Isolation & Fear (Damned of the 2/19th Book Seven)

Custer's Last Call

Alfenwehr Secure Army Post
West Germany
12 January, 1988
0435

Prudence's lips were warm as she kissed me at the door. I was dressed in BDU's, my LBE clean for a change. Coming home to her every night had lifted the darkness that I'd felt after Nancy's betrayal and the collapse of the Atlas Crew. I broke the kiss regretfully, stepping back and staring at her. She was smiling widely, still wearing the apron she had worn while she had made me waffles and sausages for breakfast.

"Be careful, Johnny," she said.

"I will be, Pru," I told her, bouncing the CUC-V keys in my hand. Colonel Henry (NR) had allowed me to draw CUC-V-72 on a semi-permanent vehicle, so I could drive my radioman and me back to Alfenwehr each night. SPC Custer was standing next to the vehicle, leaning against the door and smoking a cigarette, waiting for me to hurry up.

"Give this to Mark," She told me, shoving a napkin wrapped package in my hand.

"I've gotta go, Pru," I told her.

"Git, old man," She told me. I smiled at her and turned back to the vehicle.

The E-5 rank on my collar felt heavy today.

"Ready, Sergeant?" SPC Custer asked.

"Yup," I told him. I handed him the napkin wrapped bundle. "Pru wants you to get something to eat."

He nodded at that. His wife worked at the local Military Intelligence unit, so she didn't get up for another two hours, so breakfast in his house was catch as catch can. We got in the truck, me sliding into the driver's seat and firing the vehicle up. I glanced at the gas gauge and swore.

"What?" Custer asked me, swallowing the bite of egg and sausage sourdough sandwich.

"Forgot to gas up last night," I grunted.

"Three-Oh-Eight should have someone at their pumps. We can grab fuel there," He said, wolfing down another bite.

308 Support Company handled fuel for idiots like us. We should have been to the gas station during work hours and used fuel coupons, but Custer and I had just wanted to get home, not getting home until almost 2100 last night. I'd been busy putting back together the team for Poseidon AKA FSTS-238 and getting the place up to speed.

It had been in shambles. Morale was in the toilet, we'd had to replace almost all the tools and half the vehicles, and it had taken the soldiers a little while to learn that even though I expected instant obedience to my orders, I was willing to be corrected and, to their utter shock, treat them like human beings instead of fitting to be expended at a whim to earn myself an ego stroking.

It was snowing, big fat flakes that drifted down as I threw the CUC-V in reverse. In the time it took me to wait for the glow-plugs to warm up and fire up the Blazer, Custer had wolfed down the entire breakfast sandwich.

"Goddamn, that was good," He burped, then reached out and picked up the headset on the PRC-77 radio. "I'm gonna check in with Main Body and let them know we're enroute."

I thought for a moment. "Tell them to let SPC Krueger know that they don't have to roll out till zero-eight. That'll get them there by zero-nine. I've got paperwork and some inspection crap to do that we don't need the whole gol-durn squad there for."

Custer nodded, fiddling with the dials, trying to get a clear signal on a repeater tower that would push his radio message out to Graf. We could have used the phone, but the radio was Custer's thing and I wasn't about to take the joy of working it from him.

He wasn't like the laconic Foster, but with Foster missing and presumed dead, I'd take who I could get.

And yes, he was distantly related to the Custer who had stupidly died at Little Bighorn like a complete moron and taken a full Regiment of First Cavalry Division with him.