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Operators	By : Saoirse Category: 1 through F > Black Hawk Down Views: 2461 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Black Hawk Down, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Well, looks like
I�m building myself a little universe here, don�t it? As always nothing truly
belongs to me, just my insane need to sublimate. Just saw Passion of Mind,
it was ludicrous beyond comprehension! If I should ever write like that e-mail
me an explosive virus- but Will Fichtner looked great! Thanx for all the
reviews, keep �em coming! Oh and watch out, the fun (and raunch) begins here so
this gets a l�il limey!

~U.S. Army
Headquarters, September 22 4:17 A.M.~
�Sleep with one
eye open� was a term taken in a literal sense in the unit. If you hoped to join
1st SFOD-D, combat better be your forte and you�ve got to be smart. Gung-ho
GI�s and Rambos need not apply, a little paranoia you were cool. Given
what they have to do keeping their eyes, ears, and nose open will save your
life in a pinch whether you were sitting in some shitty Costa Rican basement
listening in on Medell�n traficantes plot the elimination of their next
presidential hopeful, or loafing on satin cushions being entertained by a
dissident Iraqi sheik in Bahrain. If you smelled something, double tap. And the
sad thing was they were usually right, the House of Horrors got you accustomed
really well. Being qualified for Delta wasn�t so much a test to your physical
capabilities- you could take anything they throw at you or you wouldn�t be
considered- their focus was on the mental and what went on between your ears,
if anything. Will you be able to put your man down without blinking? It was the
mistake that was made during the �72 Munich Games, and an entire athletic team
paid the price for some dumb fuck�s ethical reservations. It didn�t matter if
they were GSG-9, GIGN, SAS, Aussies, Sayeret Mat�kal, KGB even, was the guy a little� off? Then
again, it�s what they looked for when recruiting, what made you weird and stick
out a little. Case in point: Sergeant First Class Jeff Sanderson. Ten years ago
he was one of the fish-belly cranium yahoos, grunting out the hoo-ahs and
making like it was paradise. But it died quickly after Iran the first time he�d
ever seen any real action. Delta was still wet behind the ears, and their first
mission was a test case and no one truly knew what they were doing. Then the
accident with Blue element, and Jeff didn�t want to dwell on that for the rest
of his life, so he chalked it up to �inexperience�. Two good things came out of
it, he met Busch and Griz they served in Vietnam and assigned to White element.
Their philosophy was getting out there and having a good time, Delta was real
soldiering and Iran was only the beginning. �Just you see� they said.
In the three years
he spent at Fort Benning after Iran, Jeff spent much of his time sorting out
his head and polishing boots. His career was at a standstill, he thought about
getting SF tabbed as so many of his friends were doing but the Uwharrie Forest
was hardly calling out to him. That�s when his company commander called him
into his office one day. He had been monitored for quite some time he learned,
Jeff was a good sergeant with an excellent record prone to the occasional screw
up, but no man was perfect. PT, drills, hell, kitchen duty he was
alright. But downtime he walked around with his head in the clouds. Should he
be worried? So he cracked open the kid�s file over breakfast. The first thing
he noticed Sanderson enlisted relatively late, not after high school but
college, a Bachelor�s in political science he was 22. The youngest and only boy
of four, no father. There was another thing that piqued his curiosity;
according to his college transcript he had an elective credit in acting. He was
in the drama club? Was this guy for real? That had to be useful for something,
but not sitting here in Fort Benning. So he made a few calls then dragged the
kid into his office.
�College boy, huh?�
�Yes sir.�
�It says here
you took acting, care to elaborate?�
�It was an
elective; we were required to choose one. I enjoyed the drama group sir.�
The commander just
nodded and handed him a letter. �Maybe you should try something a little
different.�
�I�m reporting to Fort
Bragg? SF, sir?�
He smiled. �Not
quite.� He arrived in North Carolina and the first two people he met
after reporting in were Griz and Busch.
�Why are we not surprised
to see you here?� Busch said and they shook his hand. A few years later when he was
an active duty operator he was going about his normal morning routine that
began with a few sessions at a Fayetteville gym. The one on base wasn�t as
great, so he hunted around the city for fitness club and got himself a
membership. It was about an hour after the doors opened when Jeff chose to show
up, happy to have the weight room all to himself not even the stereo was on.
But as soon as he stripped off his sweatshirt one of the bench presses was
occupied. Enter SFC Norm �Hoot� Gibson, he�d seen the tall Texan around base in
class A�s and a knuckle-sized silver SF ring, he was 29 and an NCO on a
training A-team.
�Hey man,� he said.
�Hi.� Jeff replied and took to
the treadmill instead. A half an hour went by and Hoot left to presumably use
the men�s room when Jeff got on the bench press and began his reps.
�Need a
spotter?�
�Please.� They shot the bull for a
bit exchanging tips and talking about nothing in particular. Hoot tossed Jeff
his towel. �Thanks man.� He pat down his face, but when he pulled away
he noticed the gold floral monogram on pink. Jeff held it out pinched between
thumb and index finger. �I take it this came with a matching set?� Hoot
laughed good humoredly.
�Spent the
weekend with my girlfriend, Caryn.�
�Uh-huh.�
�No really.� Jeff tossed it back.
�She hot?�
�Very.� Jeff was still laughing
about it a week afterward in the team room.
�So what�s the
big joke?� Griz asked.
�Nothing, just something
that happened at the gym.�
�We�ve nothing
to do right now, spill.� So Jeff went into the whole spiel- pink towel, girlfriend, and
all. �Caryn, huh?�
�Yeah.�
�She hot?�
�According to
this guy, definitely.� Griz thrust his fist in the air. �Can�t get the nickname
though. I�ve seen him a few times, humpin� it with the trainees.� Griz
didn�t say anything, just sort of watched Jeff with an odd grin. Jeff regarded
Hoot somewhat of a �mutant strain�, not surprisingly a weapons sergeant who
genuinely enjoyed putting himself on the rack. Press-ups, sit-ups, dips,
leg-lifts, chin-ups and other agony of his own devising. Then there was the
cycling obsession. The human body was a remarkable machine.
�Hey Jeff!� Busch called out entering
the room.
�Yo?� Jeff turned around in time
for a pink towel to land on his face.
�From Caryn. Meet
the new guy.� Jeff lifted a corner of the towel from his face. Busch stood there
with an arm around Hoot. It was understandable how quickly they took to him, he
was the no-b.s. type long disillusioned with the protocol and piss of the
system that not only fucked its soldiers, but whoever they intended to support.
As it turned out �Caryn� was not Hoot�s girlfriend but a codeword. The test was
simple, how would he hold up out in the world amongst civilians on a mission?
Could he determine who was real and who wasn�t? He didn�t know who Jeff was, if
he were a plant, a regular, or a terrorist. The pink towel was a diversion;
something that Hoot thought up to see if Jeff would blow his cover- that is if
he had one. It really belonged to Griz� wife. It also reminded Jeff that
technically he still was a rookie, and yes Griz and Busch did get up his ass on
many occasions. Things were looking up for Jeff, there was somebody else on a
much lower rung of the food chain and he certainly had his fun. Then came Randy
and finally Gary, there were not many Jeff could put his trust in so he tended
not to socialize outside his group, a behavior not uncommon within his
profession. This posed a whole other problem: women.
The majority of
Deltas were married and had families, like Griz. Randy was married but he and
Stephanie put off kids because it wasn�t their time yet. Like his mother always
said, �A place for everything, and everything in its place� and in the
team rooms the subjects of wives and children were not something they wanted to
bring with them when discussing how they should overtake the Ayatollah�s
private mosque. It�s not to say they never talked about them, Jeff wouldn�t
have been so convinced that it was his turn to play Ozzie and Harriet if
he didn�t get to know Griz� family and Stephanie so well- as long as it was
outside the office. Liz was terrific, Griz� three girls were cute (they called
him Uncle Jeff), and he was sure that Libby was crushing after him. Her younger
sisters Meghan were seven and the toddler Courtney was 22 months. Griz held the
barbeques at his house for the 4th of July, Memorial and Labor Day, while
Stephanie put together the Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. Stephanie was
drop-dead gorgeous, a fact that didn�t need to be pointed out to Randy. He
however lapped up the looks he got whenever she�d walk into a room and just
peck him on the cheek. She had the softest sable hair, bedroom eyes, and legs
up to her throat and barefoot was almost Randy�s height. Jeff was feeling his
age one December, a week or so before Christmas when the Shugharts held their
get together and the eggnog apparently was spiked with a little danger mixed
with the rum and flirted with her in the kitchen. He half hoped he�d run into
Stephanie under the mistletoe, but she was some smart cookie and put the fire
out before any flames could be fanned. She told him how special he was and that
he was going to meet a girl just as wonderful, all he had to do was be patient.
Jeff considered himself a very patient man, especially after his last one,
Aimee. She was introduced by Liz as a nice girl who transferred to her office
when she left pregnant with Courtney.
�So Jeff, what
do you do?�
�I�m in the
Army.�
Enough said, next
topic. That worked for the first couple of weeks, then the reality of the
sudden and mysterious deployments hit. He truly wanted to talk, not necessarily
about the job but it was stifling when he couldn�t go into detail about where
he was posted and what he did there.
�So why is
that? National security?� Then the laughter gradually stopped when she saw
his expression, an endearing cross between confusion and the �no duh� look. Way
back when this would have not been an issue, if an operator met a woman on or
off base their employment cover story would probably have been a computer
programmer on a military contract. But this was Fayetteville in the �90s, they
�brag about Fort Bragg� and corn-fed military brat or not, these women were
sharp as diamonds. His looks didn�t help either- neck built like a fireplug;
square jawed, and a gigantic all-weather Casio on his thick left wrist.
�Taking me to
the dark side, are you?�
�Lockin� me up
behind the fence?� He could only tease them about watching too many movies
for so long; they picked up on the vernacular quickly. It was the Delta
mythology and mystique that drew them in, fueled by fantastic notions of entire
teams living out adventures of Universal Soldier proportions. This
didn�t exclude SF, and he had buddies who played right up to that to get a
little something in return. Under therellrella of Special Operations there were
Green Berets that operated under similar conditions as Delta, and all
information was classified. Which brought Jeff back to today, he lay on his cot
under the bug net recounting the rust putrefied holes in the hangar�s roof for
the nine-hundredth time. He hit the phosphorescent button on his watch; it was
just after four when Elise pushed a sleepy Richard ahead of her to stand watch
while she showered. Whatever criticism he gave the cameraman was not to
belittle him, but realistically what could he do if a skilled, hormonal Ranger
were brazen enough to attempt something. Not one elbow flinched from those
babies, not even any of his guys stirred in their Blue Bomber slumber. It was
going to be another long, hot day.
* * *
~U.S. Army
Headquarters, September 22 2:03 P.M. ~
�And in 5... 4...
3... 2�� Richard panned out the camera getting the small, unlit room into full
frame.
�Violence of
action,� Lise announced stepping through the door, �is both mental and
physical. This is key to taking and maintaining control when the Rangers
infiltrate a hostile environment.� Steele, McKnight, and a group of Rangers
stood around the back of the CNN van watching the monitors closely, Richard�s
slow and smooth movements traced Lise walking across the restricted space. �In
a few minutes we�re going to see the proper room-clearing techniques and later
on a battalion attack simulating a real-life combat situation, so common in
Mogadishu. Now keep in mind that there will be shooting, so you might want to
keep the little ones away from the TV.�
�And we�re out!�
Richard took the camera down from his shoulder, Lise slumped.
�How do we look?�
�The tape�s fine,
but you look like hell. How could you wear that?� She was dressed in a khaki
skirt, ankle-strap heels, and a crushed velvet black boat neck top with sleeves
hugging her arms to her elbows.
�You know me,
glutton for punishment.� A series of yellowed, clay structures dotted the
beachfront, perfect for drills and rehearsals. The Army practically destroyed a
ridge from their live-fire and explosives, the Rangers looked more
uncomfortable in their full dress gear now than their first time suiting up in
Georgia. They were going to be on TV and didn�t want to screw up more than
ever. Captain Steele ordered the men to gather round as he drew up their plays
in the sand, the standard football X�s and O�s representing what chalk went up
against who, Lise left them to it and stood against the fence. The Deltas would
also be participating, but there were some rules prior to filming: the word
�Delta� was not to be spoken, their masks would be down at all times, and the
cameras would not be allowed to zoom in on any operator directly. The General
made himself quite clear, Lise agreed with no argument. The Deltas sat in their
jeeps smoking or sunning, the only thing that really irked them was getting
their hair clipped before shipping out to Somalia. It wasn�t the standard
Ranger buzz, but it was shorter than they would have preferred. Gordon felt
compelled to smooth things over with Lise, though it was Sanderson who got into
it with her. He walked over to her.
�Listen, about the
other day,� she looked at him, �I don�t know what went on in the office, but I
apologize.�
�You didn�t do
anything.� She smiled.
�I mean for my
teammate. Jeff speaks his mind, when something�s not right he makes it known.�
Lise scoffed but it wasn�t nastily. �But I have a pretty good feeling that you
know that about us.� Her expression soured. �OK, I do know you know that about
us.�
�That�s better.�
Gordon watched her twist up her hair, anchoring it down with criss-crossed
pens.
�Y�know secrets
aren�t everything.�
�But they�re
better than nothing.� Lise hooked her fingers on the chain links and gave the
fence a good shake, Gordon laughed. Wex fiddled with the boom box in the jeep
rummaging through cassettes, the Deltas were just standing around waiting for Captain
Steele to cut his pep talk short laced with quotes from the great NFL coaches.
Wex hoped Steele would refrain from the bonding cheer, �RANGERS LEAD THE WAY!� Randy was in the back snoring and
Busch borrowed one of Hoot�s paperbacks. Hoot just bummed a smoke off Jeff and
went back to flicking his rifle safety on and off to ZZ Top blasting on
his Walkman. Jeff sat in the passenger�s side, shirt off and jacket open
evening out his tan. He knew what Lise was doing; she and Gordy were trying to
sing Don�t Fence Me In but ended up getting the giggles because neither
knew the lyrics. He knew Gary had designs on her, he saw the way he looked at
her when she was carried into the van and how he just drank her in laid up in
the infirmary. But Jeff gave his friend the affirmative to try; it was the gentlemanly
thing to do. Given the information he had on her, Lise had one vivid
imagination, the whole �No Uniforms� dating deal had to be smoke because there
were nights that got long for him too. She�d wake in the middle of the night on
fire, having to cram her fist into her mouth to suppress screams of
frustration. It was something her body NEEDED. Well, Jeff could PROVIDE.
If there was
anything that Sanderson picked up along the way it was that confidence is sexy.
A sprinkling of arrogance didn�t hurt either, Donna got the credit for that,
and she was responsible for teaching him the finer points of mindless fucking.
Then Ingrid gave him a crash course on �platform sex�, anywhere from a coffee
table to the washer was no hurdle. Cheryl introduced him to the fun couples
have in tight spaces- closets, bathrooms, and pantries. Barbara knew every sex
position in the book and passed it on, and finally, Loretta. Now there he tread
muddy waters since she was Griz� cousin, and there was no real relationship to
tangle things up. She was an incredibly sweet fuck buddy. Loretta approached
him during a 4th of July party wearing a leather mini, a turquoise peasant
blouse and nothing underneath, perched on his knees and kissed his nose.
�Jeff, you know
you�re such a nice guy? I�m really glad Chris has guys like you working with
him to balance shit out. Now come and fuck me before someone sees us.� He
could have blamed it on the alcohol, her perfume, or post-mission blues. But he
was Jeff, and if under the influence he�s more honest with people or maybe it
was his sincere eyes that gave him away. The one thing he never made bones
about was kissing. Jeff was good at it and he enjoyed it, so when Loretta
didn�t laugh but saw this as a unique opportunity he began to worry. Jeff honed
the act of nibbling ears, neck, and shoulders into an art form so Loretta knew
that was a steppingstone and this Delta�s progression into oral sex would be
quick. A few months later she was proud to inform her girlfriends that Jeff
�went to town on pussy.� She was also a shower sex fiend and taught him there
were more fun things to do with a removable showerhead than rinsing. After he
returned from Pakistan Jeff went back to his apartment to check his machine when
Loretta said she might drop by to �hang out� if and when he decided to call
back. He grabbed his keys, drove to the nearest Ace and bought a
removable showerhead. He installed it and thought it would be a nice surprise,
but in true Loretta fashion she surprised him when she showed up at the door
with Terri.
He�d never think
of pizza and �making it a Blockbuster night� the same way again. It was
Terri�s birthday and she was into comedy, so they rented a couple Mel Brooks
titles. The evening whirled by watching The History of the World Parts I
& II and the opening sequence of Spaceballs rolled down the
tube, mocking Star Wars so eloquently. It was also North Carolina in
July so the mercury topped off at 89� degrees, and it may not have been smart
to let Loretta make lemonade, so as Jeff concentrated on the �WE BRAKE FOR
NOBODY� bumper sticker a little too closely he couldn�t help but feel a bit
woozy. His instincts kicked in and immediately ignored it, continuing to munch
on his lasagna Bolognaise slice until he abruptly leapt up from his spot on the
carpet throwing the crust in the corner. There was a burst of Loretta�s
laughter from the opposite end of the coffee table and Jeff didn�t see Terri
next to her, when he regained his senses he looked down to see Terri�s auburn
head in his lap wiping her mouth having given him a mind altering blow job.
�The hell ya
doin�?� It was the only question Jeff could formulate.
�I don�t know
Sergeant, but there�s something about the size of a man�s combat boots that
gets to me.� He honestly could not recollect as to what occurred next, and
for the rest of the night. The drive up to the North Carolina coast was not
pleasant, and neither were the 35 Marine MP�s at the Marine Corps Air Station.
Jeff, Hoot, Griz, and Gary were evaluating ODA 309 on a 10-day plan as part of
the SF recruits� training exercises to teach the Marine MP�s as if they were a
foreign army. The sad fact of Delta life between missions was teaching a bunch
of runny-nosed preschoolers playing G.I. Joe with live ammo; they always
seem to omit that bit in the movies. A combination of the heat, his class A�s,
and last night�s entertainment got him a few looks, so Gary suggested that he
might be the guinea pig for the IV training. Jeff couldn�t argue with that, he
would gladly take the rehydration but every doctor, nurse, and medic in the
military bitched at him for it being the impossible to find a vein. And these
kids were going to do any better? His mother attributed his dense skin to his
father, so after Hoot piled him into the military ambulance on station Jeff sat
back and admired the fascinating bruises tracked down his arms, rubbing the
blood smears groggily. Griz cranked up the air-conditioning, slid the catheter
in, and handed him a water bottle. He was feeling pretty pathetic, not because
of the three-way, that was floating somewhere in his subconscious and would
resurface for future enjoyment, it was his growing aggravation as to why he was
still spinning his wheels with the same women.
Jeff heard a riff
of Lise�s laughter, he looked over his shoulder and saw her trying to teach
Gary gypsy dancing. Mr. Two Left Feet Gordon wouldn�t last 30 seconds with her.
He pulled out one of the hundreds of file photos she had in that box from his
back pocket. He flipped it over to the reverse side where she written a
caption:
� May 1993: The
men who made my Newsweek debut possible. �
After the Gulf
War, the media went into military profile frenzy. Air Force, Navy, Army,
Rangers, SF and the background of
Delta had a two-page or more spread in the major magazines. 20/20 took
their cameras to Kuwait observing the military maintain order. Dateline and
Primetime devoted their full hour to Stormin� Norman and Powell, footage
of Iraqi soldiers throwing down arms and marching to U.S. stockades flashing
every two minutes. 48 Hours interviewed Saudi sheiks and princes in
uniform. When the fervor began cooling and the world settled for the usual
weekday night broadcast crap, somebody wedged an edition of Newsweek in
the sofa cushions when he took a nap in the team room, Jeff rescued it in time
to use the latrine. After getting comfortable and fed up with the boring cover
story, he opened up to the table of contents and saw Lise�s photo, she was
standing in front of Iron Mike tenderly holding a uniform blazer gleaming with
medals. �SF: The Men and the Mystique of the U.S. Army�s Green Berets by
Lise Davies.� She spent a weekend on the Q Course with the G�s
talking with officers, NCO instructors, and some of the recruits about what exactly
are a Green Beret�s function in the military to disparage the popular Hollywood
imagery of a wild-eyed Sly Stallone running from Brian Dennehy doing the
survivalist-having-�Nam-flashbacks-out-in-the-world routine. All made possible
by the two men flanking her on the steps of St. Ignatius� Presbyterian that day
in May for her cousin�s wedding, her uncle Shitbrick and the group commander
Colonel Eugene Primorsky, her Godfather. Talk about �I got the hook-up.�
If it weren�t for
Delta�s SEAL ass-kicking streak in the War Games, he would have never met
Lise�s third cousin Lieutenant Commander Holt Duncan. He also was on SEAL Team
Six and trained with him on numerous occasions. He and his wife Becca were on
the guest list, and managed to scare up a few more invitations for Jeff and his
teammates. It thrilled Liz and Stephanie to get dressed up and go dancing for
once. Busch brought Olivia, a dental receptionist from Raleigh he�d been
seeing, and Hoot and Gordy attached themselves to the bridesmaids, Dimitra and
Faye. Jeff decided to fly solo; they blended in with the other 250-odd guests
in the back pews of the church and in the Atlantis Reception Hall. He hung out
at the bar, accepted a couple of invitations to dance, but for the most part
enjoyed the view. The band switched from contemporary rock to a traditional
Celtic reel, Lise stuck out as the bridesmaids took to the dance floor clumsily
forming the proper circle and pressing hands palm-flat against each other, arms
raised. She redefined � the little black dress�, wearing a simple black satin
tank, red blazer, silk stockings, and the � fuck me, baby now� shoes- the tan
pair she wore when interviewing the General and the CO�s on Monday. Her Oakleys
hung from her breast pocket and a Lady X rose corsage on her right wrist, the
others had fat, white Cymbidium orchids bouncing on their chests. They were in
the tackiest powder blue chiffon 1987 prom queen reject getups he�d ever seen.
He wanted to pull her by the hair off the dance floor, flex-cuff her, blindfold
her, and fuck her into next week with the shoes on. So what if he was a little
kinky? Maybe that was her problem, not getting into new things. It was time to
reprioritize.
* * *
Lise and Eversmann
sat on the hood of one of the jeeps watching the Rangers watch themselves on
the monitors Richard set up in the mini �video village� around the CNN van.
Compliments, taunts, laughter, and cheers were spurting from the group
scrutinizing their battalion attack and the Delta ambush. The plastic curtains
crinkled in the warm breeze wafting into the hangar, carrying the tangy sea
salt and fuel mix aroma, the Staff Sergeant asked her many questions about what
went on in the CNN newsroom that viewers were not privy to. The best analogy
she could think of was the Army�s chain of command, before it could be put on
the airwaves it had to be cleared by the station manager; producers got
involved, and depending on content network CEO�s. Libel laws were sacrosanct
and if something went wrong, someone�s head will roll.
Private First
Class Richard �Alphabet� Kowalewski was getting slightly riled trying to get Mario
to leap over as many barrels Donkey Kong hurled at the little
plumber on his Game Boy�s green screen. Then something disrupted his
flow, a copy of Steven King�s It hit his bare chest. A couple of Tom
Clancy�s sailed over his cot, The Client by his boots, Orwell�s Animal
Farm, and few volumes from The Destroyer series landed on the floor.
�Waddell!� More books skidded as John delved through a box that contained his personal
library. �Hey John!� Waddell turned around.
�What?�
Alphabet picked up
Helter Skelter and threw it at him. �What the hell, dude?� He was going
to answer when something caught his eye.
�There it is!� He
pulled out a bulky hardcover and a pen. �Sorry man!� Kowalewski shrugged and
began collecting Waddell�s literature to plunk on his cot. Waddell saw Lise and
Matt in heavy conversation, his steam and courage waned. He shouldn�t feel
intimidated by Miss Davies, she was kind and fair to the men not pressing them
on sensitive issues that could get them into hot water with Captain Steele.
Talking to a female was like going into combat, anything could happen.
�Miss Davies!�
Lise looked up and saw a flushed Waddell jogging up to her, something under his
arm.
�Hey John.� She
crossed her legs, which didn�t go unnoticed.
�Would you mind,
um�� He trailed off and handed her the hardcover.
�Sure, why not?�
It was the second edition of Headline: Vietnam. It was roughly 75 pages
thicker with updated color photos and a new foreword she written. She scrawled
out on the title page:
� To Private
John Waddell, it�s because of men like you I did this. All the best! Lise. �
Matt invited him
to hang around and John was drawn into the conversation, but it was clear he�d
rather listen to Lise. Wex watched the threesome from the Deltas tent; it was
something out of first grade story time when he and Liz made �Parents Week� at
Meghan�s school. The black pastel carved out a delicate nose, sloping
shoulders, and a swan neck on his pad. Her hair grew a few feet, but his
princess was coming along nicely. It was a head and shoulder sketch, he�d dress
her later, and purple was a color of royalty, maybe some silver frost leaf
embroidery and since Lise loved velvet that would be essential in her wardrobe.
Then Wex considered the fact that the knight never removed his helmet, and it
would be appropriate to have it off when speaking to her highness, so what
would he look like? Jeff shuffled by with the Delta radio man�
�I mean, the news
media is a public trust,� Lise said. �In today�s society, our word is coin of
the realm, and it�s our responsibility not only to get the story but get it
right. It�s why we�re so unforgivably Liberal, this is the only explanation I
can offer you about us and the same one I give my family- for the record.�
Eversmann laughed.
�Well then we�ll
agree to disagree.�
�But did you
decide to become a reporter because of your dad?� Waddell asked.
�Actually I became
one despite him.� The Private looked lost. �When I was 17, my best friend was
raped.� Eversmann closed his eyes, Waddell winced. �I never had much love for
football, but this took the cake. We went to this post-Homecoming Game party
and got separated. She was smart enough to tell her parents right away, but I
didn�t find out until three days later.�
�What did they do
to the asshole?� Eversmann asked.
�Her family got a
lawyer, but didn�t go to the cops and all the principal was interested in was
keeping it quiet. The guy had a full scholarship to Notre Dame, and he was a
big hero so� Anyway, my English teacher Mr. Skimpson had been on my case for
years about joining the school paper. I did well enough in his class, but I
think the name blinded his sense of reasoning. After a couple of weeks and
nothing being done I went to his office and said I�d join the paper. For my
first assignment he was going to have me cover was the Gardening Club�s highway
restoration project, but I insisted on covering the District Championships.�
�Alright!� Waddell
applauded.
�I�m not finished
yet,� she smiled. �I went with our sports columnist to get feedback from the
spectators- I also brought a camera. Before I left I tried asking my friend for
his name, but she was too scared. Instead she gave me a description: white,
brown eyes, and red hair. I didn�t know any of the players, but I knew whom to
look for when the helmets came off. We won the game and since nobody knew who I
was let me take all the pictures I wanted. I ran the victory game story to my
school�s editor then wrote up another story and sent it our local paper The
Revue. I got my dad to get his friend, the assistant editor to look it over
and published it under a pseudonym.� The whites of Waddell�s eyes were as big
as platters.
�Then what penepened?� Eversmann was on the edge of the hood.
�He got arrested
the next day. No trial, but he lost his scholarship and his family paid
restitution.�
�And you got away
with it!� Waddell exclaimed. Lise bit her lip and looked to her lap where her
hands were, checking if her tremors were visible.
�Not exactly. It
didn�t take them long to figure out who really wrote the story.�
�What did they
do?� Eversmann asked softly.
�My locker was
trashed twice and one of the cheerleaders- who I�ve hated since fifth grade-
advised me to transfer. But the scariest thing was a car followed me home- not
once, but twice. I didn�t want to be babied so I never told my parents, but a
busybody neighbor, who I thanked later on, informed them. It�s a good thing
that a cousin of mine who was on R & R stopped by couple of days on his way
to Maine. He was in the shower when he overheard this. After dinner he went out
not saying where and didn�t come back until sunup, he never did this when
visiting the relatives. Needless to say the car never showed up again.�
�And where was
this cousin stationed?� Lise squeezed her eyes shut, she was afraid of that
question.
�Somewhere in
North Carolina.� Eversmann�s shoulders shook with laughter; Waddell thrust his
fist way up in the air and whooped in the direction of the Delta�s tents.
�The hell�s his
problem?� Hoot asked. Shughart pulled a cord and the flap rolled down.
�Re-enlistment is so
on my agenda!� The need to grab Waddell by the ear and scream that it wasn�t as
glamorous as he thought was so great that she bit her tongue. Lise said more by
not saying anything at all, and the Deltas knew that and considered herself
lucky that they were the only ones. If she were to interfere they would escort
her personally out of the country. Giving Sanderson the satisfaction of
confirming his sexist beliefs that women were emotionally driven creatures good
for only a few activities was not something she was inclined to do. She
hopped off the jeep and decided to get some coffee. Sizemore pushed Pilla�s
legs off the sofa.
�C�mon Dom, let�s
do this thing.� The Specialist groaned and followed �Adonis�. Beales ordered
them to take care of a hole in the rafters, Pilla was in charge of the ladder
and Sizemore had the hammer and planks. �Hold the ladder still.�
�I am!� Five
minutes later when Sizemore was struggling to nail in the first plank the
ladder shifted.
�Pilla!�
�What?!�
�I said hold the
ladder!�
�And I said I am
holding it!� This went back and forth over 10 minutes, Pilla was ungracefully
trying to maneuver his feet where he could stand comfortably ended up tripping
over his big jump boots landing on his ass. Sizemore grabbed a scaffolding rail
and flailed his legs, two Rangers who happened to be sitting on it helped
steady and pull him up, but the forgotten ladder and was falling right in
Lise�s walking path.
�MISS DAVIES
LOOK-� Sergeant Scott Galentine shouted but it was too late. When the
proverbial dust settled the ladder crashed on a shelf.
�WHAT IN THE
HELL�?!� Captain Steele bellowed running from his office, the General and
Colonel McKnight flew in from JOC.
�WHAT HAPPENED?!
WHAT HAPPENED?!� McKnight wasn�t armed, but the General was going for the
pistol in his shoulder holster.
�MISS DAVIES! ARE
YOU OKAY?!� Yurek shouted. Master Sergeant Gordon�s reflexes made sure the only
damage done was to one of the TV�s and the hi-fi, on the floor his long,
athletic form curled over Lise�s.
�Lise? LISE!� She
barely heard him, but slowly returned to herself and from where they were
laying Lise got a good view of the Delta�s sleeping quarters. Her box was
sitting under a cot, and she knew it was Sanderson�s. �Are you okay?!� Gary
pushed her huddled figure from his bicep and looked into her glazed eyes.
�Lise?� Sanderson, Hoot, Shughart, Busch, and Wex came crashing through the
plastic and mosquito draperies. They resembled a WW II movie marquee poster;
Gary stiffened their faces inches apart.
�I�m fine.�
Unexpectedly because of the ladder, the stereo flared up on its own.
~We�re caught
in a trap
I can�t walk
out
Because I love
you too much baby
Why can�t you
see
What you�re
doing to me
When you don�t
believe a word I say?
We can�t go on
together
With suspicious
minds
And we can�t
build our dreams
On suspicious
minds�~
Walcott saw
Sanderson�s expression and tapped Gofeena�s shoulder. �Let�s get outta here.�
�Right.� Kurth
clicked his tongue and went back to his solitaire game.
�Pot-on.� Wilkie
whispered to Schmid, the medics donned their k-pot and Pro Tech helmet.
Shaken, Lise was helped to her feet and walked to the infirmary by Beales and
Steele; a nurse sat her on the examining table. Was Sanderson baiting her? And
what about Gary? She was mired in the muck and on her own for this one.
~�So, if an old
friend I know
Drops by to say
hello
Would I still
see suspicion in your eyes?
Here we go
again
Asking where
I�ve been
You can�t see
these tears are real
I�m crying
We can�t go on
together
With suspicious
minds
And be can�t
build our dreams
On suspicious
minds
Oh let our love
survive
Or dry the
tears from your eyes
Let�s don�t let
a good thing die
When honey, you
know
I�ve never lied
to you
Mmm yeah, yeah~
* * *
~U.S. Army
Headquarters, September 23 9:12 A.M.~
She sat on the
hard packed sand in hopes she wouldn�t get any on her skirt. She knew McKnight
would send someone for her if she didn�t get moving; he�d been waiting for his
close-up from the moment Lise turned up in the office. They vanished just after
3500 that morning, putting emphasis on the vanishing part. One minute Delta was
hanging out on the airstrip, the next you expected to see tumbleweeds to roll
by like in the spaghetti westerns. She hadn�t gotten a wink of sleep and
expected a repeat case of insomnia tonight. He came into her room when
he thought she was asleep. Lise checked her watch for the umpteenth time; it
was 3:38 A.M. She lay facing the wall scratching the bad paint job when she
heard the knob turn and the door slide open enough to grant the intruder
access. Lise shut her eyes and hoped whoever it was would get the cheap thrill
of seeing her bare back and go away. But they came closer and lifted the
mosquito net. She recognized the scent, it was Sanderson and there was little
standing in his way save for a thin cotton sheet and her wine satin nightgown.
Lise was planning to shove her fist into his jaw for all the good it would have
done, but as soon as she rolled over primed to strike she was alone. The
netting was pulled down and the door closed. Lise looked around; her heart
leaping out of her ribs convinced he was still there mocking her. The only
evidence of Sanderson was a photo on her pillow. It was graduation day, Class
of �84 of William Howard Taft High School. She stood on the running track in
her gold nylon gown and mortarboard, squinting from the sun. There was a
caption on the back she memorized:
� June 1984: Me
with the two most important men in my life. �
On her right side,
her father. To her left, her grandfather. Lise sat and wept for the first time
in four years. Having taken on this project was stressful enough and watching
these happy-go-lucky young men was extremely painful. The game between her and
Sanderson was spinning out of control. Why did he pick her? But she decided it
was for the better if she didn�t let it bother her. It was going to end tonight
anyway. She picked up her penny loafers and walked to the pergolas, Lieutenant
Colonel McKnight stood facing away, hands clasped behind his back. �Colonel
McKnight?� He spun to face her, wearing mirrored shades, a white scarf tied in
an ascot fashion tucked into his shirt, and a black Russian clamped between his
teeth.
�Lise! It�s so
good to finally have this one-on-one. And may I say you are quite the desert
rose.� She shook Danny�s hand and indulged him. It was all part of the
business.
* * *
~U.S. Army
Headquarters, September 23 7:52 P.M. ~
If there was anything
Lise learned about General Garrison, it�s that he inspired loyalty and
affection by not taking himself too seriously. His men, the missions, and the
Army were a different matter. He sat on the other end of the spectrum than her
Uncle Harry, for example. And the General knew him too. Both men were
professional soldiers, ambitious, and exposed to extreme violence. But where
her uncle clawed out his niche with erudition, Garrison was the bemused cynic
that embraced soldiering�s cruelty. This was the real world and there were
people in it that had to die, plain and simple. There was nothing that pleased
him more, than a well-executed hit. But if the shit hit the fan and it was time
to slug it out, it was the time for every man to summon up their dark lust for
pandemonium and engage in a balls-out firefight. It�s what made him that
good. He would have gotten on famously with her grandfather and Uncle
Brick, if they hadn�t despised Delta. If Garrison told a story- and the General
was a hilarious storyteller, more so than she was- the punch line was always at
his own expense.
Lise and Garrison
dined in his office; the troops had a selection for the entr�e, chicken � la
king or salmon casserole. When Lise turned up in his tent, Garrison commended
her on bravery for choosing the chicken. He just couldn�t bring himself to
trust it, but that was probably a personality quirk of his. They swapped �war
stories�, he told her his favorite, the time he spent $5,000 dollars out of his
pocket to go through hell hiring a rock band for his troops trapped in Sinai
for a peacekeeping mission. Then after the first two sets one of his men
politely informed him that they sucked. Lise howled almost choking on creamed
spinach.
In turn she told
him about the summer she spent at her grandparents� when she was nine, and the
Colonel took her and her brothers out into the woods for � SF orientation.� His
favorite part was the �Unity of the Pepsi Bottle� rite. This mimicked
SF�s Robin Sage, if any soldier was to find himself training a group of
primeval guerillas, the locals had a low threshold for bullshit and there were
things he had to do to gain acceptance in the name of cooperation. The Colonel
brought his grandkids into a clearing where he presented them with an altar
that displayed their new god and a bubbling cauldron. In actuality it was his
poker table veiled with a potato sack, a Pepsi bottle that had a
threadbare orange plastic lei roped around it, and on the fire was one of their
grandmother�s copper pots painted black. Whatever was boiling in it that was
causing the lid to jump didn�t have a pleasant odor, Ian got scared and grabbed
Ted�s sleeve. Lise saw Greg�s knees shake, knocking against one another. He had
them bowing on their knees, pressing their foreheads to the grass around the Pepsi
bottle, chanting gibberish mantras that sounded like Bob Dylan songs, and
finally he had them gather around the pot and hold out their tin cups. He
scooped two ladlefuls of his noxious brew. It was a concoction of fruits,
vegetables, bread, leftovers, and some cold cuts, all boiled in milk. She was
all right!
�Y�know, if fate
had been differently, I�d love to see what you could do out there,� Garrison
said. Lise didn�t know how to take that.
�Well sir, I like
to think my pen is my gun.�
* * *
Lise sat through
two screenings of Last of the Mohicans, but didn�t see anything. Sitting
in the recliner between Galentine and Richard, she began to wring her hands.
They were gone for almost 15 hours, it was now or never! Goodale wrapped an arm
round Richard�s neck and pulled him over. �So my man, has civilization changed
much since our departure?�
�Nothing truly
special, I�d say.�
Corporal Jamie
Smith looked up from his Sgt. Rock copy. �There�s gotta be something.�
Richard put a finger to his chin thoughtfully, which got an immediate chuckle
from the men.
�Well there might
be one thing,� the Rangers closed in on him. �The quality of weekend
entertainment has decreased with the prevalence of crack. Because, you can�t
find a nic bag, any more anywhere.� He turned to Sergeant Casey Joyce, �Can
you?� There was a detonation of laughter and cheers.
�Scandalous!
Scandalous! Looking for a military connection�.� Kurth said.
�Here how �bout
this?� Pilla threw something on Richard�s lap.
�OREGANO!!�
Richard waved the bottle like the flag. It was time to go. She did one more
round checking to see if anyone was coming home, Lise went to a hallway behind
the main hangar where one could not only get an ideal blast of ocean breeze,
but a view of the dirt road leading to the base. She saw something interesting.
A column of vehicles were approaching, a humvee, two Pakistani tanks, and a
U.N. Malay APC. On the .50 caliber was Private John Maddox. The humvee went
through the gate but the others stopped short, out jumped from the driver�s
side was Sergeant Jeff Struecker and standing up on the passenger side,
propping himself on the open door was Lieutenant Colonel Joe Cribbs. He gave
the signal for the U.N. peacekeeping support to move out and thumbs up in
thanks. The two Rangers jogged back to base hoping they could scrounge up
dinner scrapings. Cribbs, a tall and lean officer whose blonde hair was
steadily turning silver was dressed in Delta body armor, Kevlar, kneepads, and
a Pro Tech helmet. He was still very much a handsome gentleman, into his
early 50�s. Lise guessed that during his Vietnam days he probably looked a lot
like Gary. Thinking of the blonde flat top Delta put a bittersweet smile on her
face.
* * *
Durant was feeling
good. He banked low on Super 64 scaring the shit out of the drivers of the
flatbeds on the ground when a monstrous dust cloud hit them. CWO Dan Jollata in
Super 68 flying in formation alongside him got on the radio goading him. He
passed his hipflask to his copilot Ray Frank to give to the Deltas to pass
around.
�Much appreciated
man!� Wex said. Each man took a nip of the brandy; Shughart was the last one to
get it and handed it back over to Mike. Hoot and Busch chatted over the
mission, while Randy just swung his leg over the craft�s side humming. Wex
nodded off and Jeff was looking pretty pleased with himself, not only because
of the operation but what was going to happen later on tonight. Chemistry was a
blessing and a cosmic joke, Gordon mused, especially when the other party was
the prospective girlfriend of one of your best friends. It�s not as if Gary
didn�t want to warn Lise but then there would be a serious case of
miscommunication. Even if she didn�t want to admit it, the only thing on her
mind was Jeff. And Jeff had his aspirations of romancing her from months ago.
With the
cooperation of the United Kingdom�s and Norway�s governments Delta and SEAL
Team Six would commence CT training exercises to take down a luxury liner at
sea in complete darkness. Norway also provided the training aide, a
decommissioned cruise ship The Baltic Jewel. The staged operation would
begin in the States when on an undisclosed date, a call will be made saying
that a passenger ship was taken over by terrorists and that the captain and his
crew were already dead. The threat was a hostage would get shot each day the
longer the terrorists would be kept waiting. Gary was watching a hockey game he
taped two months earlier he didn�t get a chance to see when his phone rang. The
teams were en route from North Carolina and Dam Neck, Virginia to St.
Andrews, Scotland. The plan was upon arrival they would go under the guises of
fishermen and an oil liner crew and travel to Bergen, Norway via the North Sea
to meet with role players from Norwegian military, an assistant U.S. Embassy
attach� representative, a Norwegian political representative, and local law
enforcement. The ship was being held 200 miles off a Kristiansand port,
negotiations were underway but minimal improvement was being made. Under the
cover of night they drove from Bergen to Kristiansand.
For 10 hours they
were positioned in a house near the port where they were briefed that there
were seven terrorists, five male and two female. The hostages that were taken
were American and international tourists, 253 passengers in total. A dozen were
being held in the cabin and the remainder split between the ballroom and
casino. Reports were updated hourly on the negotiators� and hostages� progress
and the teams formulated plans for infiltration and hostage rescue. Phones rang;
doors opened and slammed shut, personnel speaking several different languages
shouted at each other, people carrying papers chased other people. The
Norwegian government didn�t think it would be able to handle the situation;
everyone was tense and jumping out of his or her seats. Then it was confirmed,
negotiations halted abruptly, thus failing. A hostage had been killed; there
were no alternatives left, the ship had to be taken by a force of arms. The
U.S. Embassy attach� assistant rep delivered the message that Delta and the
SEALs were given the authority to take the ship down.
The scenario went
something like this: Delta would be deployed in AC-130 Little Bird gunships and
a SEAL dive team would kick everything off in a combat rubber raiding craft. At
150 meters from the boat, armed and in full dive gear the divers entered the
water carrying two 20-pound charges in haversacks swimming at a depth of 20
feet following a compass heading. They placed the charges on the main propeller
shafts, connected them with det cord, and set the timer for H-hour- 0500.
Racing away, the divers piled into their craft to rendezvous with their platoon
and braced for dear life when the explosives went off during the buffeting that
followed. Dressed in their combat black jumpsuits Delta was inserted on The
Jewel�s decks and rock and rolled. From below three SEAL platoons set up a
perimeter on boats armed with .50 calibers and a 40 mm grenade launcher, then
climbed aboard.
Twenty hours
later, the men were catching their breath at a ski resort closed for the season
north of Oslo. *Hardly rooming with the Norwegians in a hooch, * their
superiors thought. *But it�ll do just as well. * Music was blasting;
outdoor gas grills fired up, and the saunas and Jacuzzis had queues out the
door. On the second floor portico Gary was napping on the smooth hardwood, a
sleeping bag rolled out under him. He faintly heard voices coming from another
room, the balcony doors open and not being able to return to sleep he decided
to check it out. He walked to the cooler outside and saw Jeff with one of the
SEALs, Duncan, sitting at a table looking at pictures over burgers, fries, and
beer. They pulled out their wallets and showed off family photos, but Jeff had
one photo of Duncan�s that he wouldn�t let go of- Lise posing in front of Iron
Mike wearing a white halter-style sundress with red polka dots. Freeing a can
of Miller Lite from the ice, Gary asked what was up and Jeff happily
announced that he was going to be set up. But no matter how many times Duncan
tried to warn him how his cousin was cute, but a handful it bounced off him.
Now Gary understood why, when they landed on the airfield Jeff was the first
one out of the chopper to claim the showers.
* * *
She made it by the
skin of her teeth. Pressing herself flat against the door, Lise gripped her
coveted box gasping for air. She stopped short of approaching Sanderson�s cot
when Struecker and Maddox plodded in with waves at her the Rangers making a
beeline for the cook�s trailer. Colonel Cribbs went directly to the General�s
tent, and the telltale WHUP WHUP of the MH-60 Black Hawerewere on fast
approach. She didn�t give a damn; Lise just ripped the thing out from under his
bed and ran. Lise hastily put the box up on the table; it was time to take
inventory. The lock, as expected, was gone. Picking locks were tantamount to
picking their noses; Deltas were jacks-of-all-trades. She wiggled her fingers
tapping her thighs, Lise felt cold. Dressed in a periwinkle sleeveless cotton
blouse and wrap around black mini, she thought she might make a fetching sight
for Master Sergeant Gordon, but knew it was ill-advised to divide the unit at
such an inopportune time. Two highly skilled killers going at each other�s
throats, and not after the bad guys? Lise reconsidered her Miami summer
vacation plans and might go back to North Carolina and sit a spell with Uncle
Brick and Aunt Flora.
She took a deep
breath, flipped the lid open� and it was empty. NO! NO! NO! Lise grabbed
the edges of the metal container, rattling it violently. In her excitement she
failed to realize the weight of it as she ran to her room.
/I am such a
child. / She
hung her head; everything that Sanderson thought was true after all. Rat
bastard. As a kid she loved riddles, and her cousin would keep her guessing
sitting on the back porch of his parents� northern California home with the
millions he knew.
� What means
everything to you, and nothing to everyone else? Give up?� As if she had
any choice. � Your mind.� And before he vanished, though only for a
time, Lise remembered it was the last thing he said to her. Was it guidance? Or
a warning? Sanderson held her mind in his big hands, and it didn�t mean a damn
thing. How could she waste her time hoping? Lise blinked back her tears,
pushing hair out of her face. Then she saw something. In the lousy light she
was able to make an outline of something at the bottom of her box, it was a
scrap of folded paper. It crinkled as she read aloud. �� Look behind you.� Look
behind you? I don�t-� She wasn�t a child, just thick. Lise looked behind her.
Sanderson stood against her door, arms folded over his chest. It took a moment
for her sensory registers to compute, Lise was so startled her ass hit the
table roughly causing the box to skip. To steady herself she had a white-knuckle
hold on the table ledge, Sanderson laughed.
* * *
Pigging out on the
maple nut cake pan, Maddox turned to Richard who joined him and Struecker for a
late snack in the kitchen. �Hey, Rich?�
�Mmm?� The
cameraman pld and another scoopful of instant key lime pie pudding into his
mouth.
�Where�s Lise?�
�Yeah, where is
she?� Struecker cut open a box of cheddar peanut butter crackers. Richard
shrugged.
�She probably
turned in.�
* * *
�Tell me you don�t
feel this, and I�ll walk.� Lise was a china doll near this man.
Sanderson had nine inches and a good 85 pounds on her. And it was muscle! Lise
dug her loafer heels into the floor to maintain her balance. Jeff leaned right
over her, trapping Lise; hands fanned out on the table his mouth hovering hard
over hers. �Can you?� Lise couldn�t bring herself to look at him. She knew
somehow that Jeff Sanderson was a nice, normal person when he wasn�t a
mercenary for multinational oil conglomerates. /God you smell so good. / Lise
interpreted this was as a classic psychological action-reaction illustration.
If Sanderson wasn�t shooting his CAR-15 how else was he supposed to work off
the essiession standing in a hot zone, having be forced to wait for poppa�s
permission to play? /I want to suck on your Adam�s apple. / Or was it
that a firing gun alluded to something else? Lise was a converted Adlerian
during her Columbia days. /It�s criminal to have a voice like yours. Do you
know it sounds like raw sex? /
�I don�t feel
anything. Please go away.� /I hate that you make me think things like that.
/
�Alright,� he
muttered and pushed off the table. Lise lolled her head back exhaling loudly.
She proceeded to plop down into her chair when her box went crashing to the
floor and Jeff was back in her face, this time seizing her wrists in the
process.
�You�re dry,� Lise
heard the click of his Swiss Army Knife. �You�re shy, and I have just
the cure.� Paging Dr. Sanderson, Dr. Sanderson. The cluster of lace is caught
in her rosebud just beginning to moisten. So far so good. Respectfully, he slid
the flat of the blade under the ribbon on her hip and severed it, her lingerie
scrap on the floor. His hand clamped nicely over her naked honeypot Jeff�s
thumb finding her pearl easily, it tingled under it. His hands were softer than
she thought, after his years of demanding training with firearms calluses would
naturally develop providing a better grip. Or was this guy vain and used
gloves? There was something wrong with him�. Jeff�s heart did a series of
calisthenics before he went with his plan of action; she was more responsive
than he thought. How was he going to manage this without any embarrassment or
being written up? He wasn�t going to back down now.
Lise watched with
an unnerving intensity as Jeff lower his head, kissing each thigh tenderly,
then kissed her labia. Lise fell on the mattress her arms rigid in mid-air.
Jeff�s kisses were loud, she felt the prick of his whiskers on her bald, blood
engorged nether lips. He preferred parting the folds with his tongue, which he
did continuing to kiss her; she twitched as his lips brushed across her
clitoris. That soft pink called out to him, properly slick with nectar Jeff
paid homage to her sexiness in the face of the hell he was going through.
Before he could stop himself he fastened his lips on her clit and violently
sucked before fluttering his tongue. Lise�s jaw dropped, but his hand stifled
her moans. It had to be this way. She screamed behind his big hand, driving her
groin full force into his face when his tongue sank into dripping center. Jeff
was about to suffocate, but what a way to go. Lise�s body locked up and
convulsed, grabbing Jeff�s head squeezing it between her legs. After a few
minutes Jeff waited until Lise�s hands fell away then gingerly detached himself
from her death grip, kissing her softly several times up her sex and once on
her abdomen. Lise was asleep and Jeff wiped his mouth. He looked at her panties
on the floor and stuck them in his pocket, disposing all evidence of their
presence was essential after a Delta raid, but with Lise that wasn�t going to
be the case.
TBC
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