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

Room 221

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

The LT was standing across from the two sets of double doors that led outside, or would have led outside if the snow hadn't piled up over the second floor windows. At his back was the trophy case, with all the trophies the unit had taken in everything from Combat Cross Country to marathons to flag football. He was still wearing his Class-A uniform, his nose was bent and swollen, with both eyes blackened. His lips were cut, and his mouth had blood around it. In his right hand he held a pistol, his eyes wild.

In front of him John Bomber was kneeling in front of the LT, Oakes holding one wrist out straight, Marks holding his other. He was slumped, only held up by the other two soldiers, his head bowed, and I could see blood dripping onto the floor and knew that he'd been pistol whipped. Nelson held the rifle that Bomber had been holding, a large purple knot on the side of his jaw.

The LT was in full tirade, screaming about traitors, about how he was going to execute John in a second for treason and mutiny.

Nagle grabbed my arm and I shrugged her off as I stepped all the way into the CQ Area, my knife in my fist and a smile on my face.

The LT stopped in mid sentence when he saw me, and I could see naked fear on Oakes and Marks faces, which just made me smile wider. The rest of the Rear-Dee shuffled aside, opening a path between me, Bomber, Oakes, Marks, and the LT.

"Stop right there, Corporal Stillwater." The LT said, staring at me. I ignored him, sneering at him, and walked toward him with hunched shoulders, my eyes fixated on him but aware of what Oakes and Marks were doing, which was nothing more than just staring at me.

"I'm not kidding, Corporal Stillwater, stop right now!" The LT said, backing away until his back hit the trophy case. The pistol wasn't pointing at me, but rather at the floor, and I knew that he'd forgot the first rule of bringing a knife to a gunfight, if he'd ever known it. The only way the guy with a knife wins is if the guy with the gun lets him get close. I was willing to take a gunshot if it meant killing him, if it meant stopping whatever he was going to do to my best friend, to everyone on Rear-Detachment. Screw my career, screw my life, screw safety, it was time to end it.

I couldn't even understand what he was saying, it was all just meaningless noise as I stepped around Bomber and up into his face, wrapping my hand around the top of the pistol and feeling the ice cold metal.

"Release the pistol, sir." I told him, staring in his eyes. I wanted to stab him, low in the gut, twist my wrist, and leave him on the floor to scream and bleed out, but all that would do is guarantee me a stint in Leavenworth, Charlie's Chicken Farm at the least. He smelled, bad, of unwashed body, decay and something else I couldn't put my finger on. He still held onto the pistol, and I pulled it out of his hand with a twist of my wrist.

I stepped back and flicked the point of my knife further into the CQ Area, staring at him. His mouth finally shut, and the stench of something foul lessened. He turned around, and I followed suit, turning to stare at Oakes and Marks.

"Let him go." I told them. Bomber looked up at me, a bad cut across his forehead sheeting blood across his face. He smiled at me, his arms still held out by Oakes and Marks.

"Hey, brother." He said.

"Hey, brother." I answered back, then looked at Oakes. "You got about two seconds before I slit your throat, you ugly little bitch." I looked at Marks. "Wanna guess what I'm gonna do to you if you don't drop the rifle when you back up, you shamming fuck?"

Both of them let go, stepping back and moving up next to the LT and staring at me. Bomber barely caught himself with both hands, his head hanging down, still dripping blood. Nancy moved out of the stairwell and knelt next to Bomber, lifting up her chin with one hand and peeling back his eyelid the other.