"My training doesn't really cover any of this," Cromwell told me, staring at the inventory sheets of medical supplies that were stored in the Quonset hut. "I can treat a bullet wound or a broken leg, but putting together an aid station is more an officer or NCO job."
I looked over at SFC Ashton, the Ranger medical specialist. "Can you train her?"
He nodded slowly. "To be honest, this is more Special Forces work than Ranger work."
"You guys just blow shit up and kill everyone then get the fuck out, Ess-Eff hangs around and builds rebel infrastructure," I said, shrugging. "Can you do it?"
Major Mitchell watched him carefully.
"It'll be good training for me. I'll need manuals and other reference guides," He told me.
"Foster," I snapped.
"What?" He asked.
"Call 2/19th Pubs, I want a complete double-strength library of anything below Secret out here by sixteen hundred," I said. "Tel lwhoever is bringing it out to stop by Alfenwehr Pubs and grab a couple of boxes of Soldier's Bibles. About two thousand should do the trick."
"Roger," Foster said. He picked up the phone and I tuned him out.
I put my hands on the table and leaned forward, staring at the map of Atlas as if I could divine the future from it.
In a way, I guess I could.
The Infantry commander stared at it with me.
"I want your mortar platoon back here. I'll get the engineers to use a bulldozer out there and build you a berm to cut the ATP from the mortars themselves, with a movement notch in it," I told him. "I'll load you up with around a hundred conventional rounds, but we'll need to put some VX and G in place, probably a dozen of each."
I looked up at him. "All right, from here on out, if you can't mask in less than 15 seconds, I want you restricted to the tents and trained until you can. I'd prefer Special Weapons standard of twelve, but that's asking too much."
"They'll do twelve or they'll find a new MOS," the Colonel told me. "Three seconds is life and death with NBC."
I nodded, grabbing a cigarette out of the open pack. I'd grabbed a carton from Mobster's cache and we'd been smoking them all morning.
The lighter snapped loudly when I closed it, staring at the back edge of Atlas. There was a railhead out there, in some places buried by dirt, but there all the same. A two mile long switch-back set and offloading. The concrete pads were gone.
One of the Rangers pushed his ugly mug through the tent flaps. "A Captain Hessler here to see you, he's got paperwork that says he's from 54th Combat Engineers. He's got an aide and two NCO's with them."
"Just him and his aide. Tell the NCO's to stand fast," I said.
The Ranger nodded and vanished. I threw the canvas over the table right before the Captain came in with a Specialist following him.
"Captain Hessler, 54th Combat Engineers out of Wildflicken," He told me. He handed me a piece of paper that I glanced at. Orders putting Golf Company TDY at Atlas. There wasn't a Golf Company with 54th, but I could tell by the wording that it was just a transparency over what we were doing that allowed him to scoop who he wanted from the battalion.
"Corporal Stillwater," I said, holding out my hand. He shook it. "That's my radioman Foster, my Crew Medical Chief Cromwell," for some reason saying that made goosebumps rise up on my lower back and I could faintly smell apple blossoms. "Those two are Rangers," I pointed at them. "They don't need names," I pointed at the taller Blackbriar Bitch. "That's Ms. Smith."
He nodded in turn.
"Have your NCO's grab a work party. I need three GP Mediums set up just outside the camo net, wiring run to 'em, camo 'em up, and the radiation shielding plates put in place," I said. "We'll have to use this as a staging area when I move my TOC to the downrange berm," I looked at him again. "You have bulldozer and backhoe rated guys, right?"
The Captain frowned. "We only brought four 5-tons to fit everyone," he said.
"I've got everything your entire battalion would need for World War Three, anything you need, I either have or can get in less than six hours," I told him.
He nodded at that. "War Fighter Stocks," he mused.
"Any married people in your detachment with families in theater?" I asked.
He nodded.
"Any of them mission essential that can't be replaced?" I asked.
He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Three."
"Send everyone with family in theater back and have them replaced with single soldiers," I told him. I sighed. "This place is soaked with rads and chems, I don't want them going home, hugging their kid, and melting their face off. I've got enough blood on my hands."
The Captain nodded at that and I noticed Major Mitchell and the Colonel got odd looks on their faces.
"You also need to have everyone remaining remove all tabs and patches but their US Army. Names are for people," I said.
He nodded at that.
I looked at the chemical specialist Ranger. "Masks. You know the deal. If the filters or mask look hinky," I started.
"Replace them from the War Stocks," he finished, standing up.
"My men didn't bring anything but weapons and TA-50," Captain Hessler told me.
"They'll get a full issue of gear from War Stocks in the next few days," I said. I grinned and felt the side of my face pull up. "It'll be like going through Basic all over again for gear issue. I'll give them rucks and sleeping bags for right now."
He nodded at that.
"My man Cromwell will show you where it all is," I said. I snapped my fingers and pointed at the door. "Get to it," I told her.
Cromwell nodded and moved carefully around the table, heading outside. The Captain followed her, vanishing for a moment. I took the time to hand the paper to Foster.
"Verify that when you get a chance. It looks legit, but I'm feeling paranoid," I told him. He just nodded, circling the orders codes.
I flipped the canvas cover back off the map, staring at it for a moment. The railhead and the back forty gave me an idea. I picked up the ruler off Foster's desk, checked the distance, then checked one of my packets again. The Blackbriar Bitch sent her two clones outside to clear up some space in the tent. Carmichael moved up next to me. It was tight in the tent, but we'd just have to deal with it. I slapped the ruler onto the map, took a couple of measurements, and ran the math in my head real quick.
Yup. It was within the range.
The Captain pushed back into the tent, his aide following him. I motioned to him and he carefully skirted the table, moving next to the map. He stared at it for a long moment then shook his head. "This is a big place. A lot bigger than my briefing made it sound."
I nodded at that. "And she's a killer," I warned him. "Unstable ammo, chemical and radiation contamination, Ivan, there's a lot of ways to die out here and none of them good."
"Mask standard is 15 seconds. If they can't mask five out of five times in 15 seconds or less, they're restricted to up here until they can," I told him.
"Thirteen is 54th standard. If they can't, I'll put them on the shittiest duty I can find," he told me.
"Stillwater," Foster broke in.
"Gee-Aye," I told him, using slang for Go Ahead.
"Elements of the joint service team have landed. They're already being choppered in," he told me.
I turned to Major Mitchell. "Tell one of the guards to let your men up at the helipad know we've got incoming slicks," I said. "Guide them in with red flares and red smoke."
He nodded, leaving the tent.
I turned back to Captain Hessler. "Your men are going to building a shit load of stuff, destroying a lot of other stuff. They're going to be busier than a one legged man at an ass kicking contest for the next two months," I told him.
"Beats sitting in the barracks waiting for Ivan to roll over us," He shrugged.
"They try to roll on us here, we push back," I told him. "We push back hard. This isn't the North Sea, the Atlantic, or the Black Sea and we aren't the fucking Navy or Air Force. We're the goddamn US Army. Out here, we're the big fucking fighting dog and they're the mangy stray. Still dangerous if we let them, but..." I let it trail off.
"You don't seem worried about what they might throw at us," He said.
"His orders are to defend this site, the Fulda Gap, and Western Europe with NBC Weaponry, Captain," Ms. Smith said. "They might get the first shot off, but Corporal Stillwater here will answer with a radical escalation of force in order to educate them upon the error of their beliefs."
The Captain nodded. Unlike everyone else, he didn't seem too upset about the fact I would spike a fucking peewee nuke into their faces like a volleyball player into a random fat bitch on the beach.
"We'll have Davey Crocketts set up, which means I want your men to dig protective positions across the deployment area back here when we set up it. Full H's, overhead cover reenforced by plywood and beams, double-layer sandbags and six inches of dirt," I told him. I reached out and tapped the Field Manual on NBC Battlefield Operations. "We'll go by the book, but throw some extra protections and safeguards in."
"How much protection will it provide if you fire one of the Crockett's?" He asked me.
I shrugged. "According to 50's tests the fighting positions will survive just inside the fireball of a five-point-two megaton blast, as long as they aren't in the uptake crater itself," I told him. "Since we'll be using one around one-twenty-kilotons at a fifteen hundred foot det-height, the uptake crater will be mostly on their side and 1K Zone, giving them about a mile from the crater, so they'll be fine."
He nodded slowly. "Seems a little close, but you're the Special Weapons guy."
"Field Warfare Specialist," I told him. "This is my bread and butter. It'll be a hellscape outside, but we'll be able to fight in it. According to the Citadel Ridge Tests, they'd be fine even if they were outside as long as they aren't black or covered in tanning oil," I chuckled.
"Fucking Amos Fry," someone behind me grumbled.
I just let it ride.
"Why not black?" The Captain asked me.
"Nuclear tests showed that because black soldiers have a higher thermal pulse uptake, it ends badly for them inside the Alpha and Bravo rings," I told him. "At the Alpha Ring, everyone takes severe burns, but at the Bravo ring white soldiers only take surface burns if their skin is directly exposed or under dark cloth," I shrugged. "Black soldiers take it worse all the way out to the Delta Ring. After that it's a geometric falloff."
"Define worse," The infantry Colonel asked.
"At the Alpha and Bravo Ring, they die ugly," I said. "Charlie Ring they just suffer severe burns."
"How ugly?" He asked me.
"Real ugly," The Blackbriar Bitch said.
"Oh," the Colonel said.
"If I had my druthers, I'd have you send all the black soldiers back. As it is, I'll be showing a few training films to your men, giving a lecture, then all your men who can't pass a paper-bag test don't come any closer than the Charlie Ring for work parties," I told him.
I could feel the unease in segregating the troops like I was suggesting.
"What films?" The Colonel asked me.
I looked at him. "Unedited and unredacted films taken from the Citadel Ridge Tests of the 1950's," I told him. "They can see exactly why I am legally bound to restrict them from forward operations unless they volunteer."
"What's on the film?" Major Mitchell asked. "Several of my Rangers are black."
"They're Rangers, they volunteered for whatever you order them to do," I told him. "But you should have them watch the films too."
Carmichael shook his head. "Jesus, I've only seen the censored versions and those are bad enough."
"Your men need to know exactly what will happen to them if they volunteer to work any closer than the Charlie Ring," I said, flipping the maps until the blast computation overlay map was displayed. "They deserve to know what will happen to them if they're caught in the open if we have to go full Total War."
"What will happen?" The infantry Colonel asked.
I turned and faced him. He deserved to know, just like his men deserved to know.
"They'll burst into flame," I told him.