If any of the groups got their heads together they'd realize that the codes to the War Fighter tunnels were scattered across the building. That put them in danger.
I) The mountain had mobilized its weapons. Tandy, the Axe-Man, the LT.
J) The winter had been let into the barracks, making all of it enemy territory.
K) Combat would be in the dark and cold but that was OK, I excelled at it.
L) It was only a matter of time until the Russians found out.
1) They'd launch an attack, Vympel trained, to sieze data.
2) It had been over 72 hours.
3) The mountain would chew them up and spit them out.
L) The one's in the barracks were out of food and Alfenwehr had reduced them to savagery.
Runtime Conclusion: I had to take back the barracks and reunify the Rear Detachment.
I sighed and scrubbed my face with my hands. Lancer had taught me, slowly and with a lot of patience, to plan my battles when I had the time.
The meant drawing a map.
Writing utensils and paper were easy to find. I sat down at one of the desks and started work, drawing first the Group Area, then each building, then the War Fighter Tunnels, and finally the elevation maps. Then I numbered the asset locations, listed the assets prior to leaving at estimated inventory levels (hacking off 20% for leakage) and finished with estimates of what was consumed and what wasn't.
Unfortunately my memories prior to finding Cromwell in the shower were hazy at best.
Once finished I leaned back and let the lizard run the numbers.
He wanted full offense. Take my home back, kill the interlopers, pull down the enemy and take their women as my own. Naturally scrub that last one.
But he did twinge onto several things that I had missed. Like the fact that the one's we'd run into may have savaged Cromwell, but not their own women, which meant they hadn't gone too far down the road. That they were eating their own, following some kind of system, although the lizard insisted that they were eating those they considered their enemy.
But they left me on the floor.
The lizard insisted they were eating the dead from their skirmishes.
The snow had been over the top of the Bradley when I had followed it to the Group Area. They were still aggressing one another, and there was no way they could survive outside.
The lizard knew how they were moving. Something that he twigged onto that I missed.
Tunnels.
Now that was one place that I had the advantage. Since Mad-House I'd had extensive training in tunnel fighting, training by Vietnam tunnel rats, then several winters of fighting in the War Fighter Tunnels. Not to mention that dustup in the spring.
Jesus, what a lashup that had been.
Sighing, I got up and moved to the battery, flicking the power and checking the level.
Forty-five percent.
That got me to raise my eyebrows. That meant it was a bad battery, more than likely without any maintenance. I was thinking clearly now, an that meant I needed to pull maintenance on it and could probably get a good charge.
I cracked open the top of the battery.
The goddamn water level was sitting at less than half.
Thankfully there was bottled water, which meant distilled then ionized water. Personally, I felt that outside of survival caches and the like there was no real reason for it, but some people bought it since most of the time local municipal water tasted like absolute ass.
I topped the battery off, then moved out to the main room to light the fire and warm up. The fire caught easy once I sliced off some diesel and lit it with my lighter. I squatted down, warming my hands and body, letting the lizard run the numbers through my subconscious.
I knew Group Area like the back of my hand. Whenever I was back I spent time hiking around the area, exploring our side of the mountain.
I knew places that nobody else knew about. Not even Bomber or Nancy.
When I was warmed up I went back into the battery room and checked it. It had dropped to only eight percent, but I was willing to trust the eight percent rating better than the 45% it had been showing earlier. The thing with tenuous charges is they looked high and then drained rapidly. I had no idea what the Watt rating was sitting at. The side of it had read that it had 450 cold cranking amps, but with the fact it sat around in the cold, with low water levels, I'd be better off halfing it. It was supposed to be used to crank up the generators, but I suspected that even if I got the diesel thawed it wouldn't have what it needed to crank the gennies.
When I went back I put on the headset, snapped on the radio, and listened. The needle was sitting solid at 8%, it didn't immediately start to drop, but I knew I didn't have long.
Plus, I wasn't going to use up all the juice.
Wildflicken Range Control was on the line, nice and clear, talking to a tanker unit doing early morning night fire.
"Break net, break net, this is Two One Nine Romeo Delta operating on limited power under emergency circumstances, do you read, over," I said.
"This is a range control net, asshole," The tanker snapped.
"Clear the goddamn net, Three-Three-Five," the Range Control snapped. "Delta, we read you loud and clear," There was a few second pause, "We are recording and will have Two One Nine Saber on the line in a few mikes."
"My battery is at... eight percent, I've got severe interference," I said.
"We have a list of questions drawn up by Saber, Delta," Ranger Control said. "Have you made contact with the relief force dispatched yesterday, over?"
"Negative on that. I'm recovering from injuries at this time, over," I stated.
"Are you combat effective, over? Jesus, really?" The guy on Range Control sounded shocked. "Uh, disregard my last, over."
"Tell Saber I'm better off than a few other winters," I laughed. "Saber knows me, over."
"Do you have access to the secure lower area? Saber said that someone has been trying to access that area, was it you, over?"
That made me grin. "Negative. I'm at 7%, over."
"Stand by for Saber, over," Ranger Control said.
Henley's voice was strong, seeming to wipe away the static. "Delta, you goddamn monkey, are you dead or not?"
"I'm back online, over," I said.
"Someone's trying to get at Cromwell and the others, it wasn't you?" Henley snapped.
"No, I've been unconscious till about an hour ago, over," I answered.
"Delta, we sent a team up to make contact but haven't heard back from them. Can you recon the area?" Henley asked. I could hear the urgency in his voice.
I thought about it for a long moment, "Full or limited engagement, over?"
"Do what you do best, Stillwater. That's an order from our highest levels. Secure the Group Area, terminate with extreme prejudice all hostile elements, lock down the area, and hold until relieved," Henley told me. "Whatever means necessary, repeat my last."
That threw me for a loop. There was no reason for me to go full offense. I mean, don't get me wrong, I wanted to storm the barracks, but the fact that Henley was telling me to go full offensive was out of the ordinary.
"I copy: full offense, terminate with extreme prejudice, take back Group Area and secure it, hold until relieved, over," I said, keeping my tone and cadence formal.
"It is vital you secure the lower motorpool, Stillwater," Henley snapped. "Recent data has exposed that there is a full load of unregistered predicated Altas-Three-Five elements left in the motorpool, over."
What? Atlas three...
Oh.
Oh shit.
"Atlas-Three-Five elements? Please confirm, predicated Atlas-Three-Five elements are unsecured in the motorpool, over," I said. "Four percent, over."
"Confirmed. Secure the Group Area, Stillwater," Henley said, "Do what you goddamn best, you fucking rabid animal, terminate the goddamn enemy. Over and out."
I set down the headset, snapping the radio off, and slowly walked back to disconnect the battery.
Holy shit.
Bunker 35 out at Atlas was full of M1A1 Abrams Main Battle Tank 120mm tactical nuclear rounds. Four weeks ago we'd loaded a conex with the last of the old M1 105mm tactical nuclear rounds, all in the 175kt range.
It was supposed to go to Bremerhaven and be loaded on a ship that was taking all those old rounds back to The World to be refurbished into 120mm rounds for the new M1A1.
Christ.
If that was the conex we'd loaded up, it had exactly fifty-six of them.
That was 9.8 MEGATONS worth the goddamn nuclear rounds.
Sitting in the motorpool.
Unguarded.
Unaccounted for.
Just sitting in a big metal box.
The lizard hissed with pleasure as he updated all the plans.
Full offense.
In the dark and cold.
The lizard and I smiled.