Lewis sat in the chair and listened with the Orderly Room clerks at the heated argument taking place in the Company Commander's office. She heard Stillwater threaten to not only hand over his E-5 rank, but threaten to turn in the paperwork so he'd go to someplace called Blackbriar Ridge for a year. SFC Battle threatened to "slap the slant out of [Major Tran's] eyes" if he called her another racial slur. There'd been the sounds of exertion and a crashing thud that had shaken the frames on the wall, followed by Henley snapping out and order to Stillwater not to break the MP's leg. There had been more arguing, ending with Colonel Henry.
"Sergeant Stillwater, while this delicate situation around a small child, beloved by a mother who undoubtedly feels the separation most keenly, is sorted out, you will leave my office, sign for the mission packet from Specialist Shaft, and follow the orders inside," The big Colonel stated.
"Yes, sir," Stillwater growled.
Shaft reached out and pressed her finger on one of the buttons of the intercom, shutting off the sound. She reached into the top drawer of her desk, pulling out a sealed courier packet and then a notebook stamped "SERIAL NUMBERS" on it. She opened it up and picked up a pen, looking up with that smile that made Lewis instantly self-conscious about her own teeth.
Stillwater opened the door to the CO's office, his face grim, and he closed it behind him before he thumped up to Shaft.
"Check the serial number," Shaft said, tapping the courier envelope.
Stillwater sighed, and Lewis watched as he checked the round lead tag's serial number against the number listed in the log book. He initialed it and looked at Shaft.
"Open immediately?" He asked.
Shaft nodded solemnly.
Stillwater sat down clumsily, his left leg straight out. He pulled out a multi-tool from the case on his belt and used it to cut the thin twisted cable. He pulled it off, then tossed it into the trashcan.
Lewis found it kind of silly since the thick envelope was paper and could be easily torn into. Like some elaborate dance where all the participants pretended that the costumes were real.
Stillwater pulled out two thick manila folders, both taped.
"Ugh," Stillwater said.
Shaft held out her hand, accepting the folders from Stillwater. She dutifully recorded the serial number on the red tape, initialled it, then had Stillwater initial it. Once that was done, she handed the folders back.
Lewis was intrigued despite the silliness of the whole thing.
Lewis sat there, watching as Stillwater scanned the contents of the two folders, setting one to the side and going over the other a second time. He sighed and looked at Lewis.
"Get the crew together. All of them. Tell them to load up for full extended roll-out," He growled. He handed her a sheet of typewritten paper. Lewis glanced at it and saw it was a packing list.
"Repack everything according to that list," Stillwater said. He pulled out another sheet. "Foster should be in the Mag Area, give him that sheet. Tell him to have Groom, Gilly, and Sawmoth help him repack Growler, the Gypsy Wagon, and Banshee according to that list once they've repacked for an extended war-time roll-out."
"Yes, Sergeant," Lewis said, getting up.
"Want me to let everyone know you're pulling war-stocks?" PFC Raleigh asked.
"Please?" Stillwater said.
Lewis realized that the Asian woman's smile was a bit warmer than Lewis had seen her smile.
YOU ARE READING
Third Person - Complete
Historical FictionPFC James Roberts just wanted to serve his country, like his father and grandfather. He left his middle class life to join the military with the hope of making his family proud. Graduating top of his class in Basic Training, attending Advanced Indiv...
