Traitors (Damned of the 2/19th - Book Five) - Finished

Best Friend

2/19th Special Weapons Group Barracks
Restricted Area - Western Germany
Early Winter - 1986
Day: Fourteen

"You know," Nagle said, holding up the pistol in the dim light. The barrel glinted wetly. "I would have made her lick my pussy like a prison bitch instead of sucking this if we'd had more time."

"Yeah, but then that tongue would have been in your cunny, think about that." Bomber told her. Nagle made a face, and Bomber grinned. "Yeah. All the officers and NCO's dicks that she's scraped that tongue across, the same tongue flopping around in your gash."

"I get the point. Ew." Nagle shuddered theatrically.

The frost at the door had stopped spreading, the tentacles that led the way melting away.

"He left." I told them.

"Thank God." Nagle said, moving up next to me and putting her arm around my waist. I pretended not to notice her wiping the barrel of the .45 off on my uniform.

"There's no God here." Bomber said. "Well shit, now what do we do?"

"No more of this passive crap." I snarled, pulling away from Nagle and stomping into the middle of the room. Something upstairs mocked me, the footsteps a split second behind my own, starting and stopping when I did. I tossed the M-16A1 on the bunk. "I made a mistake, figuring that if we just kept our heads down all of this would blow over."

"Ant, don't..." Nagle started.

"We could have spoken..." Bomber said at the same time.

"Save it. I'm the one who wanted to avoid violence, I'm the one who just said go with it, I'm the one who wanted to wait until we got rescued." I pointed at the window. "Rescue isn't coming. I didn't want to say anything, but look outside. We've already got thirty feet of snow, at least, on the windward side of the barracks. It's still snowing. Last year we got sixty feet dumped on us. How much are we going to get this year?"

I walked over to the window and opened the curtains, staring at the swirling snow that was dimly illuminated by the failing light bulb. I opened my mouth to say something, then stepped back from the window, cocking my head and rhythmically opening and closing my right hand, the knuckles crunching each time.

Bomber sat on the weight bench, watching me, and Nagle leaned against the desk, setting the pistol on the desk before folding her arms beneath her breasts.

Yes, there was at least thirty feet of snow. The motor pool was twenty feet higher than the front of the building. That meant that the wind could have pushed the snow flat, into a gentle incline. The motor pool roof was twenty feet above the floor, and peaked up another twenty, making it forty feet total. We didn't have snow shoes, but that wasn't that big of a deal, if Ogg the Caveman could make the fucking things, I sure as shit could. We could walk from the window of our room to the motor pool, and hole up there if shit got bad. Let Tandy have the barracks, pull back to the motor pool, and hole up in the bay there. There was showers, war stocks, bathrooms, emergency generators, fuel, everything we needed to survive.

And skis.

One of the mandatory training courses we had to take was cross country skiing. I was a for shit downhill skier, more likely to kill myself by running face first into a tree than anything else, but as far as cross country went, I was good at it. As a long distance runner, I had the endurance to make it and thanks to mandatory training, the training to make it. Nagle was better at downhill, and Bomber was competent at both. We could take the skis, a compass, cold weather gear, and ski to main post.

The idea was perfect.

Except that Tandy was out there. We wouldn't get more than a mile before he took all three of us out.