FORT MCCOY, WISCONSIN
If there was anything Sergeant Tillson hated, it was being awakened in the middle of the night for no damn good reason. It made him feel cranky and out of sorts for the whole next day, but there were a few smart-mouth assholes who had told him they could hardly see the difference between that and his regular mood.
When the phone rang at zero one hundred, Sergeant Tillson was on the verge of blowing a whole mess of ragheads to hell and back, but instead, the irritating jangle interrupted the most fun he’d had in months. Reluctantly, the Sergeant pulled himself out of his satisfying fantasies and the comforting warmth of his bed and stumbled over to his desk.
“This had better be good,” he warned whatever idiot had the balls to call him at this hour, then picked up the phone.
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