Room in Hell chapter 13.

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Five am. 0500 in military speak. Also known in military speak as revielle. We had five minutes from the obnoxious sound of the horn to get dressed and outside on the parade ground.

Of course it took two minutes at a dead run just to make it out of the tower.

I had a bit of a secret weapon. Well two of them really. I was always an early riser, and Grex. A simple order to Grex last night, and he was popping into existence in the bunk beside me with a whispered:

"Time to wake up, my mistress."

Right at 4:45, in plenty of time for me to get dressed quietly and without hurry. So when the horn went off and everyone else was scrambling, I was already halfway down the hall. Grex was once again in his home dimension; it wouldn't do to anger the officers - yet.

I stood at our squads spot on the grounds, and the line formed next to me; straight, disciplined, and right on time. In desert fatigues with full packs... and of course our robes. I was in my best attention stance because of one thing.

The grizzled looking major that was staring directly at me, and that had beaten me here. His head swiveled back and forth and he puffed smoke from a noxious cigar like a chimney. He waited until the squad had fallen in line before he spoke, deceptively soft.

"So how did our squad princess beat a bunch of my week hard trained scrubs?"

Then the yelling started.

"HOW DID OUR PAMPERED PRINCESS HERE BEAT ALL OF YOU OUT HERE?!? AM I RAISING A DAY CARE?!? DID I INTERRUPT NAPPY TIME?!?"

It rapidly went downhill from there.

"PRINCESS COME HERE! THE REST OF YOU DROP AND GIVE ME 50!"

I was at his side before Clay had finished dropping; dad didn't raise a fool. An idle thought... Clay was very fast at dropping to the ground for push ups. Pretty surprising for a large man.

"So...Snow is it?"

I sighed but nodded. He was back to being quiet, something I wanted to encourage.

"How did you beat them out here? I know it wasn't by any alarm clock; I routinely confiscate them all."

Wow, that's pretty sadistic. Hmm, better be very careful here.

"Sir, my summon sir! I left an order with him to wake me before revielle sir!"

He gave me a gimlet stare.

"WELL OUTFUCKINGSTANDING! That's cheating leutinant, I approve! If you have the advantage, use it! One problem there though... you are not to summon your demon here unless your life is in danger or you are ordered by a superior. Was that the case last night?"

"Sir, yes sir, I was ordered by my superior officer to summon my demon last night sir!"

"And will your superior confirm this?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Where is your blade leutinant?"

Oh, crap, my summoning blade, Karen never gave it to me! I completely forgot, and I bet she did too.

"Sir, I summon without it sir."

"Really? Well if we don't just have a God damned prodigy on our hands! Well, there is only one thing left to do then."

He got louder again.

"TIME FOR THAT MORNING RUN SCRUBS! I WANT YOU ALL RUNNING TILL I GET TIRED! NOW NOW NOW, MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT!"

I moved it, falling in right behind everyone else.

Miles and hours later, the sun had rose and hell had truly begun. I was still going; oddly enough everyone else was doing all right too. Well mostly. I guess having an extra 5 days with a major who had the soul of a drill sargeant running you into the ground paid off.

Perhaps he thought the ADTF didn't have one? That they were soft?

But then again, maybe it was due to the desert; running around in this dry heat without the robes' wards active, with what felt like a hundred pounds on your back would tire anyone... I think. I wasn't the first to start fading, but I was among them. And that of course was what the good major was waiting for.

"COME ON PRINCESS, MOVE IT! DID YOU BREAK A NAIL? IS THAT WHY YOU'RE SO SLOW?!?"

After the first tirade I tuned him out and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The major, whose name I had not gotten but whom I began to think of as major pain, ordered a stop at 15 miles.

"Weaklings, every year seems worst than the last. Well, drink up, rest up, cause it's a long hike back. If you get bitten by a snake don't expect to be carried! You better be able to crawl your ass back to base in time with the rest of us!"

The meaning was clear; check for snakes.

It wasn't 15 minutes later till we were moving again; this time a march at a walk, back to the base. Back through the oppressive heat, without a single snake. I was not alone in dropping once we made it back to the grounds, just before dusk. The major wasn't amused, but let us rest - at least for five minutes.

"Alright, now up my lovely weaklings! Time for hand to hand drills!"

He couldn't be serious.

"THAT MEANS YOU PRINCESS! UP UP UP! FALL IN, YOU'RE FIRST!"

Damn, he WAS serious. I raised myself to my feet carefully, shucking the pack that seemed to weigh more than I did helped. I shuffled into the dimly painted circle I hadn't realized was there before. the major was inside it, and no one else had been called. He smirked. So it was to be him, of course. I took my stance, the one showed me by my father.

Not five seconds later I was eating dirt. I did at least get one good shot in, I was certain. A stiff knuckle blow in between the third and fourth ribs on the left side. I wanted his solar plexus, but had to take what I could get. I stared up at the major, whose face betrayed a small measure of interest.

"So, a little training huh? Take Karate as a child? Get a few months of lessons before you got bored?"

"No sir. I learned from my father. Special forces."

The rise to my feet was a painful one; he had kicked out my left leg just before he nailed me in the jaw. I took stance again, resolving to pay more attention. Not five seconds later I was once again tasting dirt, as well as blood. I'd gotten a good flying knee in at least, looking up I could see his split lip bleeding.

"Krav maga huh? Not bad, but only really good if the opponent doesn't know what's coming. Out of the circle. Clay, GET IN HERE!"

The secret message was of course this: you had to be able to march all day and fight at the end of it, and I, your instructor, can. So respect me, and respect the people who wear the uniform. A message I recieved loud and clear. I hope I could make him understand that I understood, otherwise he might do all this again. Heck I don't even think he needed to in the
first place, I'm not the type to offer false courtesy.

Maybe he didn't know that? Or maybe he didn't care. Or maybe the message wasn't really meant for me. Ugh, I could drive myself crazy thinking about this.

Apparently hand to hand was everyone getting a shot at the major. After he dominated us all (some, like me, two or three times) we all had to fall in and he dismissed us. Clay immediately broke ranks my way.

"Sorry sir, don't know what I did...."

Save it Snow, it's Clay. And that's what I walked over here for; it's not your fault at all, the Major is just an asshole. He has to be, he only has us for three months. He just worked us a bit harder today cause he has you for less, and wanted to take your measure."

"Well he has done that."

"You didn't disappoint; you kept up."

"I wouldn't have if not for my exhaustive ADTF training... as well as all the running I did before the ritual. But just a week and I'm not really suitable for the desert anymore. Just two hours away the heat is far less oppressive."

"I know, I'm jealous. So how is working with the cops?"

"It's different. Did you know there is a definate demon presence in the continent? It's not just demons being summoned by disgruntled jerks. Somehow they are crossing the oceans."

His thoughtful expression made him look mildly constipated.

"Hmm, that is not common knowledge."

"Not exactly a secret either, just not yelled around by the powers that be. Those same powers want me to work on how they are doing it, so we can plug the hole or holes."

"Good, someone has to keep the home front safe."

Just like that. No recrimination, no anger. Just acceptance that I was doing something important here, while he would be sent to the front and most likely die.

Kind of a load off my shoulders, really.

"Come on, you look like you need to sleep a week."

"I probably do. Between here and the police training, I don't get much. Or maybe it just feels that way."

"Probably a little of both."

"We're done for the day though, right?"

He nodded.

"Right. But I know what you're thinking. you're thinking about sleeping early. It's a bad idea; you'll wake up early, then be tired all day tomorrow."

I thought about it.

"Probably. What do you suggest?"

"Cards."

Of course, He wanted my money.

"I don't know, maybe I'll just watch."

"Bah, where is the fun in that?"

"In me keeping my money of course."

"Pfft, we play for quarters, you can't possibly lose that much."

"We shall see."

We limped into the hole of ill repute I'd been led to last night, and to the same table. I plopped myself down in a chair.

"Want something to drink?"

I gave him the hairy eyeball.

"Lots and lots of water, sir."

I knew I should be the one grabbing his drink, but was too tired to care. He wanted to get ours, I wouldn't stop him.

"Well well well, the soft albino can march after all! Good to know."

I opened a bleary eye and took in the near immaculate form of Missy 'queenie' Berret, setting herself demurely into a chair.

"All lies and viscious slander. I'm too tired to defend myself from rabid mice."

"Good thing there are no mice in the tower then."

A voice right behind me, and I didn't care. Sal 'Grit' Lockland appeared over my shoulder and added:

"Sheesh, you've looked better. Weren't you the one that used to run in the desert with the grunts?"

"Don't remind me. No idea what I was thinking."

"I know what you were thinking, it was a good thought."

Yeah, get in shape with the grunts, have an easier time when it came my turn. Too bad Grex ruined my plan there. I had almost no endurance at all anymore. Clay came back, with blessed water in hand. I almost didn't mind when he made a large production out of handing me the glass.

"There you go my lady. Hey Grit, deal us in."

"We're missing one."

"doesn't matter, someone will show and take the hand. Deal it up."

He answered with a snappy, exaggerated salute.

"Yes sir, bossman."

He dealt, showing that he'd done this sort of thing before. He caught me looking.

"Dealt as a pro in vegas for awhile."

I nodded and Clay chimed in.

"Yep, that's some good bottom dealing. So good we can't catch him at it."

"Speak for yourself."

Robert 'Sneaky' Hood stated firmly, pouring himself into the last chair. I gave an inward sigh of relief as I drained my glass;
at least I wouldn't have to play. I had no head for poker.

"Going to get another; anyone want anything?"

I listened to the chorus of no's. If you're going to plan a drink run, and you're lazy, do it as everyone else is showing up. They usually have fresh drinks then and will remember you offered. Makes you 'the nice person'. Then of course they will offer later, as it is their turn.

Sometimes the best evil master plans are small ones.

I weaved my tired way through the dance floor, rightly empty due to the strains of Chopin currently playing. The US summoner forces, such as they were, did not know the minuet or the waltz. The bar tender was a crusty old bald guy going to fat. He waddled up.

"What can I get ya, greenie?"

I didn't object to the term; I was green after all. Oh my, there on the board of drink specials was something I had a weakness for.

"A Cider please, not hard."

"Gotcha, comin' right up!"

He took down an honest to gosh pewter tankard and held it under the bar, handing it to me with a care that belied his demeanor. I put it under my nose and took a whiff. Genuine fresh apple cider. How? Why? I decided details didn't matter and paid the man. Of course when I got back, the smile I could feel leading the way, my seat next to Queenie was taken. And of course it was
taken by Justin. Or stumpy. Not to be deterred, I grabbed another loose chair and sat next to Clay, who stared at my tankard with raw curiousity.

"Ale?"

I shook my head.

"Cider. Just plain, if fresh apple cider."

His interest gave way to boredom fairly fast.

"Wow, living dangerously there Snow."

"I know, I'm going to join a biker gang next, and tour the country."

Justin was whispering words to Queenie; sweet nothings perhaps. she did not seem amused.

"Ha, you'd make a good 'old lady'."

Queenie hissed something justin's way. No one else seemed to notice, so I didn't either.

"Not likely. So who's winning?"

There were a few more quarters in front of Clay than anyone else.

"I won the first hand, just that fast. I think Grit is slipping."

I sneaked a peek. He had 2 pair, aces and tens. Not a terrible hand, I suppose. It was in fact a winning hand. He raked in his quarters while I sipped, beginning to feel a bit better. Not quite as wet noodle-y.

Clay also won the next four hands in a row too, with 4 of a kind, a flush, another pair, and he bluffed successfully with a pizmo straight (a proverbial hand so bad it couldn't make a foot). Grit took notice.

"Damn Clay, you never win this much, and to bluff me? Can I borrow her?"

Huh? He saw my look and clarified.

"I'm saying you're good luck Snow. Come sit by me for a bit, and we can prove it."

Shrugging I made to get up when clay grabbed my arm with a wide grin.

"She stays right here. She knows who holds the power of latrine duty."

I wisely sat back down.

"Sorry Grit, you'll have to suffer through it. Maybe it's just Clay's night?"

He shook his head.

"Maybe, but I don't think so. Fine, Clay your deal."

By the time I finished my first cider, Clay had won several more hands. Any hand he didn't have the cards for, he bluffed with the best of them. Anytime they got annoyed enough to call the bluff, he'd have the cards. It was easily the most conspicuos luck I'd ever seen. Queenie was getting the worst of it, I think good old stumpy was distracting her. Everyone else was also running low or out, and Sneaky was moving as if to stand. That of course was my cue.

"Going again, what can I get everyone?"

It didn't take too long for me to feel like a waitress must. Half these people would be alchoholic before they left the base. Not that most summoners might not be already. Hmm, I'd have to look into that. Drug and alchohol abuse among summoners. I took the tankard back and carted the drinks, luckily enough mainly beers of various makers. I passed them out, and noticed Clay frowning.

"Alright guys, I've been up long enough. Going to go crawl in a corner and die for a few hours now. See you all at 5."

"Hey wait, you can't go yet! I was winning!"

I sighed.

"Clay, surely you don't believe all that luck bunk?"

Grit chimed in oh so helpfully.

"When you were getting drinks he lost. Badly."

"Sounds like the streak is over then. Good night all."

I left, casually avoiding the hurt puppy dog eyes Clay was hitting me with. I was proud, I only weaved like a drunken sailor once on the way back to my room. A glint hanging off the doorknob caught my eye, and I slowed down. Perhaps I was too cautious, but I'd heard all the stories.

It was a knife, hanging off my doorknob from a string of all things. It looked familiar... then I recognized it. I bought it here last week, a top of the line survival knife. Large, sawbacked, with folded damascus steel. I had been afraid to look at the price tag at the time, but had forgotten all about it when it hadn't turned up during my packing efforts. Now runes chased themselves all along its length, ending with the name Grex on the left side... and on the right was another name. My own.

Most unusual for a ritual dagger, in choice and make. I read the note, almost hearing Karen's all too chipper voice spouting the words at high volume.

"Bet you thought we had forgotten, right? Nope, most summoners get them in their first week. We decided you could wait cause you didn't need it. I thought you'd like the idea of one that had more than the standard uses. Enjoy, Karen."

I checked it, all the survival equipment (the matches, fishing line, and other misc crap) was all there. Good deal. Opening the door I kicked it shut, dragging myself to the bed was a real chore but I managed. Then I collapsed.

************************************************************************
Somehow that damned alarm had made itself here.

"Grex! Grex, what the hell!?!"

"It was the easiest way to wake you up. Good morning mistress, you're looking well."

"OK, great, I'm up, send the damn thing home already."

Silence returned, and I grabbed the steaming mug Grex handed me with a distinct lack of grace or enthusiasm. Then I remembered.

"Oh, crap! what time is it?!?"

"4:45AM, as you requested of course. Well, 4:46 now."

"Ugh, I didn't even shower! I'm going to be so late!"

"My suggestion is to shower quickly mistress."

My summon, so very helpful. I suited action to his words though, and in record time (seven minutes) I was washed and dressed.

"Grex, dry my hair."

He got a gleam in hie eye.

"Gently! Gently Grex."

The look died, replaced by a grudging respect.

"Yes mistress."

A dry but gentle heat wafted over me, and when it was done my hair was no longer dripping. With a gentle tug, it further resolved itself into a long braid.

"Thank you Grex, you can.... "

He had my new knife in his hands.

"A beautiful blade, if a little plain. Very servicable. I had almost thought they had forgotten you."

"Go home Grex."

"Yes mistress."

The knife somehow strapped itself onto my belt as he vanished into motes of darkness. Huh, he knows some handy stuff. But I didn't have time to ponder it. I heard the door slam behind me as I raced down the hall, oddly enough, in the middle of a pack this time. We all made a line about the same time, though I still took the far left. The major was waiting, of course.

"Well well well, not first this time, are we princess?"

I chose to think of it as a serious question; the major didn't look like he had a rhetorical bone in his body.

"Sir, no sir!"

"Well alright weaklings, we do something a bit different today. Summon your demons."

Daggers flashed, chants were made, almost drowning out my latin even to my ears.

"Grex, veni huc!"

I blinked and he was in line next to me, wearing desert fatigues and a full military pack. Satan only knows where he got all that. I could feel the major's piggy eyes narrowing in the darkness.

"Well well well, got ourselves a soldier! Kind of makes the rest of you lot look even more weak. Alright you lot, let's go, run time!"

At least the squads bleeding stopped quickly enough, the wounds sealing before they did more than stain. We ran, our demons beside us. The only conclusion I could reach was that this was supposed to tire us out faster somehow. Five miles in and looking around, it seemed to be working.

At least on everyone else.

I knew I was a bit different, even for a summoner. Everyone kept telling me from the time I first summoned Grex how hard it was to maintain a summons in the field for long periods; even the strongest summoners couldn't keep their demons with them all the time. However watching my squad, whom as a group yesterday was outpacing me with relative ease, wilt now like a hand
picked batch of daisies in the desert heat really brought that fact home.

Grex kept pace easily, but all around me were signs of heavy fatigue; sunken eyes, labored breathing, hunched shoulders, terse words. This was definately supposed to be endurance training of a sort. Grex's eyes met mine, an eyebrow raised in the way he knew kind of pissed me off. I shrugged. The run continued.

We continued until, after a bit more than an hour in Hancho dropped. just dropped, right in our dubious trail, and no amount of high volume screaming by our friendly major could get him up.

"ALRIGHT THEN WEAKLING, DISMISS YOUR DEMON! The rest of you take 5!"

Grex walked nonchalantly through the ranks, speaking randomly to whoever would listen.

"I say, good run. Anyone want some water? Water? Anyone?"

He held up his canteen. there were no takers. The major was still trying to get a rather shriveled looking Hancho up, and Grex squatted beside them, handing Hancho the canteen, with a manner suddenly much more serious.

"drink, flesh bag."

I decided I'd better step in.

"What's in the canteen Grex?"

"Water, my mistress."

"May I have some?"

He handed the refreshment over without any hesitation, eyes guileless.

"Of course my mistress."

I drank, the cold liquid cascading down my throat like a blessed tide. Much to my chagrin I was unable to stifle the noise of contentment made. I handed the canteen to Hancho.

"It'll help, it's just water. He isn't able to lie to me, and he can't allow me to come to harm, so it's safe. Suspiciously cold and tasty, but safe."

As Hancho was drank, bewilderment on his face, I turned back to Grex.

"Your good deed of the day?"

He scoffed.

"Hardly, do you have any idea what this sun is doing to you? I simply don't desire to cart you back to your quaint quarters after you suffer heatstroke. Or anyone else for that matter; humans are so fragile."

Hah. He knew me too well.

A few minutes later, Hancho looked well enough to run again. dismissing his demon had obviously helped. The good major screamed some more, and we all turned around and started back. I was getting worryingly used to tuning out the good major already.

The others still looked like something a wild dog had found and chewed on.

Our run cut short, the sun wasn't even at it's zenith before we got back. The gate gaurds gave us sympathetic looks after the major passed. Stumpy (heh heh heh) dropped as soon as we hit the practice yard, leaving his succubus summon standing over him with her disgust plainly evident.

"Leautinant Bell, dismiss your demon!"

He complied with some choice words that niether I nor the major could truly hear, then struggled up.

"No Leautinant Bell, you and Hancho sit over there. Right at the edge there. The rest of you, hand to hand time! Princess and the queen right here, boxer and the cowboy here...."

I tuned him out again, moving where indicated to face Queenie. Grex looked on with interest, Queenie's demon (a runty looking Baal Rog) seemed not to care; instead he only had eyes for Grex. Interesting. Queenie was a bit smaller than I was, with mud hair framing a face that might be classified as 'handsome' but I'd hesitate to call beautiful, and a rather compact body with plain curves. the only reason she stood out in a crowd was her regal, haughty air.

"So, got much experience at this?"

She looked the brawler type.

"A little; you?"

"Just my dad's training. Let's try not to maim each other?"

"Sure - other than that no promises though.

That grin of hers did not bode well for me.

(tbc)

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Comments

RIH...

I'm really enjoying this story Nagrij! Actually you have a few storylines going that have really peaked my interest for their originality and your writing talent! It's always a pleasure to me to come to BC and find a new chapter of any one of your stories posted! Thanks!

RiH reply to the suicides in basic comments.

As was correctly theorized, the suicides in basic occured on summoning night or before thus far, as those who can't 'hack it' are either weeded out (in many cases subtly 'allowed') to off themselves before the night itself, or commit 'suicide by summon'...allowing their demons to eat them.

Very few try the latter however, as becoming demon food means one's soul is lost.

Some years in this universe the suicide rates hit 16% of all recruits, though more recently such rates are down below 10%. It isn't discussed but is generally an understood phenomena. Those left are the ones with very little quit in them; the truly motivated who either have swallowed the propoganda, or whose sense of duty is strong enough to brush aside all concerns.

Yes, it's a harsh world.

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You can always

tell the seriousness of the conflict by the toughness of the training. This looks pretty darn serious. No one has died yet unless it happened in the summoning night. However, I can see the Major grinning and saying the training isn't over yet. :)

Hugs
Grover

My company

lost three in basic training. Suicides all. Circa 1970.

As a Drill Sgt

I have been on suicide watch for recruits. Loosing recruits to anything is not pleasant.

Losing anyone to anything is not pleasant

But recruits, however old they are, are always children. It is whole new and hard world to them. Even if they never leave home they are vastly changed.

9 months of hell

Sadarsa's picture

typically training at MCRD is only 3 months, however contrary to popular belief.. if you get injured during training they do *NOT* let you go. You gotta be crippled for life before they let you out... and even then they do so reluctantly. (so if you've ever met anyone who claims they got kicked out of the Marines for an injury and they look just fine to you, there's a 90% chance they're full of it. Most likely they got injured and then depressed over it and they started looking for ways to get themselves kicked)

So, when someone like me who'd never played football..ran track..played basketball.. or any other organized sport, attempted to do something as stupid as join the Marines.. well lets just say my body thought i was Fuskin nuts.. (and i quickly agreed)

I was plauged by tendonitis, pulled muscles, shin splints..hairline fractures, Sprained ankles... and to make it worse my arches were so low that 7 of 10 doctors agree im flat footed (the one to let me join was one of the other 8-10) The end results being, that i spent a lot of time in MRP (medical rehabilitation platoon). Just because your injured and recovering doesnt mean your training stops.. if your legs are hurt they work your upperbody and torso even harder than normal...they also keep training you in discipline and have no less than 3 DI's to keep you company. It can be really depressing since you're stuck in boot camp with NO advancment, your time is frozen. If you were injured on your 3rd week, then 4 months later when you've recovered.. you get sent back to your 3rd week. (admitidly by then your so grizzeled that yelling DI's are boring and the other recruits think you're either fearless or crazy)

My total time in Hell was 9 months....

in all my time there, Never once did i hear of anyone to have actually commit suicide. Quite a few posers who did it to try and get kicked out.. but never anyone serious about it. The only fun thing about it is that when people begin telling boot camp stories... mine are always the most interesting.

...this makes me wonder if i should write about it..

~Your only Limitation is your Imagination~

You Were Missed!

It's good to see you back and the story continuing!

Thanks,
Larimus

A Lighter Comment!

I wanted to note that none Chopin's music is actually meant to be danced to... He wrote them to be played at pretty much undanceable tempi, and meant them to be performed as recital-style works. It'd definitely be amusing to see someone try though!

Overall: hooray for more story! :D

I_think.

I know, that's done on purpose. I'm a music fan, thank you for finding the random insanity!

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Training

Military training is meant to be hard. In my Basic training company there weren't any suicide attempts that I know of. Advanced Individual Training, AIT, was a different story. Three attempts and one succeeded if you want to call it that. In a lot of ways, AIT was much more stressful than Basic. It was an Intelligence School and they made it crystal clear that screwing up would cost the lives of the troops on the front lines.

Security guards, cipher locks on all the school doors and forget about windows or natural light. Sounds a lot like a prison doesn't it?

Later while attending the NCO Academy, I ended up with a heat injury. Fort Bragg in August, rucksack march, how did that happen? Placed on quarters to recover, I was given the choice to break those 'doctors' orders' or have to repeat the whole six weeks all over again. It was all classwork and no physical activity, but I was supposed to be flat on my back resting. Seeing how I would've rather gnawed my arm off to get the hell out of that place and that I was only one week from finishing, you figure it out.

Your summoners school is a little smarter letting the students have some kind of down time. War time situations are different, and this one humanity is losing.

You've written one heck of a story here because look at the reactions you gotten. That's good writing.
hugs
Grover

Intel School

Did you attend at Ft Devens MA or at Ft H AZ after they moved the intel school there? If it was at Ft Devens the windowless building near Jackson Gate is no longer windowless and is now a satillite school for a local Community College. It is also where I attended weekend drills when I was attending my Division's Army Reserve Drill Sgt Academy.

Amazon RIH

Are you going to update the Amazon version of RIH with what you have added here?
Hoping,
/Bob

Room in Hell

Elsbeth's picture

This is a rather brilliant story, enjoying it very much.

-Elsbeth

Is fearr Gaeilge briste, ná Béarla clíste.

Broken Irish is better than clever English.