missed them on the initial sweep but there they were.
Talk about FUBAR.
The all clear had already been given. Everyone had stripped their masks off, relieved to shed the sweat hats in the 120° heat. The dust we'd kicked up rummaging around stuck to my damp face.
Then Corporal Hicks sounded the alarm.
"Biologics!"
Time seemed to slow down. I looked at my Gunnery Sergeant, thinking I hadn't heard it right.
Gunny, though, already had his mask pulled back over his head.
Did I race to put mine back on? No. Instead, I glanced at the rest of my squad, seeing if anyone else had donned their masks. I mean, this really couldn't be happening, right?
Most already had and were fleeing to the outside air. The rest ran toward the exit while pulling their masks on.
Fucking FUBAR.
From the time Hicks sounded the alarm to the time I finally donned my mask, about ten seconds passed.
Ten seconds.
More than enough time to end a life.
Time returned to normal speed. I assembled outside with the rest of the squad, hoping I hadn't just killed myself.
A bunch of local camel jockeys stood outside, watching us. I didn't pay much attention to them because I was waiting for my eyes to pop out or blood to start pouring from my ass.
My point is I didn't see what happened once I got outside. Panic raced through most of us. Adrenaline surged, you know?
Then I heard the gunfire.
The response was swift and immediate.
I didn't shoot one round. My hands were too busy feeling my ass for blood.
* * * * *
The first mark appeared on my chest a week after our visit to the bunker. It looked like a patch of ringworm; round, scaly, itchy about the size of a quarter. A few days later puss bubbled over it.
Then it started to spread.
FUBAR, buddy. FUBAR.
At last count, I've got ninety-six bubbles on my chest, stomach, and back. None have burst yet. The protective layer of skin holding the puss in is tough and leathery like a football.
No one's noticed. The orange jumpsuit they make me wear in holding is baggy and hides the protrusions easily.
I wonder if anyone else from my squad has broken out with the same bubbles. I doubt it. If they had, the Corps would be taking a more active interest in my health. I'd be seeing doctors looking for anything mysterious. But that hasn't happened. All I've seen is my jerk-off Judge Advocate – lawyer for you civilians.
As my finger passes over the leathery bubbles, I think maybe we found a new type of biological weapon down there in that bunker. Something engineered to spread and mature but not activate until the carrier chooses the time and place.
It makes sense. The disease spreads but only over areas easily concealed by clothes. The bubbles have coatings which keep them from popping easily. Then whatever's inside is released at a time of the carrier's choosing. And I doubt there's a cure not buried under another mound of sand.
I don't know anything about biological weapons or diseases. But I know what I've got ain't normal.
Is there a disease named FUBAR?
Yeah, I can tell someone and get myself moved to a quarantine unit. I wouldn't have to deal with the trial. Or see the fop Dexter again. But I want to hear the Corps' case against me. I want to see if they sell us down the river.
* * * * *
"The prosecution has turned Corporal Hicks and Gunnery Sergeant Lowe." Dexter stands over me, a broad smile on his face. "They're going to testify against you. They're going to testify under oath that you fired first."
It feels like a phantom has shoved a bayonet in my testicles. Those sonsofbitches flipped. Now I'm facing death for the rest of those assholes.
"Oh well, Sir," I say. Although I feel like shit, I'm not going to let Dexter win this little "I told you so" battle he wants to fight.
"With their testimony, you're as good as dead, Sergeant."
Now I smile. "I guess you're going to have to work
Talk about FUBAR.
The all clear had already been given. Everyone had stripped their masks off, relieved to shed the sweat hats in the 120° heat. The dust we'd kicked up rummaging around stuck to my damp face.
Then Corporal Hicks sounded the alarm.
"Biologics!"
Time seemed to slow down. I looked at my Gunnery Sergeant, thinking I hadn't heard it right.
Gunny, though, already had his mask pulled back over his head.
Did I race to put mine back on? No. Instead, I glanced at the rest of my squad, seeing if anyone else had donned their masks. I mean, this really couldn't be happening, right?
Most already had and were fleeing to the outside air. The rest ran toward the exit while pulling their masks on.
Fucking FUBAR.
From the time Hicks sounded the alarm to the time I finally donned my mask, about ten seconds passed.
Ten seconds.
More than enough time to end a life.
Time returned to normal speed. I assembled outside with the rest of the squad, hoping I hadn't just killed myself.
A bunch of local camel jockeys stood outside, watching us. I didn't pay much attention to them because I was waiting for my eyes to pop out or blood to start pouring from my ass.
My point is I didn't see what happened once I got outside. Panic raced through most of us. Adrenaline surged, you know?
Then I heard the gunfire.
The response was swift and immediate.
I didn't shoot one round. My hands were too busy feeling my ass for blood.
* * * * *
The first mark appeared on my chest a week after our visit to the bunker. It looked like a patch of ringworm; round, scaly, itchy about the size of a quarter. A few days later puss bubbled over it.
Then it started to spread.
FUBAR, buddy. FUBAR.
At last count, I've got ninety-six bubbles on my chest, stomach, and back. None have burst yet. The protective layer of skin holding the puss in is tough and leathery like a football.
No one's noticed. The orange jumpsuit they make me wear in holding is baggy and hides the protrusions easily.
I wonder if anyone else from my squad has broken out with the same bubbles. I doubt it. If they had, the Corps would be taking a more active interest in my health. I'd be seeing doctors looking for anything mysterious. But that hasn't happened. All I've seen is my jerk-off Judge Advocate – lawyer for you civilians.
As my finger passes over the leathery bubbles, I think maybe we found a new type of biological weapon down there in that bunker. Something engineered to spread and mature but not activate until the carrier chooses the time and place.
It makes sense. The disease spreads but only over areas easily concealed by clothes. The bubbles have coatings which keep them from popping easily. Then whatever's inside is released at a time of the carrier's choosing. And I doubt there's a cure not buried under another mound of sand.
I don't know anything about biological weapons or diseases. But I know what I've got ain't normal.
Is there a disease named FUBAR?
Yeah, I can tell someone and get myself moved to a quarantine unit. I wouldn't have to deal with the trial. Or see the fop Dexter again. But I want to hear the Corps' case against me. I want to see if they sell us down the river.
* * * * *
"The prosecution has turned Corporal Hicks and Gunnery Sergeant Lowe." Dexter stands over me, a broad smile on his face. "They're going to testify against you. They're going to testify under oath that you fired first."
It feels like a phantom has shoved a bayonet in my testicles. Those sonsofbitches flipped. Now I'm facing death for the rest of those assholes.
"Oh well, Sir," I say. Although I feel like shit, I'm not going to let Dexter win this little "I told you so" battle he wants to fight.
"With their testimony, you're as good as dead, Sergeant."
Now I smile. "I guess you're going to have to work
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