CHAPTER ONE…
Being a woman at Naval Base Diego Garcia, a small island in the Indian Ocean, means that finding a man isn’t difficult. It’s finding privacy that’s sometimes hard. Much harder because I’m an enlisted Navy Petty Officer, 2nd Class (E-5), and the man I’m waiting for is an officer. Which is why I’m walking on a section of beach as far as it is possible to get from the buildings of the base.
Yeah, I know I have a room in the Female BEQ (Base Enlisted Quarters). Rules about male visitors are lax, and when I find another enlisted guy I wanna fuck we can go there. But the keyword is ENLISTED… Brad’s an officer, and there is The Rule about enlisted and officers not ‘fraternizing.’
I agree with The Rule. It’s a good Rule! It keeps officers from pressuring lower-ranking females for sex. But I wasn’t being pressured into having mind-blowing sex with Brad. Hell, I’ve always had a weakness for tall Black guys with bodies so buffed the ebony shines. If anything, I seduced him!
But still, The Rule that enlisted and officers Shall Not Fuck is strictly enforced. Since I obviously couldn’t take an officer into my BEQ room and I couldn’t visit Brad, we’ve been meeting on the beach as far as a horny couple could get from the buildings and lights that dotted the island. The fear of discovery was lessened, but we were still risking our careers by being on the beach together.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a nympho. I’m just a healthy, attractive girl who likes to fuck. You know, to relieve tension and stress and… stuff. Since joining the Navy, I’ve had a lot of tension and stress and… stuff. But there are plenty of possible fuckbuddies, enlisted fuckbuddies, I could choose from with no one raising a fuss. So, why is Brad my favorite booty call despite the risk to our careers? Three reasons:
Reason One: My God, Brad is a six-three ebony God with hard muscles and stamina that doesn’t quit.
Reason Two: My God, Brad really knows how to eat pussy.
Reason Three: My God, Brad has a huge cock!
My way of unwinding after a mission usually begins and ends with a bottle of bourbon in one hand and a hard cock inside me. I bring the bourbon; Brad brings the cock. In the months I’ve been stationed here, Brad has relieved my tension many, many times…
I’d only arrived back on the base this morning from a month-long jungle training exercise in the Philippines. I’d barely stepped off the transport plane before Brad pinged my phone. We didn’t talk for long. He was at his duty station, and I was surrounded by the team as we went through the minutiae of returning gear and handing over hand-printed forms we’d completed on the plane during the trip back to explain why some equipment was missing or dinged up.
Brad and I had to talk in guarded phrases, but the intent was clear: we’d meet tonight at our usual secluded section of the beach. I was excited. I’d been away for a month: all work, no sex. Going a month without sex was almost a record for me since the night I’d lost my virginity.
It was just my luck that Chief Stanford was at the duty desk as I dragged my weary, tired ass through the door. She didn’t like me. I didn’t like her. I barely nodded at her as I passed by. I dropped my gear in my room, stripped and dropped onto my bunk for a much-deserved nap. Even as I fell asleep, I was thinking about how good Brad’s large cock would feel inside me tonight.
**********
I was already wet from anticipation as I took several sips from the bottle in my hand. It was a cheap brand I’d bought during a long layover in Manila. The label said Real Kantucky Bourbon with Kentucky misspelled. I thought it was more likely paint cleaner with a little food coloring added. It tasted like gasoline and burned like battery acid. But I hadn’t gone blind or died after sharing a bottle with my team, so I felt relatively safe.
The sun had set an hour ago, but the moon was so bright that the sun wasn’t missed. My moon shadow stretched across the sand as I walked in the shallow water that lapped at my feet. I took another long sip of what might be bourbon from the bottle. I felt the burn all the way to my stomach. I looked down the beach just in time to see Brad appear from behind a low dune. I waved and pulled the top of my bikini open to flash my boobs. He closed the last fifty yards at a run.
Strong arms crushed me against Brad’s muscular chest as we kissed. Hands reached down to grab and massage my ass cheeks. I moved my hips, rubbing my mound against the hard cock straining against the fabric of his swim trunks. I enjoyed our foreplay, our kiss, and the hands squeezing my ass and tits. Then Brad turned me, pressing my back hard against his chest. His arms held me tightly as warm breath and kisses to my neck made me squirm. The strong fingers kneading my tits made me want more.
I laughed at Brad’s eagerness. The lips and hot breath on the back of my neck continued, but a hand left my tits to slide down my stomach and mound. I moaned as his hand pushed under my bikini bottom and fingers pressed and circled over my clit. I didn’t try to pull away, only twisted in his arms enough to bring my mouth to his. I was content to let Brad have his playtime.
But I liked to play, too. My hand slid inside his swim trunks to find and squeeze a large and very hard cock. Both of us moaned as I slowly stroked Brad’s shaft. My moans became more guttural as a thumb began strumming my clit.
“Mmm, you’re wet,” Brad whispered into my ear while his fingers never stopped playing with my pussy.
“I’m horny, and you’re hard,” I replied. “I can think of ways to solve both our problems. Fun ways…”
“You were gone so long I thought you’d been transferred,” Brad said as my bikini bottom was untied to drop into the shallow surf.
“There were… Complications,” I said, my breath catching as fingers returned to push deeper inside my pussy. “There were a lot of paperclips that needed to be counted.”
Brad didn’t inquire further. He knew that I ‘counted paperclips’ in the Special Forces compound and Special Forces never talked. So he didn’t waste time on questions he knew I wouldn’t answer. Instead, his fingertips pushed deeper inside me.
I took a short sideways step to open my thighs more. Fingers pushed deeper, moved faster, pressed harder as Brad explored, rimmed and stretched my pussy. My hips began moving, pushing against Brad’s hand. That and a long, breathy moan were my only reactions as I welcomed being fingerfucked on the beach.
I continued to lean backwards against Brad, moaning softly while loving every fondling squeeze of my tits and welcoming every movement of the fingers in my pussy. Pleasure almost forced everything from my mind. But I had just enough sanity left to remember we were on a moonlit beach with water lapping at our toes. It was night, but the moon was bright enough to read by. We were in plain view of anyone who might be watching.
I put my hand on Brad’s wrist. He reluctantly let me push his fingers from between my thighs. I scooped up my thong before the tide swept it away and ran. Brad followed me to where I’d spread a blanket between low dunes.
My bikini top joined Brad’s swim trunks on the sand as I pressed myself against Brad. Our kiss deepened as large, strong hands gripped my ass again, even as my fingers wrapped around the long, thick cock pressed against my mound and stomach. I enjoyed our kiss and my ass massage while slow-stroking Brad’s cock.
I knew it wouldn’t be long before… And there it was: a heavy hand on my shoulder. Brad grinned down at me as I sank to my knees.
“You know what I want.”
“All men want this,” I smiled and looked up to meet his eyes while slowly running my tongue along the side of his shaft from base to tip.
I settled more comfortably on my knees. The moon had risen higher, casting more light, but the dark cock in my hands remained black as coal. My hands continued to slowly stroke Brad’s cock as I licked and kissed my way from ballsack to tip before reversing course.
I’d milked a large amount of pre-cum from his shaft. Looking up to maintain eye contact, I ran the length of my tongue slowly over the tip to collect the slippery secretion. Only then did I lean forward to take just part of the large bulbous head into my mouth to suck on. The look of sexual hunger on Brad’s face and his murmured, ‘God, you’re incredible…’ was all I’d expected.
“Oh, shit,” Brad breathed in satisfaction as I let more of his cock slip past my lips. In seconds, as much of his cock as I could fit in my mouth was sliding over my tongue while my hands played with his heavy ballsack. I let his cock drop from my mouth and pushed the long shaft up and out of the way so I could reach his sack with my mouth.
With my nose pressed against so much cock flesh, I breathed in the familiar and distinctive musk that all men seem to exude. I teabagged one large ball and then the other, taking each in my mouth to tongue and suck on before straightening my spine. Playtime was over, and I filled my mouth again with every thick inch that would fit in my mouth… Then I pushed forward to try to take more.
I’ve had a lot of practice since the first hesitant blowjob I’d given many years ago. Brad enjoyed my oral expertise for a few minutes before his hands closed around the sides of my head. He held my head still while his hips began to move with purpose.
In moments, I’d transitioned from sucking cock to being mouthfucked. Drool I couldn’t swallow dripped unnoticed onto my tits as Brad’s hips continued to move. I wasn’t the only one who’d been starved for sex for a month. The tempo of the cock sliding over my tongue increased, growing more urgent as Brad neared release.
Sure, I wanted cock in my pussy and not in my mouth. I hadn’t spent the last month thinking about the taste of cum. But I was content to let Brad fill my mouth if he wanted. I knew if Brad filled my mouth now, he’d be hard and ready to fill my pussy very soon. I also knew he’d last longer when we fucked if he came now. I was content to swallow, wait, and fuck in that order.
Brad continued trying to force his shaft past my mouth and down my throat. A long minute later, he groaned and pushed hard. Streams of hot cum hit the back of my mouth and flowed to coat my tongue. Brad finally sighed and released my head. I tilted my head up, pushing a drop of escaping cum from my lip back into my mouth. Breathing hard, Brad watched as I played his thick cum over my tongue before swallowing.
Cum swallowed, I slid backwards to sit on the blanket. Brad collapsed beside me as I took a pull of Real Kantucky Bourbon. I swished the fiery brew in my mouth to wash away any remaining cum. Coughing, I handed the bottle to Brad.
“Holy fuck,” he cursed between choking gasps after he swallowed too much at once. “Tell me again where you got this rotgut!”
“It’s not so bad. You just need to sip it slowly in moderation. A lot of moderation,” I added as I took a small sip.
Which is what we did as we passed the bottle back and forth. Brad lit a cigarette. It took all my willpower not to ask for one. I’d quit during boot camp and was glad I did. Running for a helicopter on the top of an Afghan mountain made you glad to have clear lungs!
We talked and drank. We kissed and drank. Soon, I was pulled to lean back against Brad’s hard chest. Arms held me while hands reached around to play with my soft tits while we drank. I moved away when I felt a suitably hard cock pressed against the small of my back. Turning with an evil grin, I placed my hand on Brad’s chest and pushed. Once he was prone, I knelt over him and lowered my head. Mouth magic soon had his cock fully erect.
Brad levered himself up onto his elbows and watched as I straddled his hips. Holding the thick shaft, I ran the tip several times through the length of my slit to wet it. I moaned as I played it over my clit before lowering my hips to impale myself on the first couple of inches.
I moved slowly and deliberately to take Brad inside me, letting my wetness lubricate his shaft a little at a time until I’d taken all he had. And, Oh my God, he had a lot! It wasn’t just the length. It was how thick his cock was, too. My breath caught several times as my pussy walls stretched to accommodate his girth.
I sat without moving once the last of the shaft disappeared between my pussy lips. For a minute, I slowly twerked my hips over Brad’s thighs, loving how the long, thick cock moved inside me. But, of course, it wasn’t long before I wanted more. Up… Down… Up… Down… I put my hands on Brad’s chest for balance as I began to slowly fuck him with slow, short movements.
God, it felt so good as I increased the amount of cock I let slide between my thighs. Moving faster… Shifting positions to rub my clit on the hard flesh better. Shifting to change what I felt deep inside my gut. Cowgirl is my go-to position when I want to come. Riding a man instead of being fucked lets me control the depth, angle and speed I take cock. Leaving one hand on Brad’s chest for balance, I slipped my other hand between us to touch my clit.
I’ve used Brad’s cock often enough as a fucktoy that he knows to lie still while I close my eyes and enjoy my playtime. I didn’t measure the time, but I doubt it took very long before I felt the first sensations that signaled my approaching orgasm. I began bouncing faster on Brad’s cock… Strumming my fingers harder across my clit… Closer… Closer… Then I felt the crest of a wave of pure pleasure lifting me.
“Now! SHIT! Fuck me now, now, now!”
My scream as my orgasm took me was what Brad had been waiting for. God… There’s nothing better than a large cock that’s attached to a man you’ve fucked so often that you’ve trained him to know exactly what you want. An arm around my waist held me close even as I was flipped onto my back. Hands on the back of my thighs bent me double as my knees were pushed to my armpits. In this position, my pussy was fully exposed to be fucked.
But Brad didn’t just fuck my pussy, he assaulted my pussy! Ramming his huge cock into me. The position he’d placed me in, bent double with my knees near my armpits, lifted my ass off the blanket. Above me on locked arms, he could put the weight of his body into the thrusts that drove his cock into me.
To most women, it would be brutal. To me, it was Heaven’s gates opening wide. My orgasm climbed to new levels while I continued to scream and beg for him to fuck me harder! Faster!
I’m not a quiet lover. I didn’t care who might hear me as I continued to scream out my orgasm. I continued to demand that Brad fuck me harder until I went limp as if someone had found my OFF switch. I simply couldn’t go any further.
I’d climbed to the summit of the Mount Everest of orgasms, and the only way to go from here was down. All I had left were orgasmic aftershocks, barking moans, and deep grunts as Brad continued to fuck the breath from me.
I barely made a sound when Brad pulled out to flip my limp body over. My face scraped across sand and blanket as my hips were pulled upwards for him to mount me from behind. I love being fucked like a dog, and Brad wasted no time in treating me like a bitch in heat.
Again, sheer overwhelming bliss caused me to lose track of time as I grunted in time to hard, ass-pounding strokes. But bliss can’t last forever. Brad’s grunts deepened, his moans came more often until he groaned, pressed hard against my ass, then came deep inside me.
We remained like that—my ass in the air with Brad kneeling behind me as he filled my pussy with cum. When he was spent, his weight pushed me flat on the blanket. His rasping breath was loud in my ear as he fought to catch his breath. I could feel his heart thudding rapidly in his chest while his cock remained hard and inside me.
“Oh, my God, Barbara,” Brad’s voice was hoarse and soft in my ear. “You’re gonna kill me some night.”
“Mmm, but what a way to go,” I whispered back. Brad’s weight shifted as he began lifting himself off me.
“No… Don’t move. Don’t pull out…” I demanded and grabbed his arm. “You feel so damned good.”
But he moved anyway. I moaned in disappointment as his cock pulled out, leaving me feeling empty. He collapsed onto his side next to me. A hand rubbed and massaged my sweaty back and ass as I continued to lie on my stomach. When I turned over onto my back, he watched as I put my arms out and stretched slowly and sinuously like a cat to loosen cramped thigh muscles.
“God, you have the body and face of an angel…” Brad began while his eyes moved over my long body from my toes to my face.
“And the morals of an alley cat,” I finished, laughing as his hand began massaging my thigh muscles.
It was a private joke between the two of us. The first time we’d rendezvoused in the dunes, Brad had said that while watching me suck his cock. I’d pulled my mouth from his shaft long enough to complete the sentence before taking his cock between my lips again.
I closed my eyes in contentment as Brad continued to massage my tight thighs. I smiled and laughed softly when the hand moved up and over my mound and flat stomach to cup and squeeze my Double-D tits.
“You can’t go longer than three minutes without playing with my boobs,” I accused.
“Guilty,” he confessed. “Though I doubt any man who’s with you can go longer. They’re such magnificent examples of female architecture.”
We were content to rest in silence for a few minutes. Brad moved first to sit up beside me. He watched in appreciative silence as I stretched again. Mmm, it felt so good to stretch out my tall body on shifting sand that felt better than an expensive mattress. I purred like a very satisfied cat, though I was filled with a different kind of cream. The familiar languid, boneless contentment following great sex and a wonderful orgasm wrapped itself around me.
Brad lit a cigarette, and this time I didn’t have the willpower to refuse when offered one. The bite of the acrid smoke in my throat triggered a long coughing fit. I was light-headed, but Oh, my God, I felt the longing again. Goddamned cigarettes…
I made a silent vow that this would be my last one and took a longer drag to enjoy my smoke. Mark Twain once said, ‘Quitting smoking is easy, I’ve done it hundreds of times.’ Well, if I only smoked after sex, I hoped I’d be able to say that, too.
Since I was ruining my lungs, I decided to ruin my liver, too. I sat up and reached for the questionable bourbon. We passed the bottle between us as we sat in easy comradeship. I was approaching what I called my ‘silly drunk’ state. Where I become stupid and giggle like a little girl. I sound stupid when I giggle.
“Mmm, I think you missed me from how eager you were to drag me to the dunes,” I giggled.
“I don’t think I had to drag you at all,” Brad laughed. “In fact, I remember following you.”
“I missed you, too… At least, I missed this,” I replied and ran a finger over his now limp dick. The cock twitched under my touch, but it wasn’t ready for another round of fucking yet. Instead, we waded out into the light surf far enough to wash off sweat and cum. More kisses and grab-ass silliness ensued as we played under the moon.
Refreshed, we returned to our blanket. I sat facing Brad with my legs folded under me as we passed the bottle again. I accepted another cigarette, vowing NO MORE!’
The usual bitch session followed. Brad knew that although I was assigned to Naval Logistics, I didn’t really go around counting paperclips. Though he was always curious about what I really did and where I disappeared to, he’d accepted that I wouldn’t talk. So, he did most of the bitching. Particularly about one officer who was making his life difficult.
“Yeah, fucking officers. Think their shit don’t stink,” I grumbled, then laughed. “Oh, wait! Should I have asked for permission to speak freely, Lieutenant?”
“Oh, I think I can let your disrespect slide just this once, Petty Officer Ellis,” Brad joked.
Though I was well satisfied, and my abused pussy was a little sore, I wouldn’t have said no to more sex. But Brad had duty in a few hours. An officer in his division had been granted family emergency leave. Until they received a replacement, Brad was on an eight-hour-on, eight-hour-off schedule. Lifting one leg to put on his swim trunks, he swayed above me and almost toppled over.
“You’re fucking drunk, Lieutenant,” I taunted him.
“And you’re not,” Brad taunted back and laughed. “Stand up, Petty Officer Ellis. Let’s see how steady you are!”
“Aye-aye, Sir!” I almost made it to my feet before pitching over to face-plant in the sand. Laughing, I turned onto my back.
“I’m fucking drunk,” I yelled to the stars. “We both are!”
“Yeah, we are,” Brad laughed. “Damn! I’m going to feel like shit in the morning, but I don’t care. Tonight was worth it. Get together tomorrow night?”
“Definitely,” I replied. Brad leaned down for one final kiss and a last grope of my tits before lighting another cigarette and walking down the beach.
I stretched back out on the blanket to stare up at the stars. Gradually, my head stopped spinning. I staggered into the light surf again to wash between my thighs a final time. Rinsed of sand and the last traces of cum, I put on my bikini and a short, terrycloth beach robe.
Shaking the blanket as free of sand as I could, I folded it, policed our cigarette butts and picked up the almost empty bottle. Beach patrols will turn a blind eye and deaf ears to couples having sex in the dunes, but leaving trash behind is a big no-no!
I should have felt guilty for fucking a married man. But I didn’t. We felt affection for each other, but neither of us fucked because of any romantic attachment. He fucked me for his pleasure. I fucked him for my pleasure. We both fucked because we were 12,000 miles away from home and wanted intimacy with no entangling attachments.
No, what I felt as I walked away sipping the last of the Real Kantucky Bourbon wasn’t passion but satisfaction from both the sex and that we’d successfully skirted our way around regulations prohibiting officers and enlisted from the activity we’d just participated in yet again.
The warm sea breeze dried me by the time I reached the female BEQ. The bourbon bottle was empty, and I felt very relaxed as I opened the door. Trying to walk straight, I tripped over nothing. I gave the carpet a death stare for making me almost prostrate myself across the duty desk. My ‘stress and tension and… stuff’ had magically disappeared.
A young woman I didn’t recognize sat behind the desk. An E-3… Probably just arrived today and already stuck on night duty. ‘Sucks to be her,’ I thought and waved as I weaved a careful path over the traitorous carpet. I dropped the empty bourbon bottle into the metal trash can beside her desk. She winced at the loud CLANG that echoed down the hallway. I mumbled apologies before bumping my way off the walls to my room.
Most BEQ rooms are double occupancy, with everyone sharing a single communal head. I had a single room with a private head. These rooms were reserved for E-7s and above. I was an E-5 and had one. The other ladies resented me for my ‘preferential treatment.’
Rumors of my fucking a senior officer for favors were whispered behind my back when they thought I couldn’t hear. My reputation was shot to hell, but I had a private room, a private head, and never stood cleanup duty for the communal toilets and hallways. You take the good with the bad.
Another reason for the resentment the other enlisted personnel had for me was that I seemed to do nothing. Though I was assigned to the Logistics Office, I did whatever it was I did inside the Special Forces compound, and SF never talks. So I pulled no duty on the island that anyone could identify. It irked some people’s strict, regulation-bound minds when they couldn’t figure out why the fuck I was even on the island.
It certainly bent Chief Stanford’s nose out of position. Chief Stanford had a strict, regulation-bound mind. She also ran the male and female BEQs like her private fiefdoms. She resented that I was assigned to a room that she didn’t think I was entitled to. It really bent her nose out of position because when she’d tried to find out why I was entitled to it, a Commander with SEAL insignia on his ACUs had pulled her aside and ‘politely’ suggested she stop asking questions.
So I slept late in a room no one thought I deserved, pulled no duty that anyone could point to, and disappeared at odd times. My only activities Chief Stanford could identify seemed to be exercising, jogging, shooting, and inviting enlisted men into my room for loud, enthusiastic sex. Well, to be fair to her, that was pretty much all that I did.
Chief Stanford made me pay for my ‘wanton, disreputable behavior’ (Her words, not mine) during her weekly room inspections. My bed was never made up properly. The corners were never ‘military enough.’ My carpet was never clean enough. My furniture was never dusted enough. The small shower smelled like mildew…
I’d have to clean everything again and again until she’d grudgingly admit my room had passed inspection. Several times, I’d been right on the very edge of telling her that maybe if she participated in some loud and enthusiastic sex, her mood would improve. But I managed to say a crisp, ‘Yes, Chief’ instead. Pissing off Chief Petty Officers isn’t a good move if you want a quiet existence in the Navy.
The next morning, I took advantage of my ability to sleep late. As long as no one had questions about the AAR (After Action Report) I’d written on the plane before touching down, I had the day off. I woke up very relaxed and only slightly hungover. Nothing that Aspirin and food wouldn’t cure.
I’d let my physical training lapse during the month I’d been in the jungle. It’s hard to exercise while searching for anything that wouldn’t slither or crawl back up my throat if I ate it. I pushed through my reluctance and put on my athletic gear. I went running on the beach and made it to the chow hall sweaty and out of breath just in time before the lunch line closed. I felt so much better after sweating out the last of the fake bourbon and replacing it with food.
As I jogged back to the BEQ, acknowledging friendly wolf whistles, I decided to swim laps in the pool to finish my PT. A short bake in the sun afterwards was just what I deserved. Which was what I was doing when a shadow blocked my sun. I opened my eyes and saw a pair of highly polished shoes and khaki trouser legs. Shading my eyes, I found a newly minted ensign standing over me, trying hard not to stare at my tits.
“Sir,” I asked.
“Are you Petty Officer Ellis? Master Chief Morrison said I could find you here.”
Morrison was the senior enlisted man in the SF detachment. The bastard must have pinged my phone’s GPS again.
“Yes, Sir. I’m Petty Officer Ellis,” I answered, rising to my feet and wrapping a towel around me to ease the Ensign’s obvious discomfort as he looked everywhere but at me.
“Petty Officer, why is your phone off?”
Fuck! Duty calls!
“Sir, my phone is on, but it and my ID are in the locker room,” I replied. I continued in a lighter tone. “A bikini doesn’t have pockets.”
“Umm, yes… I, ahh, can see that,” Ensign Marshall said uncomfortably.
He really looked uncomfortable when he realized that, even barefoot, I was taller than him. The ensign informed me that I needed to report to Commander McCain, the CO of the SF detachment, and left. I checked my phone in the locker room. One missed call. One fucking missed call, and an ensign was sent to find me? I mean, sure… Ensigns always get shit duty, but there were plenty of enlisted who could have been sent! That an officer had been sent told me I’d either fucked something up or… I couldn’t think of another reason, nor could I think of anything I’d fucked up.
I showered off suntan lotion in the locker room and changed into my ACUs. When I reported, McCain handed me a sheaf of papers. When I read the pages in my hand, I wondered if the orders had been sent to the wrong Petty Officer Ellis.
I mean… WTF?
With access to Southeast Asia, the Middle East and Eastern Africa, Diego Garcia is home to a regular contingent of SF personnel. I wasn’t assigned to any unit. I was a shooter who could be assigned to any team that needed my skill at hitting a target at extreme range. My duty tour on Diego Garcia was slated to last a year. I’d been here only eight months, and now I was being ordered to make my way ASAP to… Fort Hood? Texas? What the fucking fuck was at Fort Hood? Commander McCain only shrugged when I asked that out loud… In polite language, of course.
“Damned if I know,” he answered, sitting on the edge of his desk. “All I know is that I’m to make certain your ass is on the next MAC (Military Airlift Command) flight out. That’s at 1700 hours. You need to inform me if there is any reason you cannot follow the orders.”
“No, Sir. There’s no reason but, what the hell, Sir? Fort Hood? That’s an Army base, isn’t it? You really don’t have any clue why I’m being shipped to Texas? Did I piss someone off? I thought I was getting along well with the teams.”
“Not a clue, Barbie. Thomas is waiting at your cage. Anything you want to keep but can’t carry, he’ll pack up and send it to your parents’ address. He’ll do the same at the BEQ,” McCain said as he extended his hand for me to shake.
“And no, you didn’t piss off anyone. We don’t have time for a formal interview, but I’m giving you straight 4.0s on your evals. I gotta admit I had doubts when you were assigned to us as support, but you’ve performed outstandingly as Overwatch.”
“Thank you for the 4.0s, Sir. Those never hurt when I’m up for promotion.”
“You earned them. Well, you’d better hustle to make your flight.”
All I needed from my cage were my uniforms, pistols and rifle. Thomas promised to send everything I left behind in the cage and my BEQ room to my parents’ home address. Weighed down with what I could carry, I made it just in time to be rushed into the cavernous hold of a C-17A.
**********
Because many high-ranking officers regularly need transportation between Hawaii and San Diego, someone had thoughtfully added a pallet with two rows of seats attached. These could have replaced any seat in the Business Section of a Boeing 747. They looked very small and out of place in the forward section of the cavernous cargo hold of the C-17A. My head was pounding from travel fatigue as I dragged my weary ass up the ramp to board.
I thought I was in Heaven as I sat in the first comfortable seat since leaving Diego Garcia. Garcia to Singapore to the Philippines to Guam to Hawaii had consisted of hours that could only be described as torture. My trip so far had consisted of sitting on hard plastic seats while waiting to board the next MAC flight, where I’d sit for more hours on equally uncomfortable webbed seats. I felt like I was suffering the worst hangover of my life as I collapsed into my seat.
Sheer willpower had gotten me to Hawaii instead of walking off the plane in Guam to find the nearest BEQ to sleep for a day. My ass had fallen asleep somewhere between the Philippines and Guam and still hadn’t woken up. My numb ass was the only part of me that wasn’t hurting.
Once we lifted off from Hawaii and leveled out of our climb, the background noise inside the cavernous hold of the C-17A became a constant, lulling drone. The noise of the engines and the gentle vibrations of the plane, all of these rocked me to sleep in my first comfortable chair in almost 36 hours.
It was the bump and screech of wheels meeting the tarmac that woke me. To my chagrin, I woke to find myself slumped against the passenger beside me, my head resting on his shoulder. A fellow traveler in ACUs, which sported the insignia of a Navy Captain. I straightened up quickly and blushed at seeing the wet spot on his BDUs where I’d drooled.
“Captain, I’m so sorry! I…”
“Relax, Petty Officer…” He laughed and leaned forward to read the nameplate on my Dress Blues. “…Ellis. Being a pillow for you is the most productive service I’ve provided to the Navy in months. You looked exhausted when you boarded. Traveled a long way?”
“Yes, Sir. Diego Garcia. Someone apparently wants me in Texas ASAP.”
The C-17A came to a stop. After the loadmaster gave us permission to leave our seats, I tried to arrange my Dress Blues to make me look more presentable. That was a losing battle after almost two days of flying military cargo planes.
Though I thought the neckerchief looked sporty and the wool never showed wrinkles as much as my Dress Whites, I knew the iconic ‘Crackerjacks’ were showing all the miles I’d put on them. I settled my duffle bag on my back and was lifting two backpacks to put one on each shoulder when the captain reached over to take one of them. His eyes widened in surprise at the weight and the unmistakable smell of gun oil.
“Why do I believe there’s more than clothing in here, Petty Officer Ellis?”
“Because you’re very perceptive, Captain. Let’s just say that what’s in the pack is one of the reasons I can’t fly commercial,” I answered with a smile as I lifted a long-ish case that was heavier than the bookbag.
“And that,” he asked, looking at the case in my hand.
“This would make TSA shoot me on sight, Sir,” I answered in a light tone and laughed.
“Not normal luggage for someone in Logistics,” the captain said, looking at the crossed keys on my shoulder patch as we exited the plane.
“I’m not your normal Logistics person, Sir.”
“No. You certainly are not,” the captain replied in a friendly, admiring tone.
In the MAC office, I was praying to Neptune, the Roman God of the Sea, that there wouldn’t be a flight to Texas until the next day, preferably not for two or three days. I really needed a shower and a long night in a soft bunk. The Captain and I continued to exchange small talk as we made arrangements for the next legs of our respective journeys.
“We’re not in the same command, Petty Officer Ellis,” the captain said. “Would I be out of line in asking you to have dinner with an old codger like me if we both have layovers here? My treat. No expectations other than the pleasure of not eating alone while having polite conversation.”
I hadn’t had anything but vending machine food since leaving Garcia. A hot meal sounded perfect!
“Not out of line at all, Captain. As long as we’re in civilian clothes and I don’t have to say Sir all night,” I answered, then changed my voice to a softer tone and slower cadence. “I’ve always depended upon the kindness of strangers.”
“You know your movies,” he chuckled.
“In my opinion, I don’t think the actress got the Southern accent quite right, and for some reason, most people wrongfully attribute the quote to Mae West. This wasn’t hers, but she had so many other memorable ones.”
“Oh? And do you have a favorite?”
I slouched against the office counter, put my hand on my hip, and looked the captain up and down for a long moment with frank and appraising eyes. I did my best to answer in the suggestive cadence of Mae West’s nasal, Brooklyn voice.
“Well, when I’m caught between two evils… I generally like to take the one I’ve never tried.”
That caused everyone who caught my performance to laugh. Unfortunately, Air Force Sergeant Peters was still grinning when he handed me a boarding pass for a twin-engine plane that would leave in less than an hour.
“Sorry, Captain,” I said, straightening up and returning to military decorum. “Looks like we’re just two ships passing in the night.”
“It was a pleasure, Petty Officer Ellis,” he replied, extending his hand for me to shake. “Look me up if you ever need another shoulder as a pillow.”
“Fair winds, Sir.”
“And following seas, Petty Officer Ellis.”
**********
The pilot said I was lucky to have made the flight.
“You might have had to wait another day or two for another plane going to Fort Hood, Ellis,” the pilot shouted over his shoulder. “We’re headed for the Gulf Coast to be used for search and rescue. We were going to have a layover at Camp Hood anyway.”
Luck? ‘Yeah, bad luck!’, I thought as we took off. For most of the trip, the DHC-6 Twin Otter twisted, rolled and performed like a rollercoaster in the air currents of the unstable weather front we were flying through. Up-and-down, back-and-forth… I made the crew laugh when the pilot looked over his shoulder and shouted over the noise of the engines to ask how I was doing.
“I’m not getting airsick, Sir, but the only time I enjoy getting bounced around like this is during great sex,” I shouted back, then held onto my seat as the plane dropped out from under me for several gut-clenching seconds before beginning to climb upwards again.
“You’re alright, Ellis! I like a sense of humor,” he shouted back as everyone laughed.
A few hours later, I was back on stable ground, trudging a crooked course under the weight of my gear through rain and around puddles. My rain gear was, of course, packed at the bottom of my duffel bag. I was looking forward to checking into a hotel and reporting tomorrow, but…
“Petty Officer Ellis,” a sergeant with Ranger insignia asked uncertainly as I stepped into the MAC office.
“That’s me. Guess the uniform kind’a makes it hard to blend in on an Army base.”
“Just a little, but I was only told to pick up a ‘Petty Officer Ellis.’ I was expecting a man. You are definitely not what I was expecting,” Sergeant Richter observed as his eyes traveled over my definitely not male body. Then he paused and really looked at my travel-worn uniform and tired, sad puppy dog eyes. “I’m really sorry, Ellis. You look beat, but Colonel Brigham sent me to bring you to him ASAP.”
“Not your fault, a colonel has his panties twisted in a knot, Richter,” I sighed in resignation as he helped me carry the heavy backpacks to the Humvee parked outside.
“Pistols,” he asked, sniffing the fragrance of gun oil while doing easy arm curls with the heavy bags. I nodded, and he looked at the case I was carefully strapping across the backseat, where it shouldn’t bounce too much. “And a long rifle? There are no female SEALs, and you’re not Marine Recon… So, what are you, Ellis?”
“I’m in Logistics,” I replied, pointing to the crossed keys on my arm patch. “I count paperclips wherever I’m sent.”
“Riiiiigggghhht…” Richter said, drawing out the word with heavy scepticism. “I’d guess that you’ve been sent to count paperclips in some interesting places.”
“A few. Wherever there are paperclips that need counting, you’ll find me.”
Richter dropped the questions he knew I wouldn’t answer. When I got out a short time later, he objected when I began unstrapping the case from the backseat.
“You can leave everything in the Humvee, Ellis. I’m to drive you to the female BEQ when your meeting with Colonel Brigham is over.”
“I don’t like to leave this out of my sight unless it’s locked in a secure place.”
Minutes later, I was leaning the case against the wall of Colonel Brigham’s outer office. After knocking on the door frame three times, I marched to exactly two paces from his desk and came to attention.
“Petty Officer Ellis reporting as ordered, Sir!”
The colonel looked up, his hand automatically rising to return the salute I wasn’t offering. Naval personnel don’t salute when indoors except under specific circumstances. Army personnel will salute anywhere, anytime.
If the colonel was surprised I was a woman, he hid it well. After having me stand at attention while he noted my disreputable uniform and tired appearance, I was told to stand at ease. I assumed a relaxed Parade Rest position.
“Long trip?”
“If by long you mean from the middle of the Indian Ocean to your office on connecting MAC flights in just over two days? Then yes, Sir, it’s been a long trip.”
“I’d say sorry, but I’d be lying. A naval officer I have a lot of respect for told me that you are the one, the only one, who can help my Rangers on their next assignment,” the colonel said as he rose and picked up a laminated map from the credenza behind his desk. He laid it across his desk. “Let’s see if he’s correct. Can you tell me what this is?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say, ‘It appears to be a map, Sir,’ but Brigham didn’t strike me as a man who appreciated flippancy. Stepping closer to the desk, I examined the map and…
“It’s a satellite photo of a walled compound and the terrain surrounding it, Sir.”
“Yes. Yes,” Colonel Brigham said impatiently. “Anyone can tell me that, but can you tell me where this compound is?”
When I hesitated…
“Petty Officer Ellis, if I ask you a question, you can be assured that I’m cleared to hear your answer.”
“Yes, Sir,” I replied. I took a breath and began pointing out features.
“This is an old site. There used to be a small lake here, between this side of the wall and this ridge. Back in the time of Marco Polo, it was a stopover on the Silk Road. The lake is gone now. There’s still a trickle of water from a pipe hammered into the side of the ridge, so instead of a small lake, there’s a small pool of water now. Still, it’s the only source of water for miles around.
“This compound is in northern Afghanistan and right about here,” I traced a line with my finger a few miles north of the compound. “Right about here is the border between Afghanistan and Tajikistan.”
“And you know this how, Petty Officer Ellis?”
“Because I do my research and because I was there a few months ago, Colonel.”
