Third Person - Complete

New Meat

It was raining, the cloud cover low and heavy, lighting dancing in the black and grey clouds as the rain pattered down on the tarmac and buildings of Rammstein Air Force Base. James Roberts stood in the line of soldiers waiting to speak to three men sitting at a computer, protected by a small tent with one side rolled up that the table with the computer and the three men manning it was sitting at.

Roberts was proud of his Class-A uniform, proud of the Private First Class rank on his shoulders, the Ordnance Corps brass on his lapel, and the medals on his chest. He saw the jealous looks from other privates waiting in line with him that the National Defense Medal that they all had sat on his ribbon bar with an Army Achievement Medal with an oak cluster denoting he'd received two of them. If anyone had asked him, he'd have been more than happy to tell them that he'd gotten the first one for graduating Distinguished Honor Graduate of his Basic Training class, when he'd also been promoted to Private Second Class; the second had been awarded when he'd graduated the Ammunition Specialist Advanced Individual Training course at Redstone Arsenal as Distinguished Honor Graduate, scoring a total of 94% on all his tests. That was when he'd been promoted to Private First Class.

"Think Germany is always this rainy?" The guy in front of him asked. Private Chuck Newsome had gone to AIT with Roberts, gotten orders for West Germany just like Roberts and just like Private Reginald Dormund behind him.

Roberts shrugged. "Who knows, man."

"Next," the line moved forward.

"Can't believe we're the only three guys got orders for Germany," Dormund said.

"Next," again the line shuffled forward.

Roberts looked over in time to see a GMC pickup truck, painted woodland camouflage, with a brush guard and a winch on the front and a hatch in the middle of the roof to provide access to the ring mount. A large, buff woman stood in the ringmount, one hand on the weapon mounted on the pintle-mount. Roberts recognized it from basic training, an M-60 light machine gun. The woman had on a wet weather jacket, a Kevlar helmet, and a pair of sunglasses despite the dim day.

"Next," the line moved forward again.

Roberts watched as a guy in wet weather gear jumped out of the back of the truck, putting a hand on the wooden side-boards and vaulting over, landing in a puddle with a splash. He had a Kevlar helmet on and an M-16A1 on his back. The passenger door of the truck opened and another man got out, this one in Battle Dress Uniform. With a start, Roberts realized that the guy in camouflage had a pistol rig on as well as a heavy duty leg brace on his left leg and an eye patch over his left eye. The guy with the leg brace accepted a cigarette from the guy in wet weather gear. Three vans pulled in behind the truck, stopping and idling.

"Next," the line moved forward.

"Orders," the guy next to the guy on the computer said. Chuck Newsome held out his folded orders and the guy grabbed them, glancing at them. He looked at the guy at the computer. "Fifty-five bravo."

The guy tapped in some keys. "Got three slots. I'll be nice to this one," he tapped some more keys and the big dot-matrix printer behind him started clattering. "60th Ordnance Company, 15th Ordnance Battalion."

The other guy turned in his chair, tore off the layered sheet that left the printer, and handed it to Chuck. "Enjoy. Bus number seven," he pointed at where a dozen buses were idling in the rain.

"Next," The guy next to the computer said.

"Hang on," The one that had taken the the orders said, holding up his hand in a stop motion. "Creeley, check out who's here."

"Oh, Christ," the guy at the computer, Creeley, said. He stood up. "Stillwater, you fucking menace! What the hell are you doing back here?"

"Need a couple cherries," the guy with the pistol said. Roberts noticed he was dragging his left leg slightly, like he couldn't bend it right.