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

The Stairwell

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

I was halfway up the stairwell when something clunked against the wall and clattered on the steps. Ice chips flew from the wall it had hit, and it was a green sphere with a yellow stripe around the middle.

"Grenade!" I yelled, spinning and jumping off the steps while I was still shouting. Nagle slung Taggart through the open door, and Bomber landed on her, covering her with his body. Nagle followed and I was counting seconds as I slammed on top of her right as my inner count reached four, my hands lacing across the back of my neck like the other three soldiers with me.

The grenade went off with a roar, the concussion slapping against us, and I felt a wirelike burning across my legs, ass, and back of my arms. My right hand felt like it was broken, and when I pulled my hand away it was covered in blood.

"You'll pay for that, you fucking assholes!" Taggart yelled. "Get off me, you goddamn Texas fuck!"

Bomber rolled off her, groaning, blood starting to stain his BDU's.

"Keep up the pressure!" Nagle yelled, pushing to one side so I rolled off her. "Get 'em up, get 'em up!" She was pulling on my arm, grabbing my bleeding hand and squeezing it tight.

"You fucking bitch!" I roared, coming to my feet. She slammed my rifle against my chest and spun me around.

"Sic 'em, boy!" she said, pushing me toward the stairwell.

Above us, someone was sobbing. I started laughing as I mounted the steps, stomping hard with each step. Bomber joined me, moving up next to me, laughing with me as we climbed the stairs.

"Logan, get up, please get up!" Kebble was begging.

"We're coming for you, Barbara!" John yelled, still laughing.

"We're horny, Barbara!" I added, my side starting to hurt.

"We've been dead a very long time!" Taggart yelled from behind us. The girls were laughing too, their laughter full of darkness and blood.

Above us we heard thumping, and I knew that Kebble was trying to get Logan on his feet.

But Logan had never trained with the units Nagle, Bomber, and I had. They'd never done the things we had. They'd never seen the things we had. They'd never survived a winter here.

And they never would...

"Fifth floor." John grunted, spitting blood on the ice covered steps. I grunted in agreement. People instinctively moved up if they could, took high ground if they could.

"Stillwater, Bomber, fall back." Nagle snapped, and we let her move ahead of us. We kept moving up the stairs, our throbbing eardrums paying attention for any telltale sounds of someone tossing another grenade at us. We'd stopped laughing, and moved in grim silence.

Nancy kept her weapon at high ready, swiveling quickly as she reached each landing, her finger white on the trigger and her face, wet with fresh blood, grim and set.

My Nancy...

The building seemed hushed, expectant, almost eager.

There was blood on the third floor landing, and I touched it, pulling back wet fingers. Someone got hit by their own grenade when the shrapnel went bouncing around the stairwell like angry hornets in a jar.

"Up." Nagle hissed, her lips pulled back into something that was only remotely related to a grin, exposing her teeth.

We kept moving up the stairwell, Taggart watching behind us, keeping an eye on our six in case there were other surprises waiting for us.

We hadn't accounted for Marks or Raleigh, and until further notice, anyone not us was the enemy. The building was the enemy. The mountain was the enemy. The snow and wind were the enemy. Tandy and whatever the fuck the LT and the axe crazy fuck were were the enemy.

There was only the enemy.

My side still ached from laughing. A throbbing, pulsing ache that I ignored.

"Scatter!" Taggart yelled.

There wasn't exactly any where to go on a stairwell, but I threw myself over the railing, dropping to the next flight of steps below us. Nagle threw herself against the wall and up two steps. Bomber threw himself flat on the landing, rolling to put himself against the wall.

Taggart was two steps down, down on one knee, facing the opening door that was revealing Logan snarling through blood smeared teeth, his rifle coming up to his shoulder, and a gasping Kebble, her pants stained with blood, pushing the door open for him. She had nowhere to go, no place to take cover, and was caught in the open.

Rifle fire hammered.