I’d been watching my radar display like a hawk ever since the air-raid warning had sounded, both hoping and dreading. Then, there it was, a blip entering the display at the edge.
“Got a bogey, babe,” I said to Jo, who was equally intent at her console.
She smiled, “Bring it on.”
The blip skimmed down into the atmosphere. I activated the visual display. Wrestling with the targeting system, I got the bogey into focus: Santa Claus on a sleigh pulled by a team of reindeer. The aliens loved their psychological trickery.
The targeting system gave me a congratulatory ding.
“Got a lock, babe,” I said.
Jo punched in the launch code but got a disapproving dong.
“Fuck, it’s after midnight,” she swore.
“Still got a lock, babe,” I reassured her.
Jo punched in the Christmas Day launch code. As soon as the ding of approval sounded, she pushed the red button.
“Missile away,” she announced.
As the bogey raced towards the far side of my targeting display, the new blip streaked up to meet it.
“I’m losing him,” I said, as the bogey left the effective range of the targeting system.
The missile caught up with Santa and impacted his tail but didn’t detonate.
“Fuck, a dud!” swore Jo.
Nevertheless the impact persuaded the bogey to change course and head upwards. Suddenly its illusion generator failed, revealing a cigar shaped alien bomber with its stubby atmosphere wings still deployed.
“We hurt him though,” I said.
Then the night sky lit up as bright as day as a new star was briefly born, the alien bomber not having had a chance to dispense any of its payload. Mere seconds later it had faded away.
“Whoo hoo, we got him babe!” cheered Jo
We leaned towards each other and shared a brief celebratory kiss.
I sent a ‘bogey down’ signal to Central Command. The other missile stations must also have reported no bogeys remaining because a few minutes later the all clear sounded.
Almost immediately Jo was standing, naked from the waist down, bent over her console, resting her weight on her arms. She was always horny after a kill.
“Don’t keep me waiting, babe,” she whined.
Not far behind, I too was soon naked from the waist down, with my now not-so-little soldier standing firmly to attention. I moved behind Jo, admiring her perfect butt, with its small, firm, muscular cheeks. To my mind it was begging to be spanked and I’d have loved to see it in a fetching shade of pink, but I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life eating through a straw. Instead I grasped one orb in each hand and squeezed, savouring the warm firmness.
“For fucks sake Clay, get on with it,” Jo protested. “Give me your Christmas log now!”