End of Winter (Rewrite & Expansions into Book Four)

Authority

We sat for several hours, nursing beers and nibbling on the remnants of the MRE's that my brother had brought us for lunch. We BS'd a lot, talking about our lives before the Army, deliberately avoiding anything that might bring back the raw bleeding memories of our frantic defense of the barracks. Dobbs talked about growing up liking girls, Lancer talked about growing up in the suburbs while being one of those Mr. Perfect people in High School who won athletic letters, aced all the tests, was popular with everyone including the teachers, and how lonely it had been. Parker talked about growing up in a rough neighborhood of Detroit and how he'd joined the military to get away from the factories that his family had sweated their lives away.

I listened, nodded along, and largely kept my mouth shut. It was one of the advantages of having a reputation for silence.

The barracks, of course, inserted its own comments on our discussion with shouts in German, the slamming of boots, and the shrieks of pain and agony that reached us through the cinderblock.

When Dobbs's watched beeped, the alarm notifying us it was seventeen hundred, we all looked at each other. She was sitting on the bed, behind Lancer, rubbing his shoulders, when it went off. I was sitting next to Parker, both of us with a nearly dead beer in our hands.

"They fucked up and didn't bring us breakfast or lunch," I said, standing up and stretching. "Let's go down and make sure we get one fucking hot meal today."

"Sounds good," Lancer said, scooting forward. He got up and almost stepped forward into the t able where our papers and my polyhedral dice were sitting on top of the AD&D books.

"Steady, champ," Dobbs said, jumping up and grabbing his arm.

We put on our tops, Lancer grabbing mine until I swapped it out. He didn't say anything, but the fact he'd made that mistake embarrassed him slightly. The lizard huffed in sympathy and looked away.

Lancer had graduated top of his class in High School, Basic, AIT, Jump School, Air Assault, Expert Infantry Course, PLDC, BNCOC, and then Special Weapons. There had been nothing in his life that he hadn't overcame through dedication, commitment, and innate skill.

Hell, he'd even been scouted by the Rangers twice before he went to Special Weapons.

And now he needed help to get dressed.

Part of me hoped he'd be able to find the spark inside of him that drove him to outperform everyone else and use it to rebuild his life.

If I ever miss a step...

The lizard didn't like thinking about that.

I moved up to the door and stopped, listening carefully.

"Clear?" Lancer asked.

"Sounds clear," I said. I put my hand on the door handle and the lizard charged my system with precursor chemicals. Trace amounts of endorphins, cortisol, glucose, oxygen, dopamine were added to the stew floating around in my bloodstream already,

My right pinkie trembled slightly.

I pulled open the door, the cold air rolling over us. Parker and Dobbs swore at the sudden temperature drop. Off to my left, down toward the double doors that cut the Lobotomy Ward in half, came the blood curdling shriek of a woman being murdered. A low moan twisted out of the hallway, wound around our boots, and slithered into the room.

"I hate this fucking place," Dobbs grumbled as I checked both ways in the hallway.

"Clear," I said, stepping out. "Watch the floor, it's got frost," I added, heading down toward the Near Stairwell.