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Lieutenant John Reese sat behind his desk, sipping a cup of lukewarm coffee, and going over the latest stack of reports that had just been faxed to him. Reese sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose to forestall his oncoming headache, and wondered how he'd gotten himself stuck here, why there was such a need for paperwork this far north in the world.

Originally, Reese remembered, he'd wanted to come out here. There had been a messy divorce with his wife, and he'd wanted to go as far away as the Army could post him. A weather research station on a small island about fifty miles south of the Alaskan Aleutian Islands seemed to be remote enough, and he had accepted this posting gleefully at the time, but after a few weeks in the harsh arctic climate, he'd changed his mind.

Despite the paperwork, it wasn't really that bad. He had a small army detachment here, eleven men under his command. They were really a holdover from the Cold War, and had no real duties except for daily maintenance and such. And administrative work, Reese thought gloomily. A bullshit term for paperwork.

It was a great station to make rank. For a one-year tour, most enlisted men received a promotion after six months of satisfactory duty, and another at the end of the tour. Officers were guaranteed a promotion of one full grade. Reese didn't exactly care about being a Captain, but he'd spent enough time as a Lieutenant, and he could use the extra pay and privileges rank could supply.

There was also a staff of eight scientists, who spent most of their time taking weather readings and fucking around with God knew what. Out of the eight, there were two biologists, who, as far as Reese knew, had nothing to study save a few birds and the occasional seal.

The best part was, Reese had to admit, was that there was no supervision here at all. They were on their own. A supply chopper came every few months, but aside from that, they were pretty well isolated. The station had a chopper of its own, but to use it for anything other than an emergency would mean the immediate termination of Reese's job, and probably some time in the Federal Prison at Leavenworth, Kansas.

Reese wanted to steer clear of there. He had an aversion to bars.

So, sipping his coffee yet again, Reese buried himself back in the stack of paper, silently cursing Uncle Sam for sending him here, and himself for agreeing to go.

A short while later, there was a polite knock on the door. Grateful for the interruption, Reese looked up and said, "Come in."

Staff Sergeant McCarter entered, his dark, perpetually scowling eyes even more angered than usual. "Got some bad news, LT."

"Surprise," Reese answered. "What other kind of news is there around here?"

McCarter nodded. "That's the damn truth."

Reese leaned back into his chair. "Well, what have we got?"

Reese laughed aloud. "Tell Dr. Wentworth I'm fine. The only thing this means is that I get a break from this goddamned paperwork."

"All right." McCarter said. He started to salute, but then caught himself. Reese liked discipline, but there was no need to do everything by the book.

"I'll see you later, Mac," Reese said.

His squad sergeant nodded. "Aye sir." He left, closing the door behind him.

"No communications for three days," Reese said. "About damn time." He sipped his now-cold coffee and grimaced, standing up and tossing it into the garbage behind him. Reese stretched his back, and adjusted the weight of his 9mm sidearm at his waist. There was no real reason to wear a sidearm, but Reese had been around the block a time or two. There was a purple heart and a silver star listed in his file, and they hadn't come from driving a desk.

Relaxing a bit, Reese decided to go for a walk, under the guise of making his rounds. He left his office and strode down the corridor, his boots ringing hollowly on the floor. He passed the main door, and saw PFC Snyder shrugging into his outdoor clothing. It was late summer, and the temperatures were still above freezing during the day, so Snyder could get away with wearing a heavy jacket, a hat, and gloves.

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