Fitzgerald steepled his fingers and thought for a moment. “An excellent suggestion. Make it happen. I want a report back ASAP. After that, I want Major Sharp to stay as the Intelligence officer for the 4440th and keep the reports coming.” Richards thanked the two men and beat a hasty retreat.
Fitzgerald tapped his fingertips. “What do you make of that?”
“The Brigadier wants to call the shots on this one. I don’t know where she’s coming from, but she has her own agenda.”
“I know, Brad. Unfortunately, she’s got political cover.”
“Good luck with that one,” the three star said. “She has potential and I’d hate to lose Richards. But she thinks the Pentagon and Washington are the Air Force. She needs a reality check.”
“Roger on the reality check,” Fitzgerald replied.
Malakal
The heat bore down on Jill as she walked in from the C-130 that had brought her from Addis Ababa, and the air-conditioned office in the big hangar was a welcome relief. She dropped her bag and asked the pudgy looking captain sitting behind the scheduling counter for Lieutenant Colonel Allston. She glanced at the nametag on the captain’s flightsuit. “G.G.?” she asked.
“For Glen Gordon,” G.G. replied. He motioned her towards Allston’s office. He watched her as she walked down the hall, admiring the cut of her ABUs. An image of her lying naked in his bed flashed in front of him. Reluctantly, he focused on the moment. “Welcome to Africa.”
Jill knocked twice on the open door. “Colonel Allston?” she asked. Allston looked up from his laptop where he was hammering away at the never-ending paperwork that went with his job. “Major Gillian Sharp reporting for duty.” She snapped a salute and he waved one back.
“Been expecting you.” He quickly took her measure; Five-foot three with an hourglass figure, hippy and big busted, and incredibly appealing. Her short red hair was cut to frame a lovely face and her big blue eyes immediately captured him. He felt an old urge in the lower parts of his body but quickly suppressed it. Major Gillian Sharp was going to cause a stir among the troops. He had seen it before and it shouldn’t be a problem, if she understood what was going on. However, long experience indicated he would have to wait to see how she handled it. He hoped he didn’t have to explain it to her. He locked the computer in his safe and grabbed his bush hat. “Come on, let’s go.”
She was confused. “Go where, sir?”
“You’ve got an investigation to conduct, right?” She nodded. “Well, Colonel Vermullen and a few of his legionnaires are waiting and I’ve got a C-130 standing by to fly us to Wer Ping.” She followed him out, rushing to keep up with his long strides. “Come on, G.G.,” Allston called.
“Never thought you would ask,” G.G. replied, reaching for his bush hat.
Jill sat at the dinner table in the mess tent and picked at her food. She wasn’t hungry after seeing the village and knowing what had happened there. Allston and Vermullen exchanged glances. They knew what she was going through. “Sorry for the shock treatment,” Allston said. “Nothing can capture the reality of it… the smell, the dogs, the insects…” His voice trailed off.
“The first time is always the hardest,” Vermullen said. He appreciated Jill’s no-nonsense attitude and knew his officers were going to like her. Although he enjoyed the company of intelligent and beautiful women, he would never understand why Americans totally missed a basic truth of combat. When bullets started to fly, and real danger and real death ruled the day, Mother Nature sent an overpowering urge to procreate. He listened as they talked, and, judging by her body language, sensed she was attracted to Allston, not that he was surprised.
G.G. joined them and stood between Allston and Vermullen, shifting his weight uneasily from foot to foot. He held a new bush hat in his hands. “Colonel Vermullen, Colonel Allston, I believe we have a new Irregular.” He nervously fingered the brim of the bush hat. “Ma’am, maybe you noticed most of us wear these.” He held out the hat. “Anyone who has flown on a mission like you did today can wear one. Colonel Allston came up with the idea. We call ourselves the Irregulars. It’s strictly voluntary and you don’t have to wear it.”
Jill took the hat. “Thank you.” She tentatively tried the hat on and tilted it at a jaunty angle. She gave the men a little smile.
Allston sucked in his breath. She was one of those women who looked beautiful in hats. Vermullen studied the two officers. There was no doubt that Allston liked what he saw, and she was a welcome contrast to the wiry and intense maintenance officer, Susan Malaby. “Welcome to Bumfuck South,” Allston said.
Jill pushed the hat back and let it hang between her shoulder blades like she had seen others do. She stood. “Thank you, gentlemen. Please excuse me, but I have a report to write.” She walked out, leaving a wake of silence.
Allston hit the ‘page down’ button as he read Jill’s preliminary report on the incident at Wer Ping. It was amazingly concise and complete. She had gotten the operation absolutely right, and, as she was not an aviator, that impressed him. “I wish I could write half as good,” he told her.
“Thank you, sir. I had a lot of practice in Afghanistan debriefing missions.”
“I appreciate you showing me this,” he said. He knew that she was under no obligation to show him the report of investigation. “Will you go final with this?”
“I need to interview the UN relief mission in Addis Ababa before I do that.”
“I’ll lay on a C-130 to take you there ASAP. Don’t wear ABUs.”
“I don’t have a Class-A uniform,” she said. “My other bag hasn’t caught up with me.”
“Well, good luck with that one.” He smiled at her perplexed look. “Our masters in Addis Abba are not used to seeing a working uniform.” He changed the subject. “I hope you don’t mind sharing a trailer with Colonel Malaby and Captain Jenkins.” They were the only other female officers in the detachment.
“It’s okay,” she said. “The other girls are all sharing one of the smaller tents.”
“Well, there is safety in numbers.” Psychologists have different names for the problem of fraternization on isolated assignments, which Allston preferred to think of as ‘the only available woman syndrome.’ Most women officers had no trouble handling the attention that came their way, but young girls on their first enlistment often fell victim to the situation and got into trouble, pregnancy being the most common result. He wasn’t running a Club Med and knew the havoc a bikini could cause.
Jill sensed what was bothering him. “Not to worry, sir. The studs have all been identified.” She was honest with herself and admitted that under different circumstances, and in a different place, she would be interested in the tall and lanky lieutenant colonel. Very interested. But their differences in rank and position were insurmountable barriers, and she had heard of his reputation. “Besides, I’ve seen what pair bonding can do to a unit.”
Allston was even more impressed. Like the Marines, she understood it was loyalty to your buddies and your outfit that mattered in combat, and that a pair bonding of any kind weakened that loyalty, usually with one result — increased casualties. “Good luck in Addis and hurry back. We can use an Intel officer around here.”