Freie Gruppe

The dug-out cavern is low and oppressively dim. Water drips from foam-stone walls and gathers in vehicle tracks on the crumbling floor. The platoon has been here too long. Staying in one place is a bad idea. There is no certainty that the cavern is safe. It has been here too long too. Their huge wheel trains loom around them in the darkness. Only four cargo carriers are left. The darkness is broken only by the work lights around A-3’s open engine hatch and by the light spilling out of the platoon’s unauthorized command vehicle. It is an old Serbian BDRM that they call the Winnie. A maintenance sergeant stole it from a cannibalization point. Nobody can remember his name. They should have been moved a week ago.