I slept till around noon, and woke up to someone stamping their feet. Bleary-eyed, I got up and walked out the day room doors and into the CQ area. Carter was taking off his parka, and there were two other people there.
A Captain and a Sergeant First Class.
“Jesus Christ, we got fucking dicked,” the SFC bitched. When he took off the parka, I read the name “Vickers” on his chest. He had jump wings, air assault wings, and a pathfinder badge.
“Who are you?” the Captain asked me.
“Private Monkey, sir,” I told him.
“Jesus, Vickers, he’s just out of boot,” the Captain grinned. When he pulled off his parka I saw his name Bishop. “Well, Private Monkey, go get everyone. We had the mess hall load us up with a couple of mermites so you guys can have hot chow tonight and for breakfast.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. I went to the desk, and wrote down what rooms had people in them.
Eighteen, out of over eighty rooms. Jesus. I gathered everyone up, and there were questions about the new CO or XO, and the new NCO.
We gathered for dinner and ate chatting about what a shit hole we were stuck in. The far end of the hallway suddenly went dark and the Captain looked at us.
“It’s eighteen hundred hours,” Cobb said. The Captain raised one eyebrow, but let it lie. About ten minutes later the lights flickered back on.
“Every night, sir,” Cobb said. A shriek flowed down the stairwell, and Captain Bishop and SFC Vickers exchanged a glance.
“Let me guess, just the wind?” Captain Bishop asked. Cobb nodded, and the CPT and the SFC exchanged glances.
“The Army actually expects you to stay here?” Captain Bishop said. “This is out-fucking-rageous! In twelve years in the military I’ve never seen any shit like that.”
The boots crashed upstairs. Wind my ass, there were dead Nazis up there, I knew it. SFC VIckers looked up.
“How bad does it get, soldiers?” SFC Vickers asked as another scream ripped down the hallway. I noticed Cobb was scootched up into the corner, he was eating without looking at his plate. I’d seen that in juvie a lot.
“Pretty bad, Sergeant. We’ve pretty much abandoned our rooms, and at night, we all stay down here,” Stokes told him. “You haven’t heard the worst of it. Last week was really bad.”
“How bad, soldier?” Captain Bishop asked. He sounded genuine, not faking.
“Voices, sir. We could hear voices.” Stokes was staring at her plate.
“What kind of voices?” Captain Bishop asked softly. Upstairs, the stomping sounded again.
“German voices, sir. And laughing,” Stokes said. I looked around, and saw everyone else nodding.
“We all stay in here; tomorrow, we’ll search this fucking building,” Vickers said. A sobbing scream echoed out of the vents.
“Try to get some sleep, troops. God, this is just fucked up,” Captain Bishop said. He saw that Carter and Mann had the .45s again, and raised an eyebrow.
“Here, sir,” Mann said, handing Captain Bishop the pistol.
“Shouldn’t these be in the arms room?” Bishop asked.
“We don’t have the keys. Cobb found these in one of the offices upstairs,” Mann answered, and Cobb nodded. A slow, mournful wail floated down the vents and the hallway, heralding a cold breeze that turned the room freezing. Our breaths plumed out.
The lights shut out, about eleven, and I woke to Sergeant Vickers and Captain Bishop swearing. I tossed in my chair and went back to sleep.
We had command, finally. Things would be okay.
(OK, I’m heading out. I’ll probably add to this. The most fucked up week of my life)EDIT
You know the best part of all of this?
Not one of you is gonna believe me. Not about what’s already written, not about the rest. Hell, when I was stationed at other posts, nobody fucking believed the shit we saw during the months leading up to getting the unit operational.
The fucked up shit, all the shit we saw, and what the Army did about it—nobody’s going to believe.
Tomorrow, I’ll post what happened the next day, what we found out about the building, and what happened to Cobb.