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My first class ticket and extra luggage are probably their only profit on this flight. I don’t know how a small airline can stay in business with gas as expensive as it is. It cost $4.90 to fill Mom’s station wagon and it was about a third full to start with.

She’s thinking about trying the ninety-one octane regular in it, to save money. Regular is almost eight cents a gallon less than high test. She said there are rumors gas is going to go up to about thirty-nine cents a gallon by the middle of next year. That’s outrageous.

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Admin Note: Originally published on BigCloset TopShelf by T D Aldoennetti on Thu, 2008/11/06 - 5:06am, Air Force Sweetheart -- TacPzlSolGp Chapter 15 is revised and reposted on Thu, 2009/12/17 - 10:01 AM. ~Sephrena

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Fumigation:

Chapter 15

 

With the exception of the ‘gentleman’ who was smoking a cigar throughout the flight to Denver, everything was nice. The seats were comfortable and, fortunately, the flight was short. I still smell like I’ve been in a forest fire.

My luggage is being transferred to the next aircraft and I’m on my way to that gate. I have a bit of a wait though, about an hour and a quarter. I find myself saluting a lot more here.

After locating my terminal, I sit and read while I wait, having purchased a newspaper with one of the quarters. Saving the funnies for later, I read some of the headlines and a few articles which I find to be interesting, glancing at the political commentary and cartoons. Since I finish the paper with twenty minutes to go, I read the funnies and then place the paper on the table at the end of the row of chairs, so someone else can read it if they desire.

Our aircraft has pulled up to the gate and passengers are getting off. It’s pretty big, I count almost seventy passengers. Checking those that are waiting, I find almost ninety. I hope my luggage makes it. They finally announce boarding for first class and I go up, along with a half dozen men, to check in. They let us board and I select a window seat. Now the other passengers are boarding, so we should be on our way to Dallas soon. I check my ticket stub and find we make one more stop en route but I don’t need to get off the aircraft since I’m continuing on to Dallas. We’re finally loaded and take off. Shortly afterward, they serve lunch and I have the chicken.

Surprisingly, it’s fairly good.

We land about an hour after takeoff but the stop is not going to be very long. I decide to take a nap until we arrive and ask for a pillow. Soon I feel the acceleration of takeoff and fall back into my light slumber. In no time at all, the bump of landing awakens me and I take a moment to get my bearings. Checking my watch, I see that it shows 1:45 which puzzles me until I remember that we’ve crossed another time zone, making it 2:45 local time. I reset my watch. First class is allowed to disembark and I cross to the bus which is to take us to the terminal.

As I wait for the bus to fill, I watch the luggage being unloaded and see at least four of my trunks and a couple of suitcases which could be mine go onto the waiting truck. More luggage is being unloaded on the other side but I’m unable to see that side of the aircraft. The bus finally starts up and we are driven to the airport terminal. As we go in, I notice an Army sergeant waiting with a small chalk board that says Mjr. Jackson on it. I go over and introduce myself as we exchange salutes. Then he leads me away as he asks, “Do you have any luggage, Ma’am.

I tell him, “Yes. Quite a lot, actually. Nine large pieces. Most of which are about 100 pounds. It would probably be advantageous for us to obtain a porter to move everything to the car.”

He tells me, “I have a large station wagon, Ma’am.”

“That should be fine, if the back seat drops.”

He leads me to luggage claim and goes out to corral a porter. While he is gone, I sort out two five dollar bills, intending to use just one, but keeping two handy, just in case the second one is needed.

I see some of my luggage going around on the conveyor as I arrive and go pull them off. Checking the ticket stubs proves they are mine. The cosmetics case looks like it is on its way as well. I pull it off and check the number.

The Sergeant arrives back with a porter just as I see two of my trunks coming out.

I indicate them and say there will be four more. We wait for nearly five minutes before another trunk makes its appearance followed shortly by the other three.

The Sergeant rushes off to bring the car as I give a sigh of relief and the porter piles everything onto his cart. It’s quite a load. By the time we make it to the car he is huffing and puffing and he is in pretty good shape. The little wheels on the cart probably don’t help much.

At the curb, they both load my things into the car and I tip the porter both fives.

Not particularly clever of me, but I suppose he earned them. He smiles and tips his hat as he says thank you. The Sergeant opens my door for me and I flow into the car. Closing the door behind me he goes around and we are off. As we drive, he begins to provide background information about the base, its housing, mess, base exchange, school, hospital and women’s BOQ (Bachelor Officer’s Quarters).

“I’m supposed to take you to the BOQ, Ma’am. They will assign you a room and handle all your luggage. They will also arrange for a ride to take you to headquarters in another part of town. Officer’s mess is about a block from the BOQ. The phones are base phones but you just dial nine for an outside line. Civilian fast food chains and some other businesses are allowed to make deliveries on base and BOQ is close to gate four. If you order anything by phone, just tell them to deliver it through gate four to the BOQ and your room number. The gate will call to confirm before the delivery is allowed on base. Breakfast is at 0700. Lunch at 1200 and supper at 1700 or 1800 depending on your assigned time.”

He takes a deep breath and continues, “Women’s BOQ has separate showers in each room. We usually have five or six women here at the BOQ at any given time. Some are Air Force and some are Navy. Right now you are the only Army officer at the BOQ. There is a Light Colonel staying who is Air Force but she is leaving the end of next week. That will make you Barrack’s Officer once she goes. You will be responsible for all three. As far as I know there are no other officers arriving, at least in the next month, who will outrank you, Ma’am, so you may be stuck with it for however long you are here.” He turns toward me for an instant and tenses his lips a little in a show of sympathy.

“They’ll explain those duties to you at the BOQ as well as all the other things about the facilities. They provide a map, so it won’t be too bad and the place isn’t all that big, so it’s pretty easy to get around. We’re coming up on gate four now, Ma’am. The MP will want to check your ID.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. That was an excellent synopsis. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, Ma’am.”

As we pull up, an MP salutes and leans down asking for my identification, he examines it and my orders, asking the driver for our destination, which is logged by another MP. They are both wearing sidearms. He returns my ID, salutes again and I return it, then we drive into the base.

“That building over there with the number 405 on it is women’s BOQ HQ, Ma’am.“ He points off in the direction of women's BOQ.

Then he points out the row of buildings as a whole. “These three, 405, 410 and 415 are among the newer buildings. Mess is further down this street ahead of us and Base Exchange is about three blocks in that direction. When you receive a map you’ll see it isn’t all that large.”

He pulls up in front of building 405. “Here we are, Ma’am. I’ll have a couple of the privates unload your things from the car. They should have your room assigned by the time it is all up by the door, so they’ll be able to take it all into your room for you. Have a nice day, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. Thank you also for meeting me at the airport. I know there wasn’t much notice given.”

“No sweat, Ma’am.”

We salute each other. I turn, taking my briefcase and purse with me, to walk up to the BOQ office. They examine my orders and accept my 201 file. Then they assign me a room and tell me they will have everything I will need to know in about half an hour. They give me a key, which is a bit different from the all-male BOQ I was in back in-country (Vietnam), where everything was left unlocked.

I go to check out my room, leaving the door open. I discover a television (Surprise! — and it works), a writing desk with an overhead light, a nice bed, and a separate room for the shower, sink and toilet. There is a vanity over in one corner.

Poorly thought out…. No light. However, there is quite a bit of room, enough that I won’t be tripping over my trunks while I’m here.

A knock at the door swings me around and I spot one of the young men waiting to bring in my first trunk. I check my contents list versus the trunk number and direct him to place it against the wall. As he goes out, I take a look at the closet.

Nice…. I may hang my gowns as well as my uniforms so they will survive a bit better than remaining in a trunk. In fact there is enough room I may put my furs in there as well. Another young man brings in my second trunk and again I direct it over to the wall. These are both filled with my everyday civilian clothing so they can go on the bottom. The next trunk goes on top of those, because I'll need access to it.

The fourth arrives with the same problem. The next two have the same problem, so they go on the floor in front of the stack by the wall. Now my two suitcases and my cosmetics case arrive.

“Thank you, gentlemen.”

“You’re welcome, Ma’am. That’s a lot of luggage.”

“Yes, I tried to minimize it but it didn’t work out. When I ship out in a few months I will be Embassy staff so there is a lot there that I will need when I reach my post. Here, take this for your efforts and don’t tell anyone.” I give them each $2 for their trouble.

“YES, Ma’am. Thank you.” They salute me which isn’t quite protocol, since we are inside, but I return their salutes and dismiss them. Now that everything is here, I check the door to see how the lock works. Putting the key into my purse, I lock the door and close it behind me as I go out to learn how I get to where I report.

They take half an hour to explain things to me, making the time around 1600 and I am getting antsy about reporting. I show them my orders requiring me to report to a Colonel Harrington and they finally tell me they’ve already contacted his office and, since he is out until tomorrow, the office considers me to have reported already, since I did, in fact, arrive on the proper day as ordered. They hand me my 201 to take to the Colonel’s office tomorrow and tell me a car will be here to pick me up at 0800. The assigned time for my supper meal is 1800 which makes sense since I will need to cross town to get here and I won’t be leaving the offices until 1700.

They fill me in on a number of things about the BOQ, the base and the training facilities. My orders are somewhat vague concerning what I am doing here and when they ask about it I tell them it is classified information I am not allowed to discuss. If the Colonel decides to tell them, then that is his prerogative, so, ‘Sorry.’ I make a rueful face.

They put two and two together…. My vague orders, strange arrival with little notice, massive amounts of luggage…. And come up with twenty-two rather than four. The last time they saw something like this, the individual was CIA staying at the male BOQ, so they automatically assume the worst concerning me as well.

I study my map and walk down toward the officer’s mess, taking the long way around so I can see the location of the base exchange. I check the exchange hours and, except for Saturdays, I don’t see how I can visit it, at least until I am recuperating here after my operations. I probably won’t be doing much walking for a while anyway. I decide to make my way to the mess, only to make a wrong turn somewhere. Finally, I find someone to ask for directions, and they indicate on my map where I am and how I went wrong. So now I’m off in search of the officer’s mess once more.

Consulting my map, I think I should be there. The time is a minute after, so I should be able to go in, and would expect to see others arriving, but no one seems to be coming in this direction. None of the buildings are marked as being the officer’s mess. I check my map and the suspected building number is about right, so in I go.

A young airman is checking names and ID at the door and I tell him I have just been assigned to 1800 mess by the women’s BOQ.

“You have the right place, Ma’am. Just a minute while I confirm this; you’re not on my list.” He jumps on the phone and in a minute has the confirmation and adds my name to his list, returning my ID once he's finished copying my information.

“Just have a seat, Ma’am. Someone will be out to see what you would like to eat. The list is up there on the board, and if you wish to look at the food first, you may go down the line.”

“Thank you. Where do I pay the transient meal fee?”

“That’s handled by the BOQ, Ma’am. They assess a weekly charge and you pay them, then they transfer it to the mess fund.”

“Thank you.”

I walk the line, checking the food, before seating myself. I flow into my seat and look at the few others who have arrived early and are here for supper. Most everyone is male, of course. I spot one female in an Air Force uniform but it isn’t the Lieutenant Colonel. She happens to glance at me and we exchange, ‘Hi, I could use the company’ to each other. She gets up and comes over, asking if I would mind if she sits with me. I invite her to take a seat, saying she may dispense with protocols concerning me while here in the mess. She smiles and sits. She’s a Captain, and has just been placed on the list for Major, so she figures six to eight months before she has it. I tell her that I’ve only recently received my own promotion. They seem to come faster in Vietnam. She looks surprised, “Are you a nurse?”

“No, intelligence, mostly analysis,” like it is nothing worth mentioning.

“My brother is in intelligence. He always tells me he could tell me things, but then he would have to shoot me.”

“That pretty much sums it up,” I answer for the benefit of listening ears, asking ‘Are you watching?’

“You mean he wasn’t kidding?” ‘Watching what?’

“It varies, but for the most part,” ‘Don’t believe everything you hear.’

She give me a nod back with an, ‘I get it,’ and smiles in thanks.

My food arrives and I begin my dainty bites and long chewing time routine. I forgot to tell them no potatoes, so I eat a taste of them plain. Watery, tasteless mush. The meat is okay, but nothing to write home about. The coffee tastes like they forgot to add the grounds. This is in great contrast to the coffee I had in ’Nam, which probably could have doubled as battery acid, tart and quadruple strength.

On second thought, maybe it was battery acid.

I hesitate to taste the vegetables but take the plunge, only to learn they taste like they have been boiled with a pair of dirty socks for a week. Somehow I need to teach them how to cook. Carol has finished. Oh! Sorry, the Captain’s name is Carol Foster…, Carol finishes her ‘meal’ and mine has finished me. So we are off together returning to our rooms at the BOQ. We salute what must be a hundred times in the block and a half we traverse to return to our quarters. I invite her to join me for a few minutes but she has ‘homework’ to do so we say goodnight and she continues down to her room.

I turn the TV on low to see if I can find some news, discovering the CBS channel and learning that Walter Cronkite has come and gone while I was eating, oh well. As an alternative, I begin to hang my furs, gowns, and uniforms. I’m about to place my undies into the dresser but decide the drawers need to be papered first. I would prefer to fumigate them but that probably would be a little difficult. Is that green stain moving? With my important things hanging in the closet, I fight the trunks into the semblance of a stack and pull some of my cosmetics out of their travel case, placing them in an attempt at organization on the vanity, now located at its new spot in the room near the window and one of the two floor lamps.

The next morning, I am up early, shower, then dry myself and my hair and begin applying my makeup. I don my undies and then put on a fresh uniform. I’ll wear each once and then start the round for a second time in each. That gives them a little time to air. Once I’m completely dressed I check the time. Still about twenty minutes. Roughly ten minutes later, I hear a number of footsteps passing in the hall. Five minutes after that I venture out to see how much of a mess the mess can make out of eggs.

I should have known. Last night wasn’t a fluke. The eggs are runny and taste like poorly flavored water. The lettuce under the pineapple is wilted, although the pineapple is good. I am trying to decide if they don’t know what they are doing or if it is the supplies they are given to work with. If I have a driver bringing me back from the Colonel’s office I want to stop by a grocery store and pick up some spices. I think I’ll ask the Colonel about it. Maybe he will make some kind of arrangement, so I can see what’s going on and fix it, if for nothing else than my continued health.

The meal again finishes me and I walk back to the BOQ with my tummy complaining at nearly every step. Promptly at 0800 there is a car out front with flags on it bearing a pair of stars. The driver, a staff Sergeant, is asking for me. The flags are not supposed to be on the car if the General is not in it, a major breach of protocol unless perhaps, he is actually there for some reason unknown to myself.

The other ladies are forming ranks under command of that Lt. Colonel for their march to the school. She is stunned to see the Staff Sergeant escorting me, a mere major, out to the car.

He opens the door and I flow into the car like it is an everyday occurrence. From the look on her face I can tell she thinks I’m some floozy who probably got her rank in bed. As we are just pulling away I see her storming into the BOQ office leaving her command standing there. This may become a problem for the remainder of the week. The car wheels around and we drive out of gate four. En route I lean forward and ask the driver, “Sergeant, what’s with the flags?”

“Just following orders, Ma’am. The Colonel said I was to pick up a Major Jackson at the women’s BOQ at 0800 and to place the flags on the car when I arrived there. I have no idea what’s going on,” obviously hinting that he would like me to tell him.

I just sit back quietly and accept the ride.

After twenty minutes, we’ve worked our way through the morning traffic and pull into an underground parking area, receiving a salute from an MP standing at the entry. He can’t possibly see who it is in the car, so he’s just saluting the flags. Well, he’s saluting the person the flags claim is in the car. After parking, the Sergeant goes around and opens the door for me.

I flow out, much to his appreciative glance, and he escorts me to the elevator and up to the fourth floor then down the hall to an office door proudly proclaiming 412 in shiny new brass numbers. Opening the door, he allows me to enter before closing the door behind me. I fish out a set of the orders given to me by Uncle Phillip and hand them to the civilian sitting at the desk. She’s given me the once over as I entered and, after reading the orders, looks up at me with ‘You’ve got to be kidding!’ all over her face.

I have no idea what she meant, but flash back, ‘It’s just me,’ hoping to leave her in just as much puzzlement as I was laboring under. I’m beginning to think I’m at the wrong place.

She gets on an intercom, alerting both Colonel Harrington and some General so and so.

A few seconds later, a Colonel, whom I presume is Harrington, bursts out through his office door and looks wildly around the room. As he is peeling the paint off the walls with his gaze, I am looking at the man before me. His wavy hair, finely chiseled features, strong arms and tall stature shout out at me, ‘Alpha male.’. His eyes are a blue gray which could pierce steel.

Those eyes look at the civilian while requesting verification of the call she just made to him and finally return to me as she indicates me with a graceful point of a finger. I’ll have to remember that gesture.

His jaw drops as I flow into a standing position, saluting him and reporting. He throws the salute back and tells me to drop the protocol. “Come over here,” he says abruptly.

I look at the civilian with, ‘what’s all this?’ She just shrugs with, ‘how the hell should I know, I just work here.’ I walk over and stand before him. As I am standing there, the Colonel walks around looking me over. Suddenly the hall door bursts open and the Two Star engages the room in a frontal attack, succeeding mostly because the room never expected it. He sees the Colonel giving me the once over and, since he doesn’t see what he is looking for, his eyes also drift first to the civilian who again points, prompting him to look a bit harder at me. Again I am an object of scrutiny.

“You two come with me.”

Again I glance at the civilian, hoping for some idea of what is going on, “What’s all this?” All I get back is a shrug and, ‘I think they’re going off the deep end.’

We follow the General, a nice little procession in order of rank. The General storms down the hall ahead of us making for the elevator with the Colonel following like some lap dog, and then myself, as though I’m something the lap dog is dragging behind as an afterthought, bringing me along to show to his master, ‘See what I caught?’

Strangely, we don’t follow protocol getting into the elevator but just all pile in.

This is weird, maybe I’ll wake up and go to breakfast soon, or perhaps discover I’m still on the aircraft about to land in Dallas, almost anything but this. We go up two floors and eight doors down the hall to an unmarked door where the General storms in, almost making kindling of the door as he slams it back against the wall.

We continue to follow as we did through the hall. I close the hall door gently behind us. Another civilian is seated at the desk in this office and the General growls at her to contact General Pendleton, “He’s probably at home at this time.”

He and the Colonel continue on into his office and the Colonel slams the door behind him, almost taking off my face in the process, his trophy forgotten in the presence of his master. I stand there in shock for a moment, then turn and go flow into one of the chairs placed for those who are waiting for an audience with his august presence. We can hear the two of them growling and a few minutes go by before the civilian receives a telephone call and uses the intercom to let the General know that General Pendleton is on the phone.

Moments later, I hear angry growls from the General’s office and this goes on for perhaps a minute before it subsides to something much more peaceful. I can still hear a murmur, but am no longer able to make out the words. I look at the civilian, ‘What the h— is going on?’

‘Don’t ask me I just….’ She rolls her eyes over toward the closed door.

‘Work here, I know…. Thank you’ I reply without words.

‘That’s all right, hope it works out.’ Her smile drops when the office door opens and the Colonel asks me inside.

I walk to the General’s desk and salute him, “Major Lucy Jackson reporting as ordered, Sir.”

“Be seated.”

He watches carefully as I flow into the chair, then glances at the Colonel who must have given him some kind of sign. I don’t know because the Colonel is behind me.

“Major, would you mind getting up and walking around the room for a few seconds, then you may seat yourself again.”

I look at him like he is crazy but flow out of the chair, quietly do a circuit of the room and flow back into the chair. As I do this he is digging out a cigar, but in moments it is forgotten. The wheels are obviously spinning in his head like the wheels on a Vegas slot machine, but I don’t see any bars popping up, not even lemons.

“Lucy, may I call you Lucy?” he says, almost politely.

“Yes, Sir, except in public.”

They both smile and the tension in the room, which could have been cut with a knife, drains away.

“This might actually work, George,” the Colonel says to the General.

“Yeah. Contact the hospital, I want the surgeons here on the double. I want them to see this.”

I’m not terribly happy to be viewed as a piece of meat, but then most men look at women that way.

“Permission to speak, Sir?”

Their eyes swivel back to me.

“Go ahead,” the General says.

“I would like to point out that I’m not some inanimate object. I may still have the physical attributes of a male but I am a female and will fully have that appearance soon, for whatever that’s worth. I would at least like a little of the respect due to my gender as a female. I’m not some ‘thing’ just because I volunteered. This will take away my opportunity to have children and raise a family. It will take away everything I know and has plunged me into something totally different. I have spent the last week studying very hard in order to pull this assignment off. Please think of me as the young lady you see and at least treat me like a human being. That’s all, Sir.”

His face at first was incredulous, then angry, and then suddenly understanding. A smile begins to cross his face.

“All right, Miss Jackson. You’re absolutely right. You are losing a lot and we need to remember that. We are giving you the temporary rank of acting Colonel, without the increase in pay grade, for the duration of this assignment. Bill, will you see she gets the insignia she needs and new ID? Miss Jackson, I understand you have already attended one Embassy function and obtained a great deal of good intelligence during that function, is this true?”

“Yes, Sir, and I have something here that I later realized I had heard. I would appreciate it if you could get it to Uncle Phillip.”

I take my handwritten notes out of my purse and hand them to him, flowing up out of my chair and then back down.

“Uncle…? Oh, yes, your cover. Alright, I’ll see that he gets this.”

“It’s pretty important, Sir. I’m sorry I didn’t make the connection until a couple of days ago.”

He takes the time to scan the pages, first one eyebrow slowly rising then the other joins it before they both drop again.

“These conclusions are interesting. How certain are you of this?”

“Based on Intel I have seen over the past two months…, about eighty-five to 90 percent, Sir.”

His eyebrow again raises as he give it some thought. He hands my papers to Colonel Harrington, “Thor, have these coded right now and flash them to General Pendleton courtesy of his ‘niece’ and myself, then send a copy to the Joint Chiefs under my seal.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Colonel Harrington wheels about and rushes out of the room as I watch him in curiosity. Turning back to the General, I have hundreds of questions, well, at least a few, forming behind my eyes, but say nothing.

The General saves me the trouble of asking, “We’ve had a number of reports in the last few days that lead us to believe there is about to be some sort of offensive in the North, but the information you just gave me neatly pinpoints it. We may be able to head this off before a lot of damage is done. It would seem, Miss Jackson, that you have already begun your new assignment. Congratulations.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Oh, and my condolences.”

“For what, Sir?”

“For your devotion to duty, which is causing you to lose your chances of having children. I’m very sorry.”

Allowing my face to reflect sorrow, I say nothing to contradict him, nor do I mention Mom’s or Janet’s potential support of my possible future family.

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To Be Continued….       © 2008, 2009 by T D Aldoennetti & Rénae Dúmas. This work may not be replicated or presented in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder) or her assigned representative. ALL Rights Reserved, including but not limited to ownership of Characters, final content decision, and more. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental. An Aldoennetti Original.