Kilo-29 (Damned of the 2/19th, Book 15)

Part 8

Site Kilo-29-Entry Areas
United States of America
Winter, 1993
Day Two-Morning

The medical clinic was half the size of a football field, old emergency beds, cabinets that were supposed to hold medical instruments, oxygen bottles, old surgical lights, and everything from a state of the art 1960's emergency room.

Except for the rotting meat on the floors, on the beds, on the tables. Kitchen knives were stuck into the meat, jutting from hacked apart rib cages, and blood was spattered all over the walls, covering every surface, and the floor was covered in brown crust so thick that it had broken and come up in potato chip sized chunks.

Dipshit was still screaming, and without turning around I swung backwards with my off hand, catching him across the side of the face.

"For fuck's sake, shut up." I hissed, looking at the room.

"Sergeant, are those?" Donaldson began.

"You hit me!" Dipshit yelled, and I turned around to face him. He wasn't pointing his weapon at me, so I leaned toward him and ignored Nancy's voice urging me to stab him before he killed me.

"Shut up. Anyone near a ventilation shaft can you hear you squalling." I snarled. "Unless you want to find out who all did that, shut up."

Dipshit jerked back from me and I turned away from him.

...he's going to kill you, Ant, do him first...

Nancy's voice was soft, but perfectly audible in the sudden silence. She went away without any urging.

"Sergeant?" Donaldson started.

"Shh." I waved at him, looking at the meat scattered around. "Come on."

They followed me into the room, and I stopped at the first set of hacked up rib chunks. Behind me Dipshit was retching, either from the stench of rotting blood and meat, or from the sight. I ignored the smell, I'd smelled worse, and poked at the ribs with my knife, ignoring the sickly wet tearing sound as the meat rolled.

Pig, cow, not human. Ribs were wrong.

I waved Donaldson and the Meat-Head with a name over to the door on the right then prowled around the room. I found a couple of spears made of kitchen knives and broom/mop handles, all the drawers pulled out, the cabinets smashed in. A couple of scalpels with broken blades were scattered around, and several boxes of scalpel blades had fallen all the floor, amid the broken glass of syringes, IV bottles, and crushed pieces of metal.

Dipshit was puking when I moved to the left door, which would lead further in, probably to the egg. Under the dried blood smeared on the door I could make out "Civil Defense Interior Personnel Only - All others must decon shower before entering facility" only someone had crossed out facility and written in blue paint "Bunny Hole"

Great, the fucking site had a nickname.

Walking I stared at the entry panel, knowing I was frowning as I walked toward Donaldson and the Dipshitm sheathing my knife as I moved.

Despite my outwardly cool appearance, which they basically pound into you at BNCOC, I was worried. I was missing an Air Force team and two engineer teams, I had 3 (probably) CIA (definitely) assholes with an unspecified job, a Major with no fucking combat patch, and I was beginning to suspect that the psychotic episode they'd warned me about was starting to onset. Oh, and my liver and kidneys ached and had off and on stabbing pains, which made me worried it wasn't a psychotic episode, but more of what happened two months before. Oh, yeah, and I'd been attacked by something, something that may be somethings and might be interested in having another go around. And I didn't know enough about what this Kilo site was all about.

Why the fuck butcher stuff in here? Whoever had done it had to have access to the kitchen to get the kitchen knives. Did they steal them down the mountain and drag them up just to butcher them in here instead of the kitchens?

There was a security lock on the door further into the facility, but it was a standard key punch, not a high security lock like I'd seen on the outside of the medical bay. The heavy blast door didn't have a keypad on the inside of the lock, which immediately raised questions in my head.

I leaned over the vomiting Dipshit and grabbed the heavy bar, pulling it up and locking it into position. I half expected to hear the gears or hydraulic cylinders start to the thump, but the door rose up smoothly.

Red lights kicked on and a speaker exploded in sparks and a howl as the door raised up. I knelt down to get a look, startled by the light coming on out there and the red cherries flashing.

There were a handful of ambulances, old 1950's civilian ambulances, up on jacks with the tires removed and the hoods up. It wasn't a big motor pool, but it was one anyway.

"Don't say anything, follow fast, Donaldson, you slap the bar then eyes left, Kay eyes right." I ordered, then led the way, moving quickly to the massive blast door. Behind me I heard Donaldson slam the bar upright and the two follow me. It wasn't to many ambulances, just 3 rows of 2 on each side.

"If we end up with weapons free, and you recover your magazines, put the expended magazine upside down in your magazine pouch so you don't grab it by accident." I told them in my best Wednesday, no, it was Thursdays now, Training voice.

The lights on each side of the little motor pool exploded in sparks, and I could hear something scraping on the concrete. Two more steps and the next row of lights blew. Five after that and random ones started going out in a cascade of sparks.

I slid to a stop in front of the keypad, pulling the Civil Defense book up and holding down "E" while I hung the book on the hook on the side of the keypad. The display lit up and I held down enter till it flashed the serial number at me. Donaldson was already flipping through the pages and he found the code.

"Ignore the last two letters." I snapped.

"There's something moving back there." Dipshit said.

"Eyes on it." I muttered, punching in the digits as fast as he could read them. I'd have three chances before a lockout, so I was hoping Donaldson was reading them right.

I didn't know how many times it had tried and failed, the last thing I wanted was to hit enter and have the goddamn security charge blow me in half.

When I hit enter the alarms cut on. "Civilian Medical Access Opening! Warning! Civilian Medical Access Opening!" blared over the loudspeakers. I could knew it was echoing in the blast tunnel as I watched the huge 100 plus ton door start to move.

That's when the last of the lights went out.

"As soon as it opens, get through it." I told them. "I don't know how the system is going to react." Donaldson nodded, but Dipshit looked like he wanted to argue but Donaldson glared at him and his flapping hamburger eating device closed with a click.

Two feet before the angle started to appear, and the wedge was nearly five feet wide. I could hear the thumping as it was drawn open, and was bouncing on my toes as it finally cleared enough for me to see out into the blast deflection tunnel. I'd drawn my favorite knife again, and it fit in my hand smoothly, the honed edge glinting.

...wanna watch me shave with it, Ant?...

...God, yes, Heather...

"Kay, go, all the way across and against the wall." I said as soon as the door opened. Like they'd taught us at PLDC, most dispensable is used to trigger the trap.

"Why..." he started, and I just looked at him.

"Yes, Sergeant." He grumbled, but he went. I counted to five.

"Donaldson, come here." The kid leaned forward and I whispered instructions. He looked nervous but nodded and went through.

Something clattered behind me and I heard the thumping of a roof indenting and popping back out. I waited, feeling the hairs on my neck rise and the patch between my shoulderblades start to tighten as I knelt there in the darkness, my back to the motorpool, and something moving in the darkness.

NOW, ANT! Bomber bellowed.

I I lunged forward, took two steps, and dove, arms outstretched, to bellyflop on the hard cement. It drove the wind out of me and I rolled. Kay was screaming, but I could hear the pop-pop-pop of someone pulling the trigger. I rolled to my left and scrambled up as something screeched long and loud.

I scrambled to the door and pressed my thumb hard on the "CLS" button.

Donaldson was on one knee with his rifle to his shoulder and his mouth pulled in that grin/grimace you get, popping shots through the open door roughly ever two heartbeats. Kay was standing against the wall, just staring and screaming. The door, still opening, sudden shivered and I felt and heard the THUMP of the system going into neutral.

"No eyes, Sergeant, no eyes!" Donaldson yelled.

"Keep shooting, soldier!" I yelled back, my ears ringing. While the curvature of the tunnel was great for blast deflection, the goddamn acoustics were punishing.

The door trembled and began to reserve direction.

Dozens of car horns began blaring from the room, and we could see strobing flashing lights as the headlights started cutting on and off.

That's when Donaldson dropped the magazine out of the well.

...it's coming, sweetheart...

I nodded to Heather and shifted the grip. Donaldson thought I was nodding to him and gritted his teeth as he quickly pinched the release on his ammo pouch and started to pull.

Donaldson slapped the magazine in, let the bolt shoot forward, slapped the forward assist, and started banging.

That's when something screamed, loud and long.

Donaldson kept firing, and the door slid shut and we could hear the scream of the system's brakes slowing the door enough that it just thudded home with authority rather than shaking the whole goddamn world.

Kay was still standing there screaming as I stalked across the tunnel and up to him. He'd backed up against the wall, the words "ARMILCOM" above him in letters two feet high, his eyes wild and still shrieking. His fucking rifle was at his feet.

I slapped him.

Before he could do anything else I stepped into him, slapping one hand over his mouth, getting right into his face, and held my knife up, the blade at a slight upward angle so he could see the whole length, the guard, my hand.

And the point an inch from his eye.

"You goddamn little coward." I hissed. "Private Donaldson assured me you weren't a goddamn Lunchmeat Larry, and when the shit hit the fan, all you could do was scream like a little bitch." I ground my dentures together for a moment. I didn't care that my hand was shaking, it wasn't fear, and if Kay was dumb enough to think it was and tried me

I'd kill him.

"You support your team." I grated. "I don't care if you cry, scream, piss yourself, shit yourself, or get a fucking erection, you support your fucking boys." His eyes were even wider, but he'd stopped fucking screaming. "If you don't, you don't have to worry about them.

"I'll kill you myself." I told him, and watched his eyes as it sunk in. "Blink if you understand."

He blinked once, slowly. I lowered the knife and then pulled my hand away.

"Good. We're in the shit, private, and I need you to have my back the same way you need me to have yours." I stepped back slowly. "Pick up your rifle." I turned around and took a step, stopping when I heard him lift it up, the muzzle or the ring for the sling on the butt scraping on the pavement.

"If you're thinking about shooting me, you better kill me." I warned him. "It's not a threat."

"What are they, Sergeant?" Donaldson asked, swapping out his magazine then picking up the one he dropped and putting it upside down in the magazine pouch.

"Pick up the brass." I told him.

"Leave nothing for the enemy." He replied, bending down.

"Private Kay, come here." I said, shaking a pill into my mouth and looking down the tunnel toward the military section. He moved slow, warily, but I ignored it.

...it's just prudence, beloved...

...I know, Heather...

I could smell CLP. Everyone usually used it to clean rifles. Some nights she'd dab a tiny bit behind each ear.

I told myself it was the rifles.

"Private, I don't know what your MOS is, I don't care." I turned to face him, sheathing the knife. "But your MOS doesn't matter right now." I made a vague motion at the facility. "I'm not an snake eater, but I've ran with them repeatedly. That doesn't make me a snake eater, but when we were on mission, I was held to a certain standard."

I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder, ignoring the jerk. "Right now, you need to think of what kind of standard I'm going to set for us to live through this." His eyes were blue, and locked with mine. "I won't lie, Private, even if you reach that standard, you might not live, but if you set a standard, remember your training, and trust me, I'll do my best to get you through this."

He nodded jerkily, swallowing.

"I will not leave you behind if you are alive, or I even think you have a chance of being alive." I promised him. "ChemCorps word of honor."

There was still hate and fear in his eyes, but I could live with that. Most importantly, so could he. I didn't care if he hated me forever, built a shrine to Bhaal and sacrificed goats and prayed that Bhaal murder me, make voodoo dolls of me, if the hate carried him through, he'd live.

"What's your name again?" I asked.

...don't ask that. Who cares what his name is? You shouldn't care, it will just get you killed...

...He's my troop now, Nancy...

"Private First Class Kincaid." He said.

Donaldson came up, his pocked clinking, and I turned to him. "We might need that brass." I told him. He looked confused, but nodded.

"OK, Private Kincaid. We're not in too bad of trouble. We've got adverse weather outside, and someone in here is trying to kill us, but things aren't as bad as it could be." I told him, turning away from the military side and walking toward the blast doors.

"It isn't?" He asked. Good, he wasn't stupid enough to ask how it could get worse. God always showed you about 10 seconds later. That's how PV2 Vencilla took a bullet through the hinge of the jaw from a sniper that probably didn't even exist until he'd asked that question.

"We're armed, I've got equipment and supplies to let us fight, survive, and win, and we're acting instead of reacting." I told him. I looked at him and smiled and he jerked back from me.

"And the winter can't get in."

...you're scaring him, honey, and he doesn't understand...

...yes, dear...

"Private joke." I told him, still thumping forward.

"What are they, Sergeant Ant?" Donaldson asked.

"We're going to go to the main door to check on the blast shock absorber." I answered. "I want to see how badly it's out of position, and maybe see if I can get it to rotate back out."

"It can't be closed all the way, that was an armored Humvee." Kincaid told me.

"You wouldn't believe what these sites are capable of." I warned him.

"Pfft, it's old Cold War junk. It isn't like anything from the Cold War is worth a shit." He sneered, then stumbled as I stopped suddenly and he did too.

"Private, the very thing you are mocking is a goddamn facility is fifty miles by road from the nearest town, built eight thousand feet up into a solid goddamn mountain in an area with less than 5 people per square mile, without any public knowledge of its construction or existence, that so far seems to hold two civilian motor pools, what should have been a decent emergency room, has only God knows how much living area for those civilians, untold thousands of gallons of gasoline, and may be square miles in size." I told him. He opened his mouth and I glared at him until he closed his mouth before he answered.

"I'm from the Cold War." I told him. "The US Army built me to fight and win against the Soviet Union in the event of a full out MAD scenario and taught me to win." He was going pale, but I didn't care. "Stop insulting the Cold War, kid, you don't know what you're talking about."

His eyes flicked to my chest and collar, and I knew he was seeing nothing that he was used to seeing, only U.S. ARMY above my left pocket.

"Sergeant, why did you cut off your combat patch?" Donaldson asked me suddenly.

"What?" I asked, turning to look at him. He started walking and I followed, ignoring Dipshit.

"Why did you cut off your combat patch?" He asked again.

"Your Major kept asking me questions about it every time we stopped, and I got tired of him asking." I told him honestly. "It's none of his business how I got it beyond I earned it in Desert Storm."

"You were in Desert Storm?" Dipshit asked.

"No." I told him. "I fought in Desert Storm. Big fucking difference." I ground my teeth for a second remembering all the fucking Billy Badasses I'd run into after the war who acted like they'd held off the entire fucking Iraqi army by themselves armed with only a sharp stick.

If I had one more motherfucker tell me that they had Saddam Hussein in their fighting sights only to be called off I'd go on a fucking spree.

"Did you kill anyone?" Dipshit asked, and I sighed. Why do they always ask the same fucking question? How come they never asked me if I got any ass? Like that cute little blond medic, or that Air Force girl, or that hot mulatto redhead Marine. Why didn't they ask fun shit?

"I'm a soldier, just like you." I answered.

"You Special Forces, is that why you don't wear any patches?" Dipshit asked. I sighed again.

"No. I'm not a snake eater." I reminded him. "I'm just a deniable asset."

"What's a snake eater?" Dipshit wouldn't stop with the fucking questions that didn't matter.

"In Ranger school and SERE they make you eat a snake." I told him.

"What's a deniable..."

"Sergeant, what's so important about how much wreckage might be blocking the shock absorber?" Donaldson interrupted as we passed the civilian motor pool.

"Because I need to see how badly it is blocked so I can hazard a guess at how the system might be interpreting it." I shrugged. "If the wreckage caught fire, the computers might have decided it was thermal bloom from a nearby strike, if the wreckage held up well enough the system might have guessed it was a Soviet BMP and might be locking down the systems in preparation for an enemy attack."

We came around the curve well enough to see the inside base of the huge shock absorber.

"What if there isn't any wreckage under it?" Donaldson asked in an odd tone.

That was a very good question.

The plug was set properly.