Third Person - Complete

Omaha

Roberts sat in the chair, in what was called the Mag Area, just looking down at the tile floor. On Robert's left was the door to the stairwell, next to the doors to Near Hammerhead Hall. The door to the Third Magazine Platoon Office was on his right. Just past the door, on the same wall, was the two doors to the male and female bathrooms. Past that, directly across from Roberts, was the double doors to Second Magazine Platoon. On the left, past the double doors that led into Hammerhead Hall, was the office used by the officers.

Around Roberts was most of the Third Platoon, grouped up in chairs, kicking back and drinking soda, smoking cigarettes, chatting among themselves.

Roberts just stared at the floor. Nobody was talking to him, which suited him just fine.

Talking to the Chaplain hadn't helped much.

Patch had driven Roberts to the Chaplain every night for the last week, letting Roberts pray in the church, talk to the Chaplain, try to find something, anything, to help Roberts deal with the events of over a week ago.

It hadn't helped.

Lewis had been released from the hospital, had been on quarters till today. Taggart, Stokes, and Putter had returned to duty.

Nobody had really spoke to Roberts since Stillwater had turned the statement in.

Roberts knew it was because now everyone knew he was a coward.

The door from the stairwell pushed open and Patch limped in with his almost trademark thump-drag. Roberts looked up as Patch stopped in the middle of the room.

"Taggart, Cromwell, Baker, Stokes," Patch growled. "You'll be taking CUC-V Blazer Nineteen. Putter's bringing it down from the motorpool."

The four women stood up, Cromwell frowning.

"Get your aid bag," Patch said. "We've got to crack a nuclear bunker, do some inspections for NATO, so grab a radiation casualty kit too, Cromwell."

"Yes, Sergeant," Cromwell said.

Roberts watched as the four women hustled out of the Mag Area and into the stairwell.

"The rest of First Squad, draw a full kit, double-ammo," Stillwater said. He headed for the officer's office. "Foster's bringing the Gypsy Wagon down. We're down a man, so Roberts, you're going to be on the sixty. You'll pull Putter's sixty. Tell Lewis to pull a double ammo draw."

"Yes, Sergeant," Roberts said, along with everyone else. Roberts got up and headed into the hallway. They were silent as they went to their rooms.

Roberts felt slightly sick to his stomach as he put on his Kevlar vest, bucking his LBE over the top of it. His gear still smelled slightly of burnt meat, making his stomach roll. Roberts squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force away the memory of the truck driver's screams. Roberts grabbed his rucksack then left the room, going straight to the Arm's Room.

Even though Roberts expected a little bit of trouble drawing Putter's M-60, the armorer didn't say anything. Lewis showed up while Roberts was putting two boxes of M-60 ammunition in his rucksacks.

"Sergeant Stillwater said to have you draw double ammo load," Roberts told her, looking away rather than at her.

"I can't carry it," Lewis said. "I can hardly walk as it is."

"I thought you were OK to come back to work," Roberts said.

"I'm supposed to be on light duty," Lewis said. "I'm doped up on Percocet as it is. I'm a little dizzy, but I should be all right."

Roberts nodded. "I'll carry it."

"Are you sure, Roberts? It's heavy," Lewis said, her voice surprised.