Fan Fiction ❯ Operators ❯ Rules of Engagement ( Chapter 4 )

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 Medellí 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, 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 filed it away under ' 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 prone to the occasional screw up but no man was perfect. P.T., 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 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 which 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 sweat shirt one of the bench presses was occupied. Enter Sergeant 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 was 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, 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 fire plug, square jawed, and a gigantic all-weather Casio on his thick left wrist.

' Taking me to the dark side, are you?'

' Lockin' me 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 disclude SF, and he had buddies who played right up to that to get a little something in return. Under the umbrella 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's shoulders 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, 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's 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' bumpersticker a little too closely he couldn't help but feel a bit woozy. His military instincts kicked in and immediately ignored it, continuing to munch on his lasagne Bologniase 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 excersises 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 pre-schoolers 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 threeway, 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 a military profile frenzy. Air Force, Navy, Army, Rangers, SF and Delta had a two-page or more spread in the 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 invitiations 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, it 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 shoulder, 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, purple was a color of royalty, maybe some some silver frost leaf embroidery and since Lise loved velevet 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 who 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 happened?" Eversmann was on the edge of the hood.

"He got arrested the next day. No trial, but he lost his scholarship and the 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 and say something she shouldn't 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's 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 entrée, chicken à 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 were 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 alright!

"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 an 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 a 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, knee pads, 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 crew chiefs and 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 Florida 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 attaché 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 their 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 attaché 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 Levis, T-shirts, and black field jackets Delta was inserted on The Jewel's decks, ripped off the duct tape concealing their American flag shoulder patches 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. Music was blasting, outdoor gas grills were 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 Hawks were 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'd 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 plunged another scoopful of 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 aggression 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 said you'd leave!" A man can only take so much. /Please!/

"I lied. And y'know what, that makes us even!" His tongue struck the back of Lise's throat, taking her down to heat. Lise had a generous rack, but Jeff's hands were bigger and they filled them nicely when he cupped her breasts and squeezed. The planet swung around, it was the ass-grabbing tongue fuck she hadn't gotten since high school, but even then the boy always drooled on her chin. Jeff's hands kneaded her rear, pushing Lise to strain against him grinding on his thigh. Her undulations were unconfident, she was not a virgin just repressed because of sexual discouragement in her past. ' Oversexed bitch,' one former lover called her when she dared to articulate a fantasy. Who was this asswipe and where could he string him up by the balls? Jeff was a man who worked strictly according to detail, lives depended on it. /I am a soldier, baby. Tell me what you want me to do…./ But she wouldn't, not yet, Lise wasn't comfortable in her own skin let alone somebody else's on top of hers… underneath… behind… oh, Jeff had plans.

Lise was suddenly airborne and came in for a soft landing on her bed. Jeff did this wonderful trick with his tongue, twirling it around hers, his sharp teeth nibbling her lower lip. When you grow up a military brat you come to recognize the the ways soldiers operate in various conditions, and rank applied to little, just know-how. Lise watched every man in that hangar and the way he interacted with their teammate, subordinate, and superior. Especially the Deltas. If these unconventional archetypes thought of the Rangers (including Steele and McKnight) little better than shit, it's because they wasted their time with words. You shouldn't waste your time praising or condemning a man when you're out on that street with bullets flying past your head. Better that they get that through their thick skulls during downtime, or it will be too late. The way Jeff did things was with a series of looks, particularly with his eyes. The ones he most used were his ' You're in deep shit' look, ' What the fuck is that?' look, ' You did alright' look, and the ' I'm watching you' look. When Jeff finally allowed Lise air he fixed her with such a look it took her a moment to clear her hazy head to decipher it. A slow grin spread across his face and Lise panicked, it was the ' I'm going to eat you alive' look. But when she tried to push him off, her hands on his big shoulders it was too late, he was on his knees and his hands up her skirt. One hand spread out on her abdomen holding her down and the other bunching her white bikinis in his fist. Jeff yanked the panties roughly upwards, pulling them between her cheeks, the sole purpose of this was stimulation. Lise woefully yelped. Her skirt was pushed to her waist, providing him with a better view.

"So what do you think about when you play with yourself?" The Sergeant blew a puff of cold air on her crotch, if Lise wasn't laying down she might have fallen down.

/What?! You're crazier than the literature implies! I haven't done that since… never./ "It hurts," she said, not completely understanding how this came about.

"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 hehind 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 deathgrip, kissing her softly several times up her pussy 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 after this.

TBC