"Asshole!" The woman on the other side of the door yelled at Roberts, who has just slammed the door in her face.
Roberts ignored her shout, stomping back into the room. She'd been hammering on the door until Roberts had answered and then had asked for Stillwater. Her banging on the door had annoyed him and the way she'd leaned around him to shout for Stillwater had just pissed him off more. He could hear her stomp off as he sat back down in the chair.
There was nothing in the room to read. He'd looked at the Heavy Metal magazines, but the nudity had bothered him. Roberts didn't think of himself as a prude, but the nudity and sexual references had just seemed gratuitous to him. He'd been told to leave the compute alone, and that made him want to mess with it, if nothing else to prove that he wasn't someone who could just be ordered around.
But Patch was an E-5.
Roberts sighed, getting up and walked around the room. There was a poster-board that was a collage of pictures and Roberts stared at it. Patch, the fat girl, the Texan, the big Amazon and other people. Some pictures they were in civilian clothing, others they were in military clothing. Sometimes they were smiling, other times they weren't. The oldest looking pictures, where everyone looked that youngest, Patch was missing that eyepatch and looked extremely young.
Frustrated, Roberts walked away from the collage. It bugged him, being in this room. The entire room was completely dedicated to Patch, leaving Roberts to feel like an interloper in what was supposed to be his own room.
Roberts walked around the room, looking at everything. Once again the feeling of intruding on someone else's home struck him. He turned around, grabbing his wallet off of the short end table, stuffing it in his back pocket. He grabbed his short ring of keys, jamming them into his front pocket, and headed out the door, taking the time to lock it.
Walking down the hallway he felt better. Away from that room.
In Basic Training, hell, in AIT, even though he'd been in the big eight man bays and then in a long building with thirty other people, his own little corner had felt like his area.
That whole room felt like someone else's.
Roberts walked all the way down to the front stairwell, the one near the CQ Area that everyone called the Near Stairwell. He passed a couple of people, nodding to them when nodded to him. He walked down the stairs, looking up twice when the echoes fooled him into thinking that someone was coming down the stairs above him.
When he pushed into the CQ Area he noticed over a dozen people in there. There were people watching two men in BDU's attach a payphone to the wall in between the two sets of doors that led outside.
Roberts frowned, wondering why everyone looked so excited, looking around at everyone.
"Excuse me, soldier," A man said from behind him. Roberts turned around and saw a Captain standing behind him, in the open doorway to the stairwell, with a folder in his hands. Behind him stood a Lieutenant, both of them in uniform.
"Sorry," Roberts said, moving out of the way.
The Captain moved into the middle of the CQ Area, opening the folder.
"All right, all right, settle down, everyone," He said. Everyone went quiet, turning to him.
"When's it going to be turned on?" A woman asked.
"How long will we have to call?" A man asked.
"Will there be a limit to how many days it can be used?" Another man asked.
"If you'll all be quiet a moment, I'll get to that," The Captain said. Everyone went quiet and Roberts moved over to stand next to Chuck Newsome, who had just left the big room with the pinball and video games.
"All right. Some of you are new, so we'll cover a few things," The Captain said. "Before now 2/19th has had no non-military outside lines. This was largely done in the name of security. However, Colonel Henry has requested that a civilian line be installed, allowing soldiers to call family."
There were some excited murmurs about that.
"Now, the CQ will have to unlock the phone for you to use it, and either the CQ or the ACQ will have to stand there while you call. We'll cover what you can and cannot discuss during orientation for you new people. The rest of you, you already know what you can discuss," The Captain said. He held up the writing tablet. "The CQ will have a list of approved answers to common questions. We expect you to use common sense for any questions not covered."
The Captain moved over to the CQ counter and set the tablet down. "In addition to CQ oversight, those of you with Zulu identifiers may only use the pay phone when a member of S-2 is present," There was some muttering at that, but the Captain held up his hand. "That's not from Colonel Henry, V Corps ChemCorps detachment mandates that part. Finally, all calls will be monitored by military intelligence as well as CID, with all calls being recorded, so remember that part before any of you start having phone sex with your girlfriends back in the States."
That got laughter.
"The phone has an automatic twenty-minute timer. It will accept German Mark coins, US coins, Mark and US bills. One Mark or a quarter a minute. When your time is up the amber light on the top will flash, informing everyone your time is up. No second calls back to back. You go to the end of the line," The Captain said. He turned and looked at everyone. "This phone is a privilege that was not easy to arrange for. Any deviation from security will result in individual phone privileges being suspended, too many incidents will result in the phone being removed. Am I understood?"
A chorus of "Yes, sir" sounded out.
"As I see some new faces, I feel it necessary to stress at this time, this phone is unsecure. It has a separate, dedicated, shielded and buried line. At this time we have been assured that the line has not been tapped, but the Soviet Union would be negligent in its duty to allow that to continue, so at this time we should all assume that the line has been tapped by the KGB," The Captain said. He shook his head. "On to better news, for those of you that missed closing formation yesterday, I'll repeat the news and you can spread it around."
Everyone waited, and Roberts could feel the excitement.
"Starting yesterday, there is an additional chowhall shift. The chowhall will be open and serving an additional meal from twenty-three hundred hours to zero one hundred hours," The Captain said. "Colonel Henry hopes this will improve the quality of life for those of you on night shift operations. The Dispensary will have medical personnel available twenty-four hours a day, everyday. Finally, for those of you who work at hardship sites, Colonel Henry will be tasking the chow hall to have hot food delivered each day. Colonel Henry is hoping that the changes since we have returned to the barracks last week will help improve morale and show his dedication to bringing proper leadership to 2/19th Special Weapons Group."
"Finally, first use of the phone for those of you down here will be determined by length of time stationed with Group. Not by rank. I would advise letting those with spouses stateside go first, but time on station will take precedence," The Captain said, his voice stern. "Let us comport ourselves as civilized human beings, not as animals."
"I'll be staying here to oversee everyone's phone calls," the Lieutenant stated. He waved at the phone, where one of the two men was hanging up the handset. The other one gave everyone in the CQ Area a grin and a thumbs up.
"Looks like the phone works," The Captain gave everyone a big smile. "On that, enjoy your weekend."
He walked back to the stairwell on that.
"It's gonna be next month before we can use the phone," Chuck Newsome said, elbowing Roberts in the side. "There's like three hundred motherfuckers ahead of us."
Roberts shook his head. "This sucks."
Chuck shrugged. "Why? You called home from the airport," Chuck said. "From what I've heard, about the only time these guys get to call home is when they go down to Main Post or off post."
"It's just, this whole place," Roberts said, jamming his hands in his pockets. He headed toward the soda machines, Chuck following him. "This whole place sucks."
"Why?" Chuck asked. "I mean, yeah, it doesn't sound like it's going to be easy, but fuck, man, we joined the Army, not the Boy Scouts."
Roberts shook his head. "I don't know, man. I mean, you heard that lecture. He made it sound like we're in prison or something."
"That's just security, man. These guys handle nukes and shit. Those phone rules just make sense," Chuck lowered his voice conspiratorially, "You hear what happened to the unit last winter?"
Roberts shook his head, feeding a dollar bill into the vending machine.
"The KGB killed a shitload of them. That fat guy, the one who called us names? Yeah, apparently he killed the guy they sent to kill him," He lowered his voice further, reaching out and dropping quarters into the other vending machine, "I heard he's some kind of badass. Everyone's afraid of him, but from what I've heard of him, nobody fucks with him. He's in charge of the kind of sites we've been assigned to."
"What do you mean?" Roberts asked, grabbing the can of cola.
"You and me are assigned to those hot sites. Third Magazine Platoon. That Chief Warrant Officer, Hensey or something like that, he's in charge of all the hot sites, man. Apparently even Colonel Henry is afraid of him," Newsome said, shrugging. He grabbed a can of soda out of the machine he was in front of.
"So?" Roberts was getting annoyed with Newsome. The other man had always been a talker, sometimes even getting everyone in trouble during Basic Training and AIT with his constant chatter and jokes.
Newsome followed him out of the vending machine area and through the CQ Area. Everyone was lined up, waiting to use the phone. As the two men crossed the CQ area two more men left the stairwell, moving to the back of the line.
"Go ahead, I'm going to stay down here a minute," Roberts said, the slight idea he'd had when he walked down here taking firm hold.
"Whatever, man. Aaron said he's going to introduce me to a few other guys from the platoon," Chuck said, shrugging. He headed for the stairwell door while Roberts moved over to the CQ Area.
"Excuse me," Roberts said to the CQ, a large heavyset white guy. Roberts looked at the guy's chest, seeing that his name was Hooker. "Sergeant Hooker?"
The guy nodded. "What do you need?" He asked.
"I was told that if my room assignment isn't working out, I can ask to be reassigned?" Roberts said.
The Sergeant frowned. "How long have you been here?"
"Since yesterday," Roberts said.
"You've been here one day and managed to piss your room-mate off bad enough that you need a new room?" Sergeant Hooker said, shaking his head. "Who's your room-mate?"
"Sergeant Stillwater," Robers said.
The CQ and the lanky black PFC with the nametag Johnson both laughed.
"Hell, you can piss Stillwater off just saying good morning to the one eyed bastard," The PFC laughed.
"So you're rooming with Stillwater and want a new room-mate?" Sergeant Hooker asked.
"We're just not getting along," Roberts tried. "I don't like rooming with my squad leader."
The PFC shook his head. "Look, man. Stillwater's an OK guy. I mean, he's a drunk and all, but give him a chance, man."
"Look, I know he's weird, but the poor bastard was trapped up here all winter after those other guys went psycho," Sergeant Hooker tried.
Roberts didn't care. It was obvious the two men were friends with Patch, or at least willing to stick up for him.
"I just want another room mate," Roberts tried again.
"I'll have to clear it with Henley, Shaft, Lieutenant Masters, SFC Battle, and Sergeant Stillwater," Sergeant Hooker said, shaking his head. "Earliest you'd be moved out is Tuesday, and that's if, and I mean if, Sergeant Stillwater isn't sent to Atlas on Monday."
Roberts frowned. "So he has to sign off on me moving out? Why?"
"Because he's your squad leader, dumbass," The PFC said, shaking his head. "Holy shit, you really do belong in Hammerhead Hall."
Roberts flushed, feeling angry at the other man's words.
"Chill out, Johnson," The Sergeant said. "Look, I'll log it in that you're having problems with him. On Monday, talk to your platoon sergeant about getting a new room mate either around lunch or after Monday orientation. What's your name, I'll log it."
"Roberts," he sighed. He'd been hoping to move out by tomorrow, before Stillwater got home. "Thanks," He told them, even though he didn't really feel that grateful.
"Da nada," Sergeant Hooker said, grabbing the log book. Roberts turned away and headed for the stairwell.
He was halfway down the hallway when he heard the black guy calling his name. Roberts stopped and turned around, waiting till the black guy caught up to him.
"Whew, forgot how thin the air is up here," Johnson said, leaning against the wall and breathing heavy. "Spent too much time at Graf."
When Roberts opened his mouth the black guy held out his hand. "Gimme a minute," He took several deep breaths and stood up. "All right, listen you just got here," He said. Roberts noticed his breathing was still a little ragged. "You move out, everyone's going to know that you couldn't hack it being Stillwater's room mate for even a week."
When Roberts opened his mouth the black guy held up his hand. "Look, man, I know Stillwater's rep. I was E-5 before I got busted last month, I ran a squad in First Magazine Platoon. They were going to put me out, but Stillwater, he stood up for me. They just took two ranks, moved me to Third Platoon, put me out at Perseus. Lots of guys, we owe Stillwater."
Roberts frowned, went to answer, but Johnson held up his hand again.
"Not just for shit like getting you off the hook for going AWOL because you were blowing your paycheck on whores and hash in Amsterdam, we're talking really owe him," Johnson said. "We're talking for shit like pulling them out of a burning helicopter or an icy river, wading in when they got jumped by a half dozen National Guardsmen, or even worse shit."
"So?" Roberts asked.
Goddamn he was getting tired of hearing about how great Patch was. All anyone had to say was how great he was, how he'd done this or that, how people owed him, how he'd been there and done that.
Roberts was sick of it.
Johnson shook his head. "You gotta understand this place, man," The black guy said, waving his hand at the barracks, "I've been here two years. Two ugly goddamn years. You've gotta be able to trust the man at your back, at your side. You can't hack it with someone like Stillwater, who's going to be gone most the time, people are going to wonder if they can trust you or not."
"They don't think they can trust you, you're going to have a real bad time here," Johnson said. He shook his head. "Look, try to tough out to the end of orientation. When that's done, if you're still not getting along with him, tell them you want a new room mate, ask for a new squad."
"Why a new squad?" Roberts asked.
"Because if you bail on Stillwater, every member of the Atlas Crew is going to know it. Not one of them will trust you. From that purple eyed gorilla Cromwell to that psycho Foster, none of them will trust you to have their back in a firefight out at that shit hole. You'll need to be put in a new squad," Johnson shook his head. "Just a friendly warning."
Roberts opened his mouth to answer but Johnson pushed off the wall, turning around and walking away, preventing any conversation.
Is everyone in this unit an asshole? Roberts asked himself, heading back to his room.
The was warm, but for some reason, it felt chilly to Roberts, like the windows had been opened, but then shut right before he'd come in. A memory of being chilly, even though it was actually warm in the room. Roberts shivered, then shook his head, feeling foolish.
Curious, he looked at the VHS tapes on the rack. Most of them were copies, a few originals. Roberts shook his head at the titles. M.D Geist. Full Metal Jacket. Heavy Metal. Aliens. Girl with No Panties. Robocop. Rock & Rule. Those at least he could understand. The other's made no sense. "CBS Jun 86 - 8 Hrs" or "Sat Morn Cartoons 6 Hrs" or "Soaps". He had a whole rack that read "Young & Restless 6 Hrs" with the dates on them. He shook his head, unable to understand why there was just random tapes.
Curious, he picked up one, "NBC 8 Hrs Aug 87" on it. He turned on the TV, put it in the VCR, and sat down.
Bet it's porn. Some kind of weird porn, Roberts guessed.
Instead, it was just TV shows. Roberts was surprised to see that the commercials were left in. Usually when people recorded TV they made sure to pause on the TV, not record the commercials, but instead the tapes had all the commercials.
Another strange thing he noticed, was the quality of the commercials were the worst. Especially for Burger King or McDonalds. Like someone had watched the commercials over and over. The shows were still in good fidelity, but the commercials.
Roberts almost missed dinner, looking up from Different Strokes in time to see he had a half hour left. He hurried to the Chow Hall, ate dinner, and went back. Curious, he put in a different tape, not too interested in watching a show he'd already seen. The one he watched, twice the channels changed to a different channel, the static clicking past between the two shows showing that it wasn't even cable. It had been taken off an antenna.
To Roberts it didn't make any sense. Why watch the commercials over and over? Why video tapes where someone had just shoved a tape into the VCR and hit record without caring what it recorded? Why just random channels? Random show? Why did those tapes seem like they'd been watched more than the movies.
Tired of TV he went back and looked at the rack. Feeling a little guilty and ashamed of himself, he picked up the tape marked "Girl with No Panties" and put it in.
To his disappointment it turned out to be a cartoon about a girl with a jet-glider and a bunch of giant bugs. It wasn't that she didn't have panties, she was wearing tights but the quality of the tape made it look like she was naked under her short blue tunic.
Sighing, and wondering what the hell a grown man was doing with so many cartoons, he popped it out, put it back on the rack, and grabbed another tape and popped it in.
He wasn't aware he'd fallen asleep, watching the ten o-clock news, until the steady tone of a dead air station woke him up. He yawned, stretching, and staggered over to the TV, shutting it off before coming back over and climbing back into bed.
"Who the hell records the off-air signal?" Roberts asked the empty room when he laid down.
The room didn't answer.