KEN
She can’t possibly know it, but what she’s describing is the precise reason I keep re-enlisting. In between stretches of service, it’s also why my private work has always returned me to these parts of the world. It’s common for people who have been in war to feel as if they’re unable to settle into everyday life anymore. Mary was never a soldier, but what she’s been through is probably equivalent in a lot of ways. Hard times make hard people, but general society doesn’t have much space or time for hard people. Especially nowadays. Now it’s the softer the better. Safe spaces and things. That’s fine for them, but it’s not for us.
A lot of people back home don’t understand. They think that people like Mary and I must not feel fear. Truth is, we’re just afraid of different things. Places like Afghanistan are safe havens for those of us who need danger to feel not just alive, but normal. It doesn’t make sense, but it’s true. Out here, things are hot, disgusting at times, depressing for some, and certainly not nice. But this sandy hell calibrates you, makes something simple like a shower seem like heaven. Everything is ultra real out here. Nobody smiles and tells you to have a nice day because they’re hoping for an extra dollar on their tip, or because they’ve been made to by some manager. The men and women out here don’t have time for any pretense besides simple military bearing. Life is difficult, but it’s also easier in some ways. Eat, shit, survive.
She gets that. But I’m thinking unlike military personnel, who at least have comrades who understand the lure of war, she’s probably been alone with what feels like a horrible secret and a twisted soul. I’ve always felt connected to her in some intangible way. Now I feel even more for her. I’m going to guess she never got therapy for what happened to her. She has ‘feelings are weakness’ written all over her.
“Alright,” I tell her. “Then I won’t send your ass home yet.”
“Gee, thanks.” Her sarcasm returns full force. Only because she hasn’t had a good, long, proper spanking yet. I’d love to strip her bare and paint her ass bright red. Hell, I will do that soon enough, either when she’s ready, or when she doesn’t give me any other choice.
“I wasn’t kidding earlier, Mary. I expect total obedience from you. Most embeds spend their time shitting themselves in the back of LAVs, but I’m guessing that won’t be what you do.”
I can feel the smirk, even though I can’t see it.
“I’m not afraid of the Taliban.”
“Well you should be,” I lecture her. “This is their world. They know this land like the back of their hand. This is where they grew up. They know every rock, every tree, every road. And they know exactly where to bury their bombs and lay their traps.”
“And we’ve been here for over a decade,” she snorts. “Long enough for us to know the same stuff, right?”
“It’s not the same.”
It really isn’t. The people here are built from this land. We are foreigners in it. Hiding from a world which moved on without us and left us, we’re warriors out of time and space. The people we fight are something else. I’ve seen the way people here blend with the territory, melt into mountains, slip into sand. We have two advantages keeping us alive: training, and technology. Take away our resources, and all we have left is our wits. Sometimes they’re not enough.
There are a lot of stories that never get told in this part of the world. I hope she doesn’t discover any of them.
“So, are you going to let me up?”
She asks the question with that smart ass casual tone which tells me she’s already gotten a little too comfortable over my thighs. That fits with what I know about her. Put some pressure on her, make the situation more intense, and she’ll relax. If I was to be gentle with her and speak to her softly, she’d probably panic. That’s my suspicion anyway.
I need to know. So I lift my hand and I start stroking her bottom gently, rubbing up to her lower back. It’s a nice soothing touch, designed to calm, and most people would find it relaxing. I see tension creeping into her muscles right away. She tenses up and everything feels harder than it did before. She’s not soft and relaxed anymore, she’s waiting for something.
“Let me up, Ken.”
There’s an edge to her voice that wasn’t there before. I could keep stroking her, soothing her. I could let her up. Or I could do what I planned to do all along - smack her little butt nice and hard.
“Ow!” She gasps and I feel her body relax again, draping over my thighs. A smile twitches the corner of my lips. Oh yes, she’s going to be fun to domesticate. And maybe, in doing it to her, I’ll do it to myself.
I give her another swat to the other cheek, then let her up, trying not to smile too broadly as she scrambles to the other side of the CHU - all of three feet away.