Chapter 61
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 61
Chapter Title: #Trap (5), Camp Roberts
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#Trap (5), Camp Roberts
Sergeant Pierce had pried open the ammo depot door using wartime flexibility and some unofficial means. The cooperation of one supply sergeant had been key.
But suspicion was unavoidable. Charlie Company was hauling out so much weaponry and ammo that the guards couldn't help but look curious.
Senior sentry Staff Sergeant Cohen asked Sergeant Pierce.
"Good lord... grenades are one thing, but LAW rockets, Claymores, and even 777s... What kind of training requires this much firepower?"
"It's also an emergency ammo distribution drill. Mind your own business, Cohen."
"Ah, yes, sir!"
They couldn't hide their curiosity, but Cohen and the other guy shut their mouths anyway.
Then they sidled up to Winter. The other one besides Cohen was a familiar face too. People who would have died in Paso Robles if not for him. After hesitating, Cohen grinned slyly and called out to Winter.
"Lieutenant Banana."
"What's up, Chocolate Ball Sergeant."
The sergeant's grin deepened. The dim light made his white teeth stand out even more.
"Can't you let me in on what's going on?"
"I told you. It's training."
"Aw, come on. I'm not blind. We're buddies, right?"
He hadn't changed much since last time. People don't change that easily. Sergeant Pierce gave a chin flick from his blind spot, leaving it to Winter's discretion.
For now, he needed to foster a friendlier vibe. Winter played along with a light joke.
"No idea. What kind of buddies are we?"
"Hey now! Don't say that, Lieutenant. You can't treat a comrade who shared life and death on the battlefield like this. Come on, give me a little hint—just for me."
Winter got more serious with the unflappable Black sergeant.
"If I tell you, will you help?"
"Huh? You need my help?"
"Yeah. I'm trusting you with this, so if you bail, I'll resent you forever."
They caught the edge in his words; their faces stiffened a bit. After a pause, Sergeant Cohen nodded.
"So, you don't know what yet, but you need Matthew Cohen on Lieutenant Moose's side, right? Ha! Just give the orders. I'll give you anything except my balls and my asshole."
It was more like talking to a friend than a superior. Partly due to Winter's special status, but mostly a desire to close the personal distance. Winter looked at the other one.
"Private First Class. What about you? No matter what, will you trust me once?"
This reaction was different. He snapped to attention.
"As many times as needed, sir."
Same sight, different takes. Grateful for his life, the PFC seemed overly influenced by Winter's exploits. He'd been side-eyeing Cohen's attitude too. It starkly showed the vibe in Able Company that Amy had mentioned.
There was probably some halo effect from their company commander too.
Winter extended his hand.
"Thanks, Ackridge."
Just a handshake, but the soldier lit up.
He'd planned to pull people from Able if circumstances allowed. These two soldiers, who easily bought into Winter's concerns, accepted their roles positively. Cohen nodded as he spoke.
"Damn. Higher-ups are always so laid-back. Survival Instinct tells us not to underestimate those 'Trickster' bastards from the training materials alone. Anyway, don't worry. I'll bring only the reliable ones. If it's a request from you, Lieutenant, that Ashford guy will jump right up."
Ashford, the sergeant. Winter remembered first meeting him at the Paso Robles clinic. The guy wasting morphine with a broken arm.
"Has he recovered? Haven't seen him since."
"He came back a few days ago. Tough as nails, so he's fine. Still got the cast, but he gets it all done! Even scores with girls!"
Ackridge's expression suggested it wasn't exaggeration. Good enough, Winter thought. A friendly NCO was just what they needed.
"As soon as guard duty ends, gather them quick... Uh, parade ground?"
"Yeah. Vehicles are there."
"Got it. Sit tight—we'll show you California boys' brotherhood."
"Be careful. It's mutiny at heart. No commander likes troops moving without report. If nothing happens, we'll repack the ammo and play dumb. Make it like it never was."
"You're nagging like my grandma. Does being an officer make you paranoid?"
Time for another smile. Satisfied, Cohen boasted he'd handle it and bumped fists with Winter, who reciprocated.
Vehicles were parked by company on the parade ground. How long had they waited after loading ammo? Able Company joined. More than expected—nearly a platoon.
No officers, mostly enlisted. Senior man, Sergeant Ashford, saluted Captain Capston.
"Heard you need us."
"Thanks for coming—must've been tough. More bodies make me breathe easier."
"No one wants to die in their sleep. Especially Christmas morning."
The sergeant scanned combat-ready Charlie Company, nodded to Winter, and continued.
"Still, hope nothing happens. Worried the CO'll chew me out for ditching."
"Can't be helped. If contact happens, cover your company areas till they're combat-ready. Sneak attacks worry me most. Guide so the whole force doesn't panic."
"Spot on. They'll freak without us on alert."
Confirming his task, the sergeant approached Winter.
"First real talk since Paso Robles?"
"No choice. You were out long."
"Got the Purple Heart. No battlefield promo thanks to you, though."
Purple Heart for wounds in action. Promo was for the fallen. He joked but thanked sincerely.
"Thanks for snatching that morphine. I was hurting bad, given up... Thought about OD'ing right there. Already dosed, wasn't thinking straight."
Like in Iraq or Afghanistan, GIs abused opioids in hellholes. Vets became addicts, couldn't adjust, turned criminal, got shot by cops. A U.S. social ill.
Winter deserved the thanks for intervening. He just said:
"Glad to see you again."
"Me too, really."
He turned but stopped, adding to Winter.
"Lieutenant. Watched a lot of you on TV, bored in bed..."
Winter listened; he was worried.
"Don't overdo it from now on."
"What do you mean?"
"DEVGRU guys. Way better soldiers than me, but HQ dumps everything on them 'cause they're good. Even the sharpest blade dulls if overused. Heard they're burned out. Worried you'll end up like that."
Winter just smiled; the sergeant wrapped up.
"Not that it has to be, but hope this is needless worry."
"Me too."
Conversation ended. Sergeant found positions with his Able troops.
Then it was just waiting.
Winter was the firefighter. Put out the hottest fires first. Unlike others with fixed duties and zones, he judged and supported where needed.
Toughest role, arguably. But Captain Capston saw him as their ace, so he got it.
"Hope it stays quiet."
Private First Class Latchman, same vehicle, muttered. Winter nodded.
"Agreed."
Winter wasn't certain. Signs aplenty, gut strong. But experience said new specials like after interglacial periods. Length varied, but ending so soon was odd.
Survival Instinct wasn't infallible. It warned of fictional death if info built plausibility.
'Still, better overprepared than short.'
Overkill beats shortage. Worst cases come from lack of prep.
Vehicle mates pried into Winter's past. How'd this guy become such a monster?
AI suggested keywords, phrases, but Winter defused with a smile instead.
Talk died. Few common grounds anyway. As they bantered emptily, Winter draped an arm on the open window, gazing at the night sky.
Pristine clarity never got old.
Staring made self fade first, then time, distance; stars and sky last. This feeling.
Anyone who's seen a clean night sky once would get it.
Few in his old city's smog.
Stars there felt like thick tears.
Folks wished on stars since ancient times. Maybe stars seemed teary because of the wishers' hearts?
Other world's audience hushed too. Like earlier. Night vision capturing stars stripped their messages of deprived lives, unfulfilled desires.
Mind sank deeper.
'Wish I could watch till dawn like this.'
Thud. Sudden noise startled everyone. Winter turned; drowsy driver had headbutted the wheel. Troops grumbled with light curses; driver flushed, protested. Their swears were pure camaraderie.
Winter said:
"Good the horn didn't honk."
"Tell me about it."
Gunner Latchman chimed in; driver shot Winter a wronged look.
Then more waiting. No telling how long. Troops drew lots with rock-paper-scissors to nap in shifts. They called Winter.
"Lieutenant, join in."
He quietly declined.
"Stars are bright."
"So romantic."
Rear seat guy scratched under helmet. Then Latchman cautiously:
"Planned one at a time, but if you won't sleep, can we do two?"
"Go ahead. I'll stay up alone."
"Nah, can't do that."
Soon, snores mixed with Winter's starlight.
Five rotations of 30-min naps. Deep predawn dark, a sound cut through snores clearly.
Shrieeeek-
Winter snapped alert.
"Hear that?"
Awake driver blinked confused.
"What sound?"
Troops held breath, eyeing Winter. No boost for them, so unheard was fine.
Then again.
Shriek! Shrieeeeeek-!
"Up! Up! Up!"
Winter yelled; all bolted awake. Flanking vehicles jolted too. Roof-prone Latchman slid off. Clatter. Kick hit driver, who cursed. Then:
"Which way?!"
"That way! Birdcage direction!"
"Huh? That's inside base! No way!"
Driver freaked. Winter puzzled too. Other variants besides Trickster—inside camp?
Pre-started engines revved fast. Variant cries rose too. Babies first, now normals mixed in.
Soon muffled shots, screams. Guards' death cries, no doubt.
"Hit the horn!"
Winter's shout. Driver realized, blared wildly. Others joined, alerting whole camp.
Company channel flooded. No sight needed; panting troops securing perimeters loomed in mind. Caught Capston reporting emergency to TOC.
Mid-drive, Winter spotted prowling variants in range, popped six heads in five seconds. Waving arms, charging screams marked them. Pale skin, no rot—fresh infections.
'Baby snuck in, infected new ones?'
Thought hit as squelching blast echoed from ahead. Then.
Spputter-
Hummer died abruptly.
"What? Why now?"
Driver smashed wheel, restarted. Just sputtered, no power.
Not just that. Thunk, thunk—nearby lights all died.
Radios too. Screeched, then silent. All chatter vanished like a lie. Tracker screens blacked out; no artificial light left.
'NVGs... still good.'
Noisy but usable. As Winter checked gear, driver finally restarted.
Birdcage arrived, door ajar. Trickster crawled out, traces everywhere—torso burst from inside, dead.
Latchman hosed roaming variants with the M2.
Gunfire overlapped distantly. Dark beyond: dozens of muzzle flashes at camp edge. Brighter lightning—mines detonating, clearly. Outside camp.
Attack begun.
============================ Author's Notes ============================
1. My pace isn't slow... At this rate, it's a volume a month. Even in rental shop days, that was rare.
Overseas, authors posting once or twice a month aren't uncommon.
So, those posting three or four a day... Truly gifted.
2. Variants taking the satellite base? No such super plot. Lol...
3. Thought maybe one right answerer... Why so easy to guess? Who are you all?
Too many winners—hard to pick gifts... John_Doe most accurate... Fastest was Andontknowguy...
Whatever... Readers are the bad ones...