Chapter 13

We stood down for Thanksgiving Day and the DFAC put on a terrific spread. I loaded up a tray and was headed towards our usual table when SSG Kennedy intercepted me.

“Come sit with us, Doc,” she said.

I glanced at the table she gestured toward. Five women sat at the six-seat table with an empty chair between LT Baker and Olivia Simpson. All the women had taken some extra time with their appearance for the holiday.

“It would be my pleasure,” I replied, and truer words were never spoken.

I set my tray down and pulled out the empty chair as SSG Kennedy introduced me to the one woman at the table I didn’t recognize.

“Doc, this is Julie Grant, she is an MP from Texas, Julie, this is...” and all the women said as one, “Johnny Pulaski, at your service.”

I laughed and held out my hand.

“That’s me,” I said.

SP4 Grant stood up and shook my hand. She was a tall, slim woman with short blond hair, and she bore a striking resemblance to my sister Katrina. When we clasped hands, I felt a moderate connection between us, so I sent her friendliness and trust. I pulled out my wallet and took out the picture I received in the mail last week from my sister. Katrina was wearing a flight suit and standing next to a T-38 Talon trainer, her helmet under her arm. I showed the picture around.

“This is my sister, Katrina,” I said.

“Wow! Julie, she looks a lot like you,” Lt Baker said as she passed the photo to SP4 Grant.

Lakota looked at the photograph over Grant’s shoulder.

“She is too pretty to be related to you, Pulaski,” Lakota snarked.

As we all laughed at Lakota’s remarks, LT Baker pressed her leg against mine and surreptitiously dropped her hand onto my thigh. I didn’t bat an eye as she squeezed my leg a couple of times before moving her hand.

“Yeah, she got the looks and brains. All I got was big feet,” I replied.

I had a good time talking to the women at the table, but I had a better time messing with 2^nd Lieutenant Regina Baker. When she put her hand on my leg again, I casually put my hand atop hers and sent her a good-sized jolt of lust. Regina stiffened and looked at me, her eyes big. I shot her a smile and moved my hand. Listen, I knew there was no way I would be hooking up with Baker. The situation of our being deployed, and our respective ranks, made getting together pretty much impossible. But, our clandestine flirting was fun for both of us.

Between Thanksgiving and Christmas, we Rangers ran more daytime combat operations as the weather had cooled considerably. On the occasions we went out at night it was to scout out likely locations for the 4^th ID mechanized infantry units to set up roadblocks. The insurgents coming in from Syria stayed off the main roads, so we spent time finding the alternate routes they used. The last thing infiltrating insurgents wanted to see when they crested a hill was a platoon of Bradley’s sitting in their path. A Toyota pickup with 12.7 machine gun fared poorly against the 25MM Bushmaster equipped Bradleys.

Second platoon patrols uncovered signs that mechanized vehicles were maneuvering in the rocky uninhabited western desert. The TOC kicked the intel up the chain but since it wasn’t corroborated by some other form of intel no one in the puzzle palace paid any attention. The J-2 (Joint Service Intelligence Section) decided that it was impossible for us to find something their sophisticated reconnaissance drones and satellites missed. Of course, that decision ended up biting FOB Hawkeye in the ass.

We started taking our one week mid-tour breaks the second week of December. One third of the platoon got successive weeks off. My week off fell between Christmas and New Years. I had no plans, so the days off really didn’t matter to me. But my Ranger buddy JP did have plans. He was meeting his girlfriend — Lana Swistak — in Italy. He was all atwitter about it to the point of being a gigantic pain in the ass.

My sister called me five days before Christmas. After some small talk she turned serious.

“Do you remember Patricia Smith?” she asked.

The name didn’t ring a bell and I told her so.

“Well, she knows you. She said you treated her when her helicopter was shot down. Then you shielded her with your body when the helicopter exploded, and you took the shrapnel she would have gotten in your back. Why did someone not you tell me you were wounded?” Katrina asked, her voice becoming strident.

“Relax, Trina, most of the stuff bounced off my vest, I barely got scratched. I remember LT Smith now, how is she doing?” I asked, quickly turning the subject away from me.

“She said she is healing and should be back on flight status in a couple of weeks. She asked me for your contact info. She said you gave it to her, but it disappeared when they took her flight suit at the hospital. I said I would ask you if was okay.”

I said, “Sure, give it to her. She seemed okay even though she is in the Air Force.”

Two days later, at seven in the evening, my phone rang from a number I didn’t recognize.

I answered it with, “This is Johnny.”

“Hi, Johnny, this is Trisha Smith, remember me?”

“Ah, my favorite helicopter pilot! How could I forget you?”

She laughed and said,” I hope I’m not calling at a bad time.”

She was calling at a good time because I was bored shitless working through a practice test in preparation for the CLEP (College Level Examination Program) English Test. If I scored high enough on the five basic CLEP exams I could bag 30 college credits. I had already taken the Natural Science exam because I thought it might be the easiest considering all my medical training. I thought I had done well on the test because I knew the answers to most of the questions.

Lakota Stone was the one who turned me on to the online educational opportunities through the Army Education Center. I had to laugh when I realized that my high school classmates were well into their last year of college, and I was just starting.

“It’s a great time, Trisha. So how are you feeling? Katrina said you are almost healed up.”

“I’m good, Johnny, thanks for asking. How about you? I know you were hurt, too.”

“I wasn’t hurt enough to even get the next day off,” I replied.

We talked back and forth for a few minutes, getting to know each other. In no time we were yakking like old friends. Trisha had a wicked sense of humor and an easy laugh. She also had one of those slightly husky voices I liked. I don’t know why it surprised me that her family lived on a ranch in Montana, but it did. I don’t know, maybe it was because she didn’t sound like my idea of a cowgirl. As our conversation wound down, she had a question for me.

“Your sister said you are off Christmas week, is there any way you could get down here?”

Down here was the Ali Al Salem Air Base in Kuwait. I thought about it for a few seconds, but only because I needed a way to get there.

“I’d like that,” I replied, “I’ll start working on transportation tomorrow.”

“All you need is a ride to Balad Air Base. There is a C-130 that flies between Balad and here every day at 1400 hours,” she said helpfully.

So we made a tentative plan. It was a tentative plan because I had to find a ride from FOB Hawkeye to Balad Air Base the day after Christmas. And whatever it was had to arrive at Balad in time for me to catch the 1400 hours C-130 flight to Ali Al Salem. And there needed to be room on the flight for me. A lot of ands, eh?

JP talked SFC Edwards into letting him go on leave two days early so he could catch a hop from Balad to Aviano Air Base in Italy. Lana was already in Milan for a fashion show. JP caught a ride with LT Baker’s weekly supply convoy from Hawkeye to Balad on the morning of the 23^rd. By the time he left all of the Second Platoon was happy to be rid of him.

I lucked out when I paid a visit to the aviation platoon and my friend Rob Ridarelli. Rob cadged me a seat on a helicopter that was departing for Balad on the 26^th. Of course, there aren’t any free rides, so I signed on as an escort for a couple of Iraqi civilian big shots who were inspecting the work being done to the base. Being Muslims, working on Christmas wasn’t a problem for the Iraqi inspectors. The helicopter was leaving at noon making the timing tight but doable.

I spent the next few days catching up with friends and family back home, mostly by e-mail. We patrolled every day for the three weeks after Thanksgiving, so I had been choosing sleep and food over conversations. My girlfriends from high school (the Cavanaugh twins and Cindy Frazier) were all doing well. Cindy Frazier was killing it at Florida State with a 4.0 GPA. She had recently received her letter of acceptance to the Florida State College of Medicine, so she was a happy camper.

Ellen Cavanaugh was headed to the graduate physics program at California Polytech. Her sister Elaine had been accepted at John Hopkins University School of Medicine. Elaine’s goal was a Medical Degree and a PhD in Psychology. It was an ambitious goal but if anyone could do it would be Elaine. I was still in love with all three of those women and they said they loved me, but our lives had diverged to the point that I seriously doubted we had a future. Besides it wasn’t as if I had been sitting home doing without while we were apart.

I called Mikayla on the phone instead of e-mailing her because I always felt better after talking to her. I don’t know what someone like her saw in my tired ass, but I was thankful she picked me over all the handsome and rich dudes chasing her. We talked for almost an hour, our conversation peppered with ‘I miss you’ and ‘I love you’.

At 1145 hours on 26 December, I took a seat on the helicopter with the two Iraqi civilians and a couple of MPs who were also tasked as escorts. All three of us soldiers were in full battle rattle but this time I was carrying my bug-out bag full of civvies instead of my aid bag. I put in my earphones and turned on the iPod my Sweet Baby Mikayla sent me for Christmas. The device was already loaded with hundreds of classic rock songs as well as a few tastefully racy photos of Mikayla dressed in some of Victoria’s finest secrets.

I stepped off the C-130 when it taxied to a stop in front of a large hanger and the loadmaster dropped the ramp. Trisha was waiting at the bottom of the ramp. She was casually dressed in snug black Levis and a long-sleeved blue sweater. Her brown hair was in a ponytail sticking out the back of a University of Montana Grizzlies baseball hat. Trisha was about five foot four, medium slender and ‘girl next door’ cute. She looked healthy, fit, and to a guy who had been doing without for four months, she looked damned hot.

We exchanged hellos and then an awkward hug. When I looked over her shoulder as we hugged, a HUMVEE pulled up and a couple of Air Force guys armed with M16A2s hopped out giving me the fisheye.

“Can I help you?” I asked as I straightened up.

One of the men answered, “Sir, your weapon must be secured in the arms room while you are on this base.”

“Of course,” I replied, “point me in the right direction and I’ll do that.”

Before he could say anything, Trisha said, “I’ll take him there.”

She led me to a one-story building about two hundred yards away with a sign that read ‘Security Police.’ There was a red barrel filled with sand next to the door. The barrel was canted at a 45-degree angle. A sign next to the barrel read ‘Clear Your Weapon Before Entering’. I dropped the magazine out of my M-4 and ejected the round in the chamber. I checked the chamber, and satisfied it was empty, I pressed the bolt release, took it off safe, stuck the muzzle into the barrel and pulled the trigger. Once inside the building a desk sergeant pointed me down a corridor to the right of the entrance.

An armorer secured my shooting iron and issued me a weapons card so I could retrieve it when I departed. It felt weird being unarmed after practically sleeping with my M-4 for the last three months. The armorer also gave me a key with a tag on it.

“You can store your gear over there in the locker room, Sergeant. Just find the locker with the same number as your key. We are used to field soldiers coming through here. You can also change into civvies if you want,” the helpful armorer said.

So that’s what I did.

The temp was in the mid-60s (18 °C) so I was in blue jeans and a black hoodie when we walked to the parking lot. Of course, the hoody had a yellow Ranger Tab on the left breast. Trisha led us to a burgundy-colored Ford Explorer.

“Avis rental,” she said before I could ask.

I threw my bag in the back seat as she climbed behind the wheel.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“I reserved you a room at the Lodging Facility. It’s right down the hall from mine. After you drop off your bag and freshen up, we’ll go to dinner at the new Dining Facility. Tomorrow, we are going to Kuwait City,” she answered.

“That is a plan I can get behind, especially the dinner part. I haven’t eaten since breakfast,” I said.

A five-minute ride brought us to a newish two-story building. My second-floor room was much nicer than where I slept at FOB Hawkeye.

“These digs are much nicer than I’m used to. You Zoomies live a good life,” I said.

Trisha laughed and then turned pensive. She sat down on one of the two chairs that flanked a small table and I sat across from her.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Johnny, I don’t know how to act around you, because I’ve never met anyone like you. I feel safe when I’m near you, even when it’s on the phone. Your sister said it is always like that with you. Still, it took every bit of courage I could muster to invite you here,” she said.

“Just be yourself, Trisha,” I said, “because I didn’t come here with any expectations except to see you.”

“That’s just it, Johnny, I’m the one with expectations. See, I wasn’t allowed to date until I was sixteen and starting my senior year of high school. I was okay with that because I was shy, and sheltered, and totally focused on getting into the academy. I had a few safe dates and then a few that ended in make out sessions. I really enjoyed making out and some frisky touchy-feely so when this handsome and popular guy asked me out, I accepted. We dated for a couple of weeks and made out hot and heavy. By the third date he had me mostly naked and hot as hell.

“Then it was prom night. He took me to dinner, then to the dance, and then he took me in the back of his daddy’s Mercedes. He dumped me the next Monday and informed the entire school how easy it was to get into my panties. That experience made me shy away from guys at the academy so when I went to T-6 Flight Training, I was twenty-two and had a grand total of ten minutes of sexual experience. At Laughlin I met a guy who I thought was different. Turns out all he wanted was a sexual partner while he was away from his fiancée.

“Your sister said you never sleep with a woman you don’t have feelings for, so I guess I want to try to be one of those women. I’m not experienced, Johnny, but I have a healthy attitude toward sex.”

She looked so forlorn, and her story was heart wrenching. I stood and pulled her to her feet so I could hug her.

“You are a pretty and sexy woman, Trisha. You’ve just had some bad luck. We’ll enjoy each other’s company and let nature take its course as far as us getting together like that. Okay?”

She sniffled and hesitantly nodded her head against my chest. I figured she needed more convincing, so I tilted her chin up until she was looking into my eyes.

“I think I can prove nature is on our side, and it will be worth the wait,” I said.

Then I leaned down and pressed my lips to hers. When she didn’t pull back, I sent her some trust mixed with a medium sized dose of arousal. She gave a little squeak, put her arms around my neck, and then wormed her agile little tongue between my lips. In seconds we were seriously making out, both my hands on her tight little ass. Before we got too carried away, I broke our clinch and stepped back. Trisha mewled unhappily.

“Why’d you stop, Johnny?” she asked.

“Trust me, Trish, stopping wasn’t easy, but we can have an afternoon quicky anytime. I want our first time to be an epic event,” I replied.

“You are a strange man, Johnny Pulaski, but I do trust you. Now I’m the one who needs to freshen up. Give me ten minutes, and then we can go to dinner.”

It was dusk when we strolled into the Dining Facility. We drew some curious looks from the other diners because, while we weren’t publicly displaying affection, it was clear we were together. We went through the serving line, sat at a table by ourselves and continued getting to know one another. Our conversation was interrupted every few minutes as one of Trisha’s friends or fellow pilots stopped by our table. I guessed they were curious about Trisha’s dinner companion. I politely stood and shook hands with everyone when Trisha introduced me.

Okay, I admit that I also stood to emphasize my size. I was still six foot four inches (1.9 meters) tall, but I weighed 240 pounds (109 kilos) now. Thanks to constant patrolling carrying fifty pounds (23 kilos) of gear and some weightlifting at the make-shift outdoor gym back at FOB Hawkeye, I was in the best shape of my life. I wasn’t ripped like a bodybuilder, but I was thick through the chest, my shoulders were broad, my stomach was flat, and my arms weren’t skinny.