Three Little Snowmen (Damned of the 2/19th)

by Timothy Willard

  Western Germany, Europe

  05 November, 1984

  The Sites had called in already. John and I had written it all down, logging the date and the order that the Sites had called in. We couldn't stray too far from the phones. You had to be able to grab them between the second and third ring. One ring might be the phone lines malfunctioning, something that happened all the time on Alfenwehr. Two meant it was a real call. Three rings meant you were off somewhere screwing around. Normally it would be four of us on CQ, a Charge of Quarters, the Assistance Charge of Quarters, the Duty Driver (responsible for taking someone somewhere if they needed to, or picking them up. Usually sent out to pick up drunks from the NCO Club or a nearby bar), and the Assistant Duty Driver, who took over his duties if he had to go somewhere. Specialist Hernandez was Duty Driver, with Lewis as the ADD. I'd sent them both up to get some sleep, in case they had to drive somewhere major.

  I'd had a hinky feeling lately.

  John was leaning back in the chair, reading his battered copy of I, the Jury again. He'd grabbed it out of a box during AIT (Advanced Individual Training) and had kept it, or a replacement copy, in his back pocket at all times.

  "John," I said. He closed the book and looked at me.

  "Yeah, Ant?"

  "I signed off on your leave form today, John," I told him.

  That made him raise his eyebrows. "I didn't," he started to tell me.

  "Henley sent it up. You're at seventy-five days, I signed off for forty-five days leave, you can cash in the last thirty days," I told him. I grinned at him. "That'll give you a month's pay so you don't end up sleeping in a cardboard box."

  That made him laugh.

  John was a Bomber, of the Texas Bombers, who owned one of the largest cattle ranches in America. The only way he could inherit was to do a tour in the military. We'd met in Reception at Fort Leanordwood, went through training together. He'd gone to Airborne training to learn how to jump out of a perfectly good airplane, I'd been sent to Alfenwehr. Then, surprisingly, he'd ended up stationed at 2/19th with me after the barracks burnt down. Now, after a year, he'd be going back home, to the life of a wealthy cattle family.

  "That means, you'll be leaving here on the first of December. You'll outprocess at Fort Hood, and be able to drive home on the weekends till you're out," I smiled.

  He gave me a curious look. "You don't seem bothered anymore."

  I reached out and slugged his shoulder. "Don't be a faggot," we both laughed. "Naw, I ain't mad no more. You did your time, go on home, Texas. Time to go back to being some rich fuck in a ten-gallon hat driving a Cadillac with a set of bull horns on the grill."

  "Yeah," He smiled back. "I gotta go back, man. I miss the ranch, I miss Texas," he sighed. "I miss someone special, I miss her if I'm going to be perfectly honest."

  I nodded. He'd told me he had a girlfriend, someone special. He'd never gone into much detail about it though. Every time I brought it up when we were drinking he'd told me to drop it in that tone that a man uses when he wants another man to back right the fuck off.

  When I backed off, it had less to do with the fact he was six foot two of Texas iron and more the fact that he was my best friend.

  But it seemed he wanted to talk about her.

  "I thought, you know, being here, it would make it easier to stay away from her, keep my distance from her," he said after a moment of silence. "I figured other women would help erase her, make her so I don't want her so badly."

  "It didn't," I guessed.

  He shook his head. "If anything, it made it worse. I miss her more."

  I nodded.

  "You get it, right?" He asked me. He was almost pleading. "You were like with, what's her name, Tera, before your divorce."

  Again, I nodded.

  "You used to write her every day, mail off the letter at the end of the week," He reminded me. I just nodded. "I can't even write her, man. Her parents and my parents would shit themselves if I so much as drove by her house."

  "Blood feud," I grunted. "Yeah, I get that."

  "Figured you'd understand," he sighed. "You're country, same as I am."

  That made me snort. My family was massive, thousands of us if you counted second and third cousins, spread over several states. We were an old family too, with all the old blood feuds that entails.

  "It's a big ol' mess," John sighed. "I need to get back, need to handle it, need to put it to rest one way or another finally."

  "I gotcha," I told him, putting my hand on his shoulder. "Man's gotta handle his business."

  John looked grateful at that. "Glad we're not parting on bad terms," He said.

  I lit two cigarettes, passing him one before standing up and walking around the other side of the CQ dek.

  "No, I get it. You shoulda told me before, John," I told him, staring out the airlock at the streetlights at the end of the walk. "A woman's more important than this frozen shit hole or any of the Cold War Bullshit we deal with."

  "I don't know, man, I just feel, you know, like I'm abandoning you," he told me.

  "Over a woman," I said, looking at the darkness. "That I get."

  We were silent for a long minute, John staring at the phones, me staring at the glass of the airlock. It was snowing outside, the light swirling flakes that would be swept down onto Main Post by the wind instead of actually sticking around up this far.

  "I'm afraid I'm going to die here," John said softly. I looked at him and saw he was still staring at the phones. "Not Atlas. But here. On this mountain. I don't know, man, it just feels like... like..."

  I nodded. "Fate's been laughing at you your whole life," I said slowly.

  "Yeah, like that. Like it was all a joke to this point, and now that I'm stuck here, Fate's just laughing that I'm right where it wants me," he said.

  "They," I said softly.

  "That's right, you believe in other things," he chuckled.

  "The Gods are no friends of ours. We're just here for them to laugh at," I said. I could see John in the reflection in the glass as he came around the CQ counter. I watched him walk up behind me, stopping next to me and staring out the glass of the airlock.

  "I hate being up on the mountain. I don't mind Atlas. Hell, Atlas can be a good time, I like it at Atlas, but up here? This place sucks and I keep expecting that golden BB every morning," He said, referring to an old soldier's legend. Nobody ever agreed what the golden BB looked like, but everyone agreed you saw it in the mirror in the morning the day you died.

  Which is why I usually avoided looking in mirrors.

  "I ain't seen it yet, Ant," John continued. "But every day, man, especially after what happened to Westlin, I feel like my days are numbered."

  I nodded. "Yeah."

  We stood there silently for a long moment. John had brought a can from behind the desk with him and we dropped out cigarettes in there when we were done, then wandered back to the CQ desk. John put his feet up on the desk while I just stretched my legs out.

  "Wish I was like you," John said.

  I shrugged. "What do you mean?"

  John lit two cigarettes, handing me one. "You aren't afraid, are you?"

  "One way or another, it'll work out. I don't really think about it too much," I lied.

  John snorted. "Yeah, you not thinking about something. Pull the other finger, maybe I'll fart."

  I gave him my best 'good ol' boy' grin. "Aw, come on, we both know I'm a high school dropout."

  He snorted again. "Peddle that shit somewhere else, man. You don't graduate top of Special Weapons and then come 'round here talking all that poor ignorant farm boy shit," he laughed at the last part. "Play dumb for the brass and the senior NCO's, fine, but dont'cha try none of that there ignorant hick horse shit on me. I'm from Texas, baby."

  That got me to chuckle.

  "You know, Henley's onto the fact that you aren't as stupid as you let everyone else think," he said after a long moment.

  "Yeah. I figured as much. Fat fuck doesn't miss a
step, does he?" I chuckled.

  "No, he don't," John answered. "He might be a fat fuck, but he sees everything."

  I glanced up at the clock. Ten minutes before the sites would start calling in. Three more hours until we got relieved.

  We sat in silence till the sites called in, logging in every call. They all called within the fifteen-minute window. There was a weird sort of security. If they tried to give a password, it was 'call the Rangers' time. Otherwise, it was just "Alles ist OK" and they hung up. Any chatting, any anything aside from that, and it was time to call V Corps and III CosCom.

  "I hate this part of CQ," Bomber grumbled, lighting us a pair of cigarettes. "This part always seems to last forever."

  I nodded at that.

  "After breakfast, wanna go a few rounds?" He asked me.

  I shook my head. "Not really feeling up to sparring, John."

  He gave me a look, then sighed and shook his head, blowing smoke out at his boots. "One of these days, Ant, I'm gonna get you to come at me full throttle when we spar."

  "I do," I told him.

  He snorted. "Bullshit."

  "I don't like fighting," I half-lied.

  John snorted again, cigarette smoke blowing from nostrils like one of his family's bulls. "Sooner or later, Ant, you're gonna have to give it your all," When I opened my mouth he held up his hand. "Not some fight in the bar, or in the alley behind the bar, like we've been getting. Not a couple of skinheads jumping you. And I don't mean combat none neither. I mean, sooner or later, brother, someone's gonna take everything you've got just to survive."

  "Till that day," I said, giving him a mock salute with the last of my orange Crush.

  John leaned forward, putting his hand on my knee. He looked pointedly at the knife on my boot then back up to my face. "I hope, for your sake, Ant, that whoever it is doesn't kill you before you realize you're going to have to put them down first."

  I shrugged. "Barracks brawling ain't gonna have that happen."

  He shook his head. "I'm telling you man, I got a bad feeling. You're holding back, have been the whole time I've known you," He looked around pointedly. "Just you and me here, brother. What are you afraid of?"

  I looked down, then back up at him. "It's all about self-control," I said softly.

  He nodded at that. "Yeah, you've said that the whole time I've known you. Why do you hold back?"

  I shook my head. "Like I said I don't like fighting. Don't like hurting people. Combat's one thing, man."

  I could see it in his eyes. That he knew I was lying. He was thinking about how I killed that sniper. Sat on him, looked him in the eye, pinning his arms under my legs, and just nicked his carotid artery. How I'd held his hands, leaning down, staring into his eyes while he tried to pull his hands free so he could stop the bleeding.

  It had taken him nearly four minutes to bleed out. I'd stared in his eyes the entire time.

  I could see it in John's eyes. He'd been there the night that skinhead followed me into the bathroom and stabbed me in the ass. Had seen me break the guy's arm over my knee then twist it to completely destroy it.

  And I could see in his eyes that simple fact that he not only know I was lying, but that he knew that I knew. The old 'he knew I knew he knew I was lying' joke.

  I looked away first, standing up and walking back toward the soda machines.

  "Sooner or later, Ant, like it or not, someone is going to push it all the way, you know that, right, brother?" John said.

  "Till that day," I said softly.

  He heard me.

  "Till that day," he answered.

  Booze, Dark, & Secrets

  Ninety-five percent of the time

  You are in the military is boring

  Four percent is interesting

  You spend the rest of your life

  Trying to forget 1%

  2/19th Company Area

  Restricted Area, Fulda Gap

  Western Germany, Europe

  06 November, 1984

  "This sucks," Hernandez said, setting down his drink. "You know, back in The World, everyone's doing blow, screwing babes in spandex, and partying their asses off while we try to make it another day without Ivan putting a fucking bullet in our heads."

  Carter nodded and burped, wiping his mouth before taking another drink. "Fucking civilian scumbags. Playing fucking Pac-Man all goddamn day, watching TV, and getting to sleep in a real bed, eat real food, not the bullshit they push on us."

  I just grunted.

  "Hey now, it ain't all that bad," Bomber said, cracking open another beer. "It ain't like the Gap is The 'Nam or some shit. We ain't in Beirut, or fucking around on the DMZ."

  "Last time I was on the DMZ, some fucking Nork sniper put a bullet in my leg," Carter grumbled, rubbing his thigh.

  I'd seen the scar. Nasty one. Seven point six-two millimeter standard Soviet round.

  "Whacha think, Ant?" Hernandez asked me, leaning back in his chair.

  His room was warm, the stereo playing something by Abba. Dez loved him some disco.

  "About?" I asked, getting up to refill my drink.

  "Don't bother none, Ant, he don't like answering questions," Bomber slurred.

  "No shit, Texas," Carter said. "Ant's about the only one I've ever met that the drunker he gets, the more silent he gets," He burped again, then took a swig off his beer. "Kinda fucking nice."

  I just shrugged, uncorking the Wild Turkey and pouring myself another shot of 110 proof whiskey. Followed it up with a half a can of Coke, then sat back down. Carter passed me a cigarette and I stared at the other three men.

  "You're from the West Coast, right, Ant?" Hernandez asked me. He picked up the bottle from next to his chair and poured more Jack Daniels into his glass, then leaned back far enough to grab the half-full Coke off the desk.

  I just nodded.

  "He says 'yes'," Carter snickered.

  "Dude, we're going to be all here all fucking winter, give us something, man," Hernandez said, tossing the can at the basket. It bounced off the wall, missed the basket, and rolled next to my foot. I reached down and picked it up as he kept speaking. "We're gonna be snowed in soon. I'd kinda like to get to know you before the murdering starts when we all go stir-crazy."

  I grunted, setting the Bavarian crystal liter beer glass down with exaggerated care. "Fine. What?"

  Carter laughed. "Come on, you heard the Lieutenant. We're all supposed to get to know each other so we don't start killing each other after we've spent about a month just staring at each other."

  I just grunted and lit myself a cigarette.

  "What's with all the stuffed rabbits on your bed, Ant?" Hernandez asked. "Little weird for a grown man, dude."

  "I like bunnies," I said, shrugging. "So what?"

  Hernandez just shrugged. "Just thought it was a little odd, dude. Buncha stuffed rabbits on your bed. Kinda gay, dude."

  I just shrugged.

  "Shit, often as he's banging Nagle shut, he ain't gay," Carter laughed. "So what's with the rabbits?"

  John shook his head, sitting down. "Just leave it, dude."

  I pointed at the poster of Abba next to the Escape from New York poster. "What's with the disco, Dez?"

  "It's Hernandez. Jesus, what's with half you white boys calling me Dez or Dezzie?" He said. "Half the time you guys call me Dez, I start wondering if you guys think I'm gonna marry a redhead and start a cabana club."

  John snickered at that.

  "Ant don't like to waste words. Acts like the Army's gonna charge him by the syllable," Carter laughed. "Hell, during anti-interrogation was probably the most he's talked since he got here."

  "Disco," I reminded him.

  Hernandez shook his head. "More fun than metal, man. More happy, more fun to dance to," He laughed. "Besides, metal ain't reached Germany yet, all the clubs play disco. The girls at the club, they like to dance. So either like disco, or don't dance with the women."

  I nodded.

  We were silent for a few
moments, listening the snow whisper against the window and Abba singing just loud enough to hear. We all went through our drink and one or two cigarettes, then either got another beer or poured ourselves another drink.

  We were mostly quiet, listening the music and the sound of the snow.

  Hernandez asked about the sniper incident, John filled them in, skipping over the details of what happened when I got my hands on him. They both agreed that he'd had it coming and were both glad we'd put paid on Westlin's account.

  "Yer a good egg, Stillwater," Hernandez said, breaking the silence that had fallen while we got ourselves new drinks. I cocked my head slightly, looking at him. He just shrugged, running one hand through his close cropped black hair. "Dude, put paid to that Ivan's ass."

  I just nodded.

  "Went across to their little base, let 'em know they tried that shit again, we'd come across the 1K Zone and put paid to them same way we did their sniper," John said. "Let 'em know there were rules now. Next time blood got shed, we'd kill the whole passel of them."

  Both the other men nodded.

  "Can't let 'em get away with shit like that. They'll start thinking they can just roll on s whenever they're fucking bored," Carter said. "Shit like that could start Armageddon."

  We all nodded at that.

  "Wish they'd just fucking jump," Hernandez said, lighting himself another cigarette. "This goddamn waiting is killing me. Ain't like it was when I was a civvy, man. Back then, I could do like the rest of the scumbags, just ignore it. Now, though, whew," He shook his head. "Every little fucking twiddle makes me wonder if today's the day."

  "Start looking forward to it," Carter nodded.

  Nodding, I just grunted.

  "We all know how this shit's gonna end," John moved over to the window, peeking out the curtain. "Snow's sticking," was all he said.

  "Shit, that's it," Carter said.

  "Indy's Instant Cliff will be out by morning," Hernandez said, referring to where the road came out from between a cliff and a rock outcropping to a sharp, angled badly curve where to one side you had five hundred feet of granite straight up and on the other side about two thousand feet straight down. "Once that goes out, ain't nobody gonna be up here till an avalanche clears it."