Short and mean, that’s how April characterizes herself, and short certainly doesn’t apply to her meanness. She’s been in the covert operations business long before the twists of events changed Zoe’s ordinary life forever. Once they joined forces they were virtually unstoppable. Where does the short blonde woman at Zoe’s side come from, and how could she become the world’s most powerful soldier?
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Lioness’ Bride
Copyright © 2011 Valerie J. Long
ISBN: 978-1-55487-844-4
Cover art by Martine Jardin
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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Smashwords Edition
Lioness’ Bride
Zoe Lionheart 6
By
Valerie J. Long
Dedication
To all the people fighting for our freedom
Prologue
I am a girl.
My father always wanted to have a son, but instead he got me. He always made an effort not to let me notice, but he was very disappointed. I could feel it, and I put all my childlike understanding and power into being like a son to him, a son which he would never have. My mother would never be able to be with child again after me.
I was short and dainty and wore the clothes of a boy—shorts, tee shirt, short hair. Until the end of elementary school that made no difference, but then you could see the difference with most children of my age. Not with me. I did not need a bra. Others teased me. So I learned early how a girl could get her ways—little and mean. I had to be not just good to stay on top, I had to be better.
Take sports—with my short legs I had to make more and longer steps just to keep up, had to be quicker in brawls, with shorter arms I needed a different judo grip, and I had to make better use of leverage to throw heavier opponents—and they all were heavier.
One day I said to Dad, “When I’ve grown up, I want a gun. Then nobody will pick on me anymore.”
He had tried to explain that you should not shoot at people. Except as a soldier, of course.
“I know,” I had said, “but it’s a deterrent. Then nobody dares to, because nobody knows if I would stick to the rules.”
“If you have a gun, one day you’ll meet someone who has a gun, too. And if he thinks you will use yours, he will try to use his gun first. So if you have one, you must be willing to use it. In the Wild West there was a saying—there’s always someone quicker. And there’s always someone with the bigger gun.”
That had made me ponder. Everyone could get a pistol. I had to think of something small and mean.
Something like poison, explosives, mines and traps. In order not to scare my father I developed an interest in fireworks—colorful and nice.
And biology—I told my father it couldn’t hurt to know how to treat the bite of a rattlesnake or a black widow. But I didn’t stop there.
I was at the head of the class in biology, chemistry, physics—and history. My father could tell wonderfully vivid stories, of Troy, of the Thermopyles, of Alexander the Great, of Julius Caesar, of Genghis Khan, of Hannibal, Napoleon, Cromwell, Moltke, Manstein, Patton, of course of Sun Tzu, but also of Sir Francis Drake and Lord Nelson. Regardless where you poked him, he found a matching story, and he always stressed how important it was to spotlight the political environment, not just military strategy. He could have become a brilliant military historian, if he had ever had the energy.
Instead he had met my mother and had fallen in love with the dainty blonde sports teacher, and thus became a history teacher and gave up his dream of the military.
That’s what his son should have done for him. So after school I went to the military. Voluntarily, because I loved my father so much.
That hadn’t been easy, small as I was. But I had passed all entry exams once I had been allowed to do them.
For this I had to give head to the recruitment office Sergeant. A little sacrifice for a big goal. I had elaborately practiced this during college.
“She’s got no tits but a swift tongue,” the boys had whispered to each other. I had known—once I had sucked a boy, I could get almost anything from him, even a nice, slow, extended bang with a rubber to have my own fun.
Now you might think I’d been quite a minx then. Wrong.
I’d been a small, mean, ambitious, slutty bitch, and to reach my goals I made use of everything, including my little body. That would not recommend me for a solid housewife in prude America, but those were ideal preconditions for a military career—the only industry, aside from prostitution, where a human was reduced to a tool in the most brutal way.
And what did I earn? Five stars on my shoulders, the highest ranking officer of all forces of the United States of America.
History tells us that by sucking cock you can even get into the Oval Office. God bless America!
Part One
I myself
Chapter One
I’m losing the plot. I should rather start from the beginning.
I am April Winston, Admiral of the US Navy, retired. Born on the 23rd of July 1978 somewhere in California—I intentionally leave out a few facts to protect family, friends and colleagues—as the daughter of Jake and Elaine Winston. Forty-two centimeters, 2678 grams. Those figures are always important, aren’t they?
I don’t remember much of my time as a toddler. I’ve already said what I have to say about the relationship with my father. Like the important parts of my time in school, I’ll keep that part short. Yes, I know, I wanted to start from the beginning, but instead let me start when things get interesting—that is, my time in college.
I have blonde hair, blue eyes, a slender body, and according to others a pretty face—but I am too short and too flat. A meter and a half short, around fifty kilograms, and an A cup, if I’d wear one. Yep. Too short, too flat.
My decision had been firm early—I would go to the military. For my father, for my country, for me. I think, primarily, for me. I always had told myself that I wanted to prove to my father what I could do, but in truth I wanted to prove to myself what I could achieve. Too many people always said, ‘she is too small, weak, meager, a girl’. No, I am not! Small, but not too small. Strong and agile. Not meager, but lightweight. No girl, a woman.
While other students partied and drank illegally, I was cramming natural science, military history, engineering, rules and regulations. While the others hung around the city, I practiced shooting, Judo, and later Karate. Little and mean, I had mentioned it before. Sometimes I allowed someone to invite me to the movies.
Even if it sounds strange to some people who know me—I was not in a hurry for sex. My father had explained the little difference between boys and girls to me rather early, had explained the origin of children without relating to birds and bees. We came across that topic during a talk about conquests. He made clear that a man can knock up many women, that a woman can sleep with many men but still can have only one pregnancy at a time. That is a good reason to keep women out of the war business. Men cannot bear a child. From military history he then came to the victor’s type of Darwinism—victorious fighters raped the losers’ women to spread their own, supposedly superior genes. And why, because the adrenaline rush of battle made the victor horny? The women’s opinions weren’t asked for. Little April made a mental note—it’s better to be on the men’s side. Especially in fights.
Then the girl’s body begins to change. Certain spots, even if they don’t expand forward much, become more sensitive. First it’s only a strange feeling when the woman soaps and rinses herself, then brushes across her nipples with a towel. What’s happening to me?, you ask yourself, why does it make me feel tingly, and is it a bad thing if my nipples harden?
My sexual education began with good timing, right before my first period. I knew it would happen one day, and wasn’t scared to death when I noticed the red spot. Although it did hurt a little, but Mum had mentioned that, too. All necessary hygiene items were ready, and I walked in to my mother and only said, “It’s time now.”
“Now you’re a woman,” she stated, and I was dismayed. I just didn’t want to show them, I wanted to be a son to my father! But my biology books confirmed that I would have to bear these bodily afflictions for the larger part of my life.
Little April remained small, but I soon found out that it was fun to rub my own crotch. That way you couldn’t become pregnant. I was quite curious if it would be as much fun with a boy, but initially they overlooked me. Or were the boys in my class not ready yet? I carried my first condom with me for over a year.
Chapter Two
My first time—I was fifteen!—was a disappointment. There was a boy in the neighborhood—his name was George—who seemed to be interested. We met a few times on the weekend, and somehow he didn’t get down to business. I decided to take things in my own hands and straightforwardly asked, “Would you like to try sex?”
He seemed shocked but didn’t refuse. Nevertheless I had to keep the lead. We found a quiet corner, romantically behind the trash bins on a supermarket parking lot unused on weekends.
I lost my virginity there, but honestly, it isn’t worth mentioning the details. As soon as it was over, George lost interest and simply left me. What an asshole!
This first experience, and quite a few thereafter, coined my attitude towards boys. They were easy to arouse, quick to satisfy, and very selfish. A girl had to keep them on tight reins to get some fun out of sex. And I practiced.
The father of one of my classmates ran a sports shooting range. For a little favor here and there I was allowed to use the range and the father’s pistol. It wasn’t long before I was good enough to become a regular member due to my talents. A young country champion was a fine decoration for the local gun club. My sponsor was dismissed—no more little favors.
He was the first with the idea to take revenge by dropping derogatory comments on the little bitch. Soon every girl at college knew that he barely could get his cock up even for sucking and moreover that it was so short, that he couldn’t be satisfied other than by tongue—there was simply nothing to put in.
He also was the last to think he had to run me down—to all others I made it very clear from the start that they had to be discreet because otherwise all other girls would turn them down, too. Who would want to bang a boy and be the school’s talk of the day the next morning?
Of course I couldn’t miss Spring Break. I mainly used it to persuade as many female schoolmates as possible to drop all inhibitions and to cover up my reputation with a large parade of naked tits. I didn’t want the boys thinking that I was the only one they could turn to for getting laid, so little April wasn’t available this time.
The girls could be grateful anyway—I was the one who could go and buy condoms without fear of embarrassment. At this time and in this regard my parents had already given up—I was no longer a virgin, my reputation was ruined, so one or another guy didn’t make much difference.
After all, I compensated my parents’ displeasure with the best grades. Never could they accuse me of neglecting school for sex. And there was nothing going on between me and the teachers. Honestly. I saw to it that I wasn’t alone with the male teachers, for my own protection as well as theirs, and this I told them expressly. Never be alone with such a badly reputed pupil, or your teaching days are over.
For nonsense like cheerleading I wasted no time, I took another course in martial arts instead. The word got around, and that probably saved me from being cornered in a dark spot on my way home. Those boys who tried it on other occasions got what they deserved.
As teachers my parents couldn’t afford much. We had no car, and the nearest bus stop was twenty minutes on foot from our small, one-floor suburban row house. I got some pocket money, but it had to pay for my clothes as well as my additional sports courses, meaning I couldn’t save much. My father paid for the bus ticket and the library. I resorted to secondhand clothes and sometimes children’s sizes and didn’t wear undershirts or socks during the summer. For winter I occasionally needed a pullover or a jacket, the rest was hardening myself. One pair of flip-flops had to do for the season. I spared the trainers for my courses.
Twice a year there was an exception—my parents and I went on vacation for a week. One of my father’s uncles owned a small mountain hut in the Rockies. During the summer we could hike, during the winter we could ski. We could use my grand-uncle’s old skis, and my father dug deep into his piggy bank to treat me to ski boots and a warm ski suit. In exchange I had to look after myself during the summer, which was how I could get along in the forest in my flip-flops—in the end I just hiked the forest in my bare feet.
There were no ski lifts, so we had to climb the mountain through the deep snow and then ski down through the deep snow again. Still it was big fun, and I regretted having so few chance to practice this sport.
Chapter Three
Then the day for my visit to the recruitment office came. The biggest obstacle was my small size, no, height. I had studied for all required exams and proofs in advance. Once I had, well, bribed the sergeant—looking back I believe I simply could have looked for another person—I was allowed to take the entry tests and examinations.
The military would even have paid for me to go to college—but by the time I entered college I wouldn’t have been able to pass most of the tests. So I went through college first and applied afterwards.
Nevertheless I had to talk several times with an angel’s tongue just to get access to the tests. My college time awards—best shot, a Black Belt here and there, first class grades in most subjects, especially the high-priority ones—helped me a lot.
After all I wasn’t applying to be a pilot or join the Marines, but for a specialist role. For CBRN ordnance experts, the physical requirements were not as hard to meet.
Finally—and it’s better that I don’t go into detail how hard it was—I was allowed to study at the military High School, later the University, as an officer candidate, of course after basic training. During that time even the less gentle characters among my mates quickly learned that it didn’t help to bully Little Miss Meanie.
I truly believed I had crossed the highest hurdle by passing the entry exams. After all I was in top condition and had always passed with top results in school and college sports, in both my courses and my competitions.
This illusion held for half a day. Then all new recruits were dressed up—yes, they had something for my size, too, even if the private in the cloakroom murmured something about child soldiers—and were ordered to line up on the barrack square for the first time. Nicely sorted by height, I was the only one who found her place without problems. Just at the end of the line, where in the opinion of our instructors I belonged, if I wouldn’t want to leave voluntarily anyway. And the Army was no place at all for whiners, weaklings, or sissies.
In the first days and weeks we were chased around mercilessly. Endurance runs, power training, line up, stand completely at attention, backcountry exercises in full gear, the entire program.
Some of the boys were indeed not prepared for this level of performance and had a hard time catching up with the rest, but there’s something to the male physical superiority. I had to fight much, much more to keep my position than I had thought. Because I didn’t want to just follow them. I wanted to be with the top. I had to be with the top, if I wanted to be taken seriously!
For the real war horses among the female soldiers there were no problems, nor any for most of the boys. They were maltreated like the rest of us, they cursed and lamented when we were left to ourselves, but they just got their ordinary share of attention and pestering from the drill sergeants.
But if I showed even the slightest sign of weakness, then it was the little one, who once again couldn’t keep pace playing soldier. While my small size should provide me with the advantage of being a target harder to hit, here, with the instructors, it was just the opposite. Not to mention those awful times having PMS during an outdoor exercise. That was something the male instructors did not understand at all—not like I could really advertise it.
I had hoped that as compensation I could gain some respect in other disciplines. With shooting I was regularly the best, with martial arts I could constantly keep very good pace with the instructors, with anything that required my brain I had no problems. Then we changed to the training area outside, and all my good results were forgotten.
Or so it seemed. Later, when I left the barracks to start the true officer training, my instructors praised me. I must have had a big question mark on my face, because one condescended to an explanation—of course there couldn’t be obvious dropouts in any discipline. Minimum standards were set in all subjects. Regarding me they had agreed—there’s more than minimum standard in that girl, she won’t give up so easily, let’s see what we can squeeze out of her. Oh, after all that drudging that sure went down smoothly!
But I hadn’t reached the end of my basic training yet.
Chapter Four
There were exactly two attempts by fellow soldiers to sexually harass me. But I had decided in advance not to put my military career—once I had got my foot in the door—at risk for a quick fuck. For an officer’s career it could be inconvenient to have a reputation as the platoon’s bitch. So I turned all offers down very determinedly. I also got my hair shaved short to look even less like a girl. That got some practical perks, too—you save time on hairdos.
Of course there are always people who won’t be so easily discouraged, and horny, cock-triggered males are the worst.
Even these mental lightweights couldn’t fail to find me in a seemingly defenseless situation alone—to compensate for my deficits I did an extra training on the sports grounds every evening after official duty, on top of all my other special tasks. When I came back to our barracks sweaty and worn out, I usually had the women’s showers to myself.
Right then two dim-witted males snuck in—little April tired, naked and alone in the showers, no problem for two strong guys. One holds tight and one gets his fun, and no witnesses.
Well, I was tired, nude, alone and without witnesses, correct so far. But I had no trouble with two strong guys who had no idea how many kicks in the balls I had practiced during school, and how much Kung Fu and Karate I had learned since I was eight.
“That will get you a lot of trouble,” one of them uttered. I was in no mood to get in trouble by some inventive tales and straightaway called the guard on duty. I ignored his irritated glance when I welcomed him, still wet and only with a towel around my hip, at the shower door and delivered my report, saluting firmly.
“Private Winston, I report the sexual harassment by two fellow soldiers. I’ve defended myself and probably afflicted genital injuries to both. Permission to ask—what business do two male Privates with open flies have in the women’s showers?”
There couldn’t have been any legend like But she asked for it. Not with two big, strong guys against one little girl. Both were allowed to leave the Army the quick way, and a female Sergeant told them on their way, “You may be glad that flogging has been abolished. It would have been a pleasure to me.”
The incident provided me a little sympathy bonus with several female mates who had equally disliked the two assholes, and at outside duty I got a few friendly glances by our female instructors. The actual drill didn’t improve in the least, though.
Four or five weeks later I met both guys again, this time during a cross-country run, and reinforced by three additional thugs in civilian clothing, whom I recognized anyway as recruits from a parallel unit. Several sparkling brass knuckles told me that it wouldn’t be as easy this time. I shortly pondered simply running away, but unluckily I remembered that my ex-mates had always performed quite well in this discipline. Shit.
With a ratio of five to one and weapons which could painfully and irreversibly damage my face I had no choice. Little and mean—and this time I had to be very mean.
I had to see to it, that they couldn’t encircle me, to always keep one of them between me and the others. As far as possible. Their trousers looked stuffed. Ah yes, you fear my kicks, do you?
My first kick consequentially crushed a kneecap, and the man went down with a loud cry. Four left, and they immediately acted more cautiously. That gave me the opportunity to keep one of them at distance with a kick in the belly and to beat the second one’s throat with the edge of my hand. He retreated gasping and coughing. Three left.
They remembered what rough thugs were best at—just beating someone up together. Against their mass my finesse didn’t help me at all, and I received a brass knuckle blow to my ribs, which they acknowledged with a stinging crack, and a luckily unarmed hit in the face. In return I poked two fingers into one man’s eyes, and a blow into the solar plexus took another one’s breath. A swing of number three brushed against my right temple and made me see stars. Oh no!
I collected all my power and jumped up. My left foot hit number two into the face, and I felt bones break. My right hand, crooked to a claw, smashed the collarbone of number three.
Quick clattering steps announced new visitors. Although my cheekbone, temple and ribs hurt terribly, I assumed basic position and waited.
The Sergeant responsible for our endurance training was in the lead, behind him more fellows followed.
“What’s going on here? Report!” bellowed the NCO and looked around. Five strong men writhed on the ground crying—no, one didn’t cry but held his throat with a red face—in the midst of the scene stood a dainty woman.
I straightened myself and tried to stand at attention, to raise my right hand firmly to my forehead. Fiery pain shot through my chest, then my sight went black.
Chapter Five
“You were lucky,” the white-clad doctor said to me. “The rib is only partially fractured. You’ll have to rest for a few weeks.”
“Can’t afford that,” I stated. “Then my muscle tone is gone, and I can no longer keep pace with my group.”
“It would really be better if you take it easy. That’s my urgent advice as a doctor.”
“Then you’d better lock me away,” I replied unwillingly. “Because if I encounter those guys again, and I’m not in my best shape—”
The doctor made a face. “They haven’t told you yet, did they?”
“What?”
“Two of them are dead. One suffocated before a doctor arrived, one had a bone splinter in his brain. That led to a blood clot and a stroke. In the hospital they could only record his death. The third is blind in both eyes. One has a complicated fracture of his knee and will have a stiff leg for the rest of his life. The luckiest of the five only got a broken collarbone. He’ll have to expect a significantly limited mobility in his right arm.”
He grinned. “And all three survivors will hopefully spend the next years in a military prison. By all I’ve heard the General was very annoyed to have such a disgusting pack under his command.”
“That won’t buy me a thing,” I sulked. “I have to get out and practice.”
The doctor looked into my face thoughtfully. “Yes. Yes, I believe you have to. Three conditions.”
“Which?”
He counted with the fingers of his left hand. “First, no martial arts the next few weeks. You can practice alone, but you cannot risk kicks or blows in the chest. Okay?”
“Understood. Okay.” My broken rib understood, too.
“Second, no cross-country training where you have to throw yourself to the ground. I’ll give that to your instructors in writing—whoever assigns you to such a task, may line up at my desk.”
“Okay.”
“Third, if your rib hurts during any exercise, that’s a sign you should drop it. Listen to your body. Clear?”
“Yes, Sir. Clear, Sir!” I indicated a salute.
He waved it aside. “Anyway, you stay for two more days. I want to make sure that there’s no blood clot haunting your body. You wouldn’t like that.”
“I know the signs,” I replied to his surprise.
“You’re a medic, too?”
“No. But I studied human medicine in both school and college. As a hobby, so to say.”
He raised his eyebrows. “So. Well, we will see. Ah, yes, one more thing—I decide when the mentioned limitations will be dropped. Agreed?”
“Agreed. I reserve the right to make proposals.”
He winked at me. “That’s okay. Remind me that I don’t want to quarrel with you.”
I nodded, and he left my hospital room smiling.
The first visitors had been my roommates. I had never really warmed up to them—I probably was too ambitious, used my leisure time for training and grinding instead of socializing, and of course that lead to a certain isolation. But they had come anyway, out of respect, out of pity or from a feel of duty, I didn’t know. Our talk was nice like never before, deliberately missing the reason for my stay.
They were relieved by our unit’s Captain. At least fifteen years older than myself, but still a handsome guy that could have appealed to me under different circumstances.
“You’ve given me some trouble,” he said instead of a greeting, but in a friendly voice.
“Why?” I asked tiredly.
“The paperwork. Do you have any idea what a heap of work a military lawsuit generates? Well, you’ll find out soon enough. You’re right in the middle of it.”
“Looks like that. You still need my evidence, right?”
He frowned. “Not without your lawyer.”
“Lawyer?” I echoed, questioningly.
“You’re accused of double homicide. Actually I’m not supposed to tell you, but we’re all expecting this to be turned down after the first round. Anyway we have to stick to the rules.”
He put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll get through. One day you’ll become a good officer.”
That was the end of his short visit. He shook my hand and left.
Finally I had a chance to leave my bed and go to the bathroom.
Was this red-green-blue thing in the mirror really my face?
On top of the normal instruction schedule, my private training units and the books I studied, now came the interviews by lawyers and the court hearings that investigated why I had had to resort to strikes that dangerous and deadly, and if I really had been threatened in such a way that my reactions had been appropriate. All in spite of the found brass knuckles, my broken rib, the large bruise in my face. I was totally pissed off and about to kick the entire Army stuff down the pipe.
And then I thought of my father. Of all that I had endured to come here. I could have led a normal childhood, playing with dolls, going to parties, flirting with boys, falling in love, instead of blowing and banging for my goals between Karate and Kung Fu courses. I had chosen my way, and surely wouldn’t chicken out of a stupid, annoying lawsuit!
A few months later they all had gotten used to the fact that Private April stuck to her testimonial with a stone face in every hearing.
“You’re not making it easy for us with your lack of emotions,” a judge once complained.
“That’s not my duty,” I objected flatly. “No one makes it easy for me either. I testify to the facts. Let’s get through with it. Next question?”
My case was dropped. The five attackers’ guilt was established. Then they disappeared from my field of vision. I didn’t shed a tear for them.
Little April in the Army—finally I could fiddle about with real explosives! My instructors weren’t always lucky with the creative options in the use of hand grenades, which you best throw away as far as possible in their opinion.
Practice targets that had served for long years now had to be replaced, because only small pieces or bent metal were left. But I always remained within the set parameters. Anyway, somehow I got the nickname April Blaster Caster, and it stuck. That was better, after all, than all the attempts to apply any name with small or flat to me.
With regard to CBRN ordnance we stuck to theory. Which my instructors welcomed with open arms once they had read my proposals.
Chapter Six
The officer candidate training was different from basic training in three ways—first, the intellectual level of my fellows was on average higher, second, the intellectual requirements were higher, and third, the stakes were higher.
The expectations on physical fitness weren’t lowered—those were simply taken for granted. Just like the exemplary behavior and perfect appearance which was to be expected from every officer of the US Army. Of course we no longer had to practice hours-long marching and standing at attention, in formal training we now practiced calling to attention, formations, the correct lineup for different kinds of parades and so on. In all subjects that I had considered complete after basic training we got more stuff, and the subjects for officers, like conduct, tactics, history, came on top. Military history was an easy game for me, in the other subjects I could profit from it—and the less time to study that, the more time I had to study subjects that were harder.
As my classmates shared the same problem, my hard work was no longer a reason for separation. We helped each other. I could give hints on the history tasks and received support in other areas. That way, and because the men here on average were nicer and had better self-control, there were no ugly incidents.
With the nonmilitary subjects in high school, and later college, it went the same way. With nature sciences I had an advantage because I had learned extra outside of school and had a much wider knowledge base. On the other hand there were topics I had to make up for. Well. Let me remain silent on that. Just like sex—for a while I became a neutral, a genderless being. Most of the time I was too tired to even think about it anyway.
Of course I was confronted with my little stature here, too. How did I expect to command lots of men who were much taller than myself? I’d have to rely on my talents as a soldier. As I aimed for an expert career it was rather unlikely that I would ever have to send people to battle. But what if I did? Then I would lead them.
I was aware of that problem. If I had to lead—and from time to time during my training I indeed had to—I couldn’t stare anyone down. To shout someone down wouldn’t get me any farther. Leave that to the drill Sergeant, I told myself. No, my recipe for success was based on two factors—first, I had to be good and always right. Always present the correct judgment of the situation, always give my squad the best possible orders. The word had to spread that it was better to listen to me than take the wrong way. Second, I couldn’t tolerate anything. Little and mean, not here—little and mercilessly firm. To be little and nice would have made a mockery of my command. Every lack of discipline, any hint it wouldn’t be necessary to obey me because of my size I had to squash, that is, firm and fair.
If a soldier made a joke about me in front of his friends, I had to punish him. Not necessarily draconic, but instructively. The punished should never feel bullied—he had to learn not to make jokes on his superiors, but neither should he believe that he had to go to jail because of a bad joke. I assigned them tasks to ponder. Why did Napoleon fail at Waterloo? Which part had the battlefield topography in it? Bring me a two-page essay by the day after tomorrow—or sweep the barrack yard, whichever you prefer.
Napoleon was short, too, I hoped that one of them noticed the allusion.
Disobeying my orders was a different animal. Like I said—I couldn’t tolerate anything.
Now that’s easier said than done. The soldiers we had to command in our training platoons or during exercises were not so foolish to entirely disobey an order. It was more like a kind of slowdown—they reacted lazily and unwillingly. How do you as an officer handle that? The first time this reaction found me slightly unprepared.
It happened toward the end of a backcountry exercise with a platoon of freshmen. I had issued an order to throw down, and some of my protégés had thought they could easily go down on a knee and then look for a comfortable place. What now? Grumble? Just let it pass? Which was an appropriate reaction? Unluckily they knew that I was a still very young officer. The Sergeant accompanying us knew that, too, and I was sure he would be interviewed if I fouled up here.
My knowledge in military history helped me, especially Sun Tzu. To demonstrate commanding he had let the emperor’s wives line up. They had not obeyed but fooled around. If an order was not obeyed the first time, it could be the commander’s fault. Perhaps he didn’t explain the order and what he expected? Perhaps hadn’t pronounced the order correctly?
“Sergeant, let them line up please,” I decided and waited until all recruits had gotten up again. Then I explained how throwing down was meant and what the correct action on that order should look like. “Sergeant, please demonstrate the correct execution of this order. Throw down!” He threw himself down like in the books. “Thank you, Sergeant, get up and at ease.”
I looked into the eyes of the recruits standing at attention, one after another, until they couldn’t stand my glare any longer.
“If a soldier is too slow, his movement can give him away to the enemy. But then the enemy doesn’t just know one soldier’s location, but the location of the entire unit. All your fellows have to pay if one of you fails, and this can be deadly. For that we practice. So that you train your reflexes and be quick enough, if the life of your fellows is on stake. So let’s do it again.”
Until now I hadn’t pointed out the slow-goers. Oh yes, I noticed the little smirk on one of them. Did he believe he could get away with it? I resisted the temptation to put him into the same drawer as the guys who had tried to rape me during basic training. My job was to make these young men and women good soldiers. All of them. Yes, I knew the line about the bad apple spoiling the whole basket, but that appeared too simple to me.
So we practiced again, marched through the forest, and I ordered “Throw down!” again—of course I followed my own order before I looked around. Two of my lot were still about to settle down lazily and grinned at each other. Aha, but with the others it had worked.
I rose again.
“Sergeant?”
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“Sergeant, please get up. Was my order to throw down clear and understandable?”
He got up. “Yes, Ma’am. The order was clear and understandable.”
I pointed at my two troublemakers. “Sergeant, how long did these two recruits need to execute the order?” I intentionally did not ask for his judgment. This was my show.
“Mmm. About five seconds.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. That’s clearly too long.”
Sun Tzu told his emperor—if the order was given clearly and unmistakably and the soldier was clearly told what he had to do, and it still failed, then the failure was not on the side of the commander. For discipline, he had short-handedly let one of the women—or had it been several?—be decapitated. Afterwards the others had no longer fooled around, but obeyed. Of course I could not let anyone here be decapitated.
“Sergeant, are these two recruits restricted in their physical abilities?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“Okay. I state—the order was clear, unmistakable and understandable. The previous demonstration of order execution was clear and elaborate. The recruits were physically able to execute the order. Their demonstrated performance allows only one conclusion—these recruits were not willing to follow a clear order. So we have a clear case of disobedience. Sergeant!”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Oh, he felt uncomfortable.
“These two recruits are under arrest. Take the platoon eldest as support and lead them back to the barracks. I will continue the exercise with the rest of the unit. After duty you will report back to me.”
“Yes, Ma’am—Private Watson.”
After duty I’d have to tend to the paperwork. I would collect my thrashing from my superior for having an arrest in my training unit, and I’d have to talk to the Sergeant how he had treated his recruits to obedience so far, and what that should look like in the future.
Until then I still had to lead a heap of youngsters, now without the aid of a Sergeant.
Chapter Seven
“We’re here to train young recruits and to bring up good soldiers, and not to put them to jail,” the Major rumbled behind his desk. He sat, I stood at attention in front of it. I was getting a talking-to.
“Yes, Sir.” Until he had finished his thunderstorm on me it was pointless to object. I’ll be damned, I agreed with him! I just had had no other idea.
“What were you thinking of?”
A question. Well, now a “Yes, Sir” or “No, Sir” wouldn’t suffice.
“I’ was thinking of Sun Tzu, Sir.”
“Sun Tzu? What about him?”
He had calmed down, perhaps had become curious. “May I start from the beginning, Sir?”
My superior waved his hand affirmatively. I took a deep breath.
“We had a backcountry exercise scheduled. We trained different maneuvers, like chain or line of shooters”—he appeared impatient, I had to get to the point quickly—”and also throwing down on order. Several recruits seemed to take this order too easy, they got down comfortably rather than really throwing themselves down.”
“That’s why we practice,” he grumbled impatiently. “And then you put them under arrest?”
“No, Sir. I let them line up.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Then I let the Sergeant demonstrate the correct throw-down.”
“The Sergeant?” The Major held his right hand before his mouth. He appeared thoughtful.
“Yes, Sir. As instructing noncommissioned officer very well qualified to deliver an exemplary demonstration, and that he did. Afterwards I elaborately explained the purpose of this maneuver.” I outlined the main points of the lesson I had given the recruits.
“Go on.”
“We continued the exercise. I issued the order to throw down again and threw myself down as well. I looked around and watched two of my recruits go down on their knees, grinning, and then lie down on their bellies. All other recruits had executed the order as in the books.”
He slightly nodded.
“Sir, I had no choice but to regard this behavior as a deliberate disregard of my authority which I could not let go at all. Once I had clearly explained how the order had to be executed and had issued it clearly and understandably I had to state a disobedience.”
“Hm-mh, yes, supposedly you had to,” he admitted grumbling. “Or you could have left the disciplining of his men to the Sergeant.”
“With all respect, Sir, the first time I had to make sure that my order had been understood clearly. It could have been my fault as well.”
“Instead you disciplined the Sergeant.” Did he grin?
“Sir, no, I hadn’t seen that as disciplining. I had asked him to demonstrate the execution.”
“Ah, okay. Well, wait outside and ask the Sergeant in.”
So far I had gotten off surprisingly lightly. Now I waited outside, while he let the Sergeant explain my mistakes in detail. Well. The door was astonishingly poorly soundproofed.
“Sergeant, what went wrong?”
“It was my fault,” I heard to my surprise. “I had misjudged these two boneheads. They had been a bit reluctant from the start, but I didn’t expect that they’d be so completely off-track.”
“You know very well that we have to avoid such mishaps. Those young officers are still greenhorns. Just freshly drilled for obedience, a few hours of lessons in commanding, spread across the schedule, and we send them off with the recruits. With carefully trained recruits and always a Sergeant in between to handle the boneheads.”
“Yes, Sir. The first time I already had planned to take them aside and give them a good talking-to, but I didn’t get to that point. She was alert and got them both immediately.”
“And arrested them. That should never happen.” My heart fell. I had spoiled it! My career was down the drain.
“No, Sir. I shouldn’t have let it get that far.”
“Good that we agree on this. So, what do you think of her solution?”
“Brilliant, Sir. She explained the best possible way what she would expect without picking on any of the culprits. A golden bridge for the boys, see, it was my mistake, I was unclear, and this is the right way. If all had obeyed, they would have gotten away without a speck in their records. A few others who had been infected did understand and got in line. They are clean now. And the other two messed up in front of the entire unit so clearly that there won’t be any trace of doubt in the disobedience hearing that the Lieutenant couldn’t act differently.”
Pardon? He praised me?
“Exactly as I understood it,” I heard the Major say. “See that the word gets around. She can use the reputation. She’s one head too short—that remains among us, clear?—but she uses it quite well. She’ll become a damn good officer if we don’t spoil it.”
Shit. No, not because of the Major’s judgment. But because now I had to fight down my tears of joy about the praise to not give away that I had overheard everything. Sniff.
“Sergeant, please ask the Lieutenant back in.” Steps to the door.
I assumed position.
“Come in, please,” the Major asked. “Sergeant, I don’t need you anymore. Dismissed.”
A salute, then the addressed closed the door behind him. What was next?
“Lieutenant Winston.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I have come to the conclusion, that, with regard to all circumstances, you handled the situation appropriately. Of course the case will still be subject to a hearing, and I cannot anticipate the decision of the jury.”
He paused. What was appropriate now? “Thank you, Sir.”
“Anyway. We train young people, including firebrands and such with ants in their pants, to become soldiers. They didn’t come here to spend their time in jail. Each ass in jail is an indication that we’ve failed in our instructions. Okay?”
“Understood, Sir. I have failed twice.” Only I didn’t quite understand what he thought of me.
“Exactly. Mind that. What will you do if you get into such a situation again?”
Caution. I smelled the catch.
“I will not allow myself to get into such a situation again, Sir. I will see to it in time that it can’t get that far.”
He nodded, contented. “And how could you have done it in this case?”
“I should have recognized the troublemakers in advance. I should have taken care that they couldn’t infect their fellows with their subversive ideas. I shouldn’t have issued an order of which I had to expect it wouldn’t be followed. Instead I should have advised the Sergeant to continue the exercise and discipline the platoon. And only reassume command once he was convinced that my orders would be followed.”
“That’s exactly what I’ll expect of you in future, and nothing less. Dismissed.”
Chapter Eight
I wasn’t sure if I could reach my quarters in time, and I was definitely not in the mood to talk to anyone. Although I knew of the Sergeant waiting for me, and that I had to save the situation, first I locked myself into the next bathroom to wrestle with my composure. At this moment I felt just short of a nervous breakdown.
I allowed myself five minutes, did what was done in this spot anyway, then checked my face. No, it was good for the road.
I prayed a short mantra—I am little and mean, firm not tender, self-confident and unbreakable. Nothing can shock me. I believe in myself. I am good.
Now I could face the Sergeant, privately. He assumed position when I entered. I had to get him on track appropriately. Normally it was neither good nor prudent that an officer showed any weakness to a noncommissioned officer, and a junior like me even less so. But I had caused the Major a problem, and I wasn’t inclined to leave it there. These two boneheads were my problem, and I would solve it myself. That was what I expected from me, and nothing less.
“At ease, Sergeant. I ask for your permission to speak freely.”
He looked at me puzzled. Usually this request was expressed reversely, that is, upward in hierarchy. “Granted,” he said then.
“Sergeant, I’ve fucked it up. You know it, and I know that you know it. So we don’t have to talk around it. Those boys should have obeyed, no question. But they shouldn’t be in jail now, it shouldn’t have come that far,” I freely repeated the Major’s words, and added my own part, “I have to get them out there without letting them feel on the rise. Honestly—I don’t know how. May I ask for your advice?”
That moment I wasn’t aware, but I just had scored a lot of points. First, a young and unsure officer dares to admit that she can’t save the world alone. Second, young officer asks an experienced NCO, who is used to handling such problems. Third, young officer takes care of a problem which his superior should not have, before it even started to boil over—because until now no one except the immediately affected and the Major knew a thing, there hadn’t been a formal accusation yet.
Those two boneheads indeed got off lightly—the Sergeant got them out by pretending that he had redeemed a favor I had owed him, and I had dropped the charge if he watched them. He himself paid for his own failure by supervising their pack drill after his regular duty. He didn’t tell me any details, but those two never again showed any repudiation toward me. Not to mention that for a while they were glad for every opportunity to simply drop on their belly.
Yes, I was good. Damned good. I gained attention of people I knew nothing of. People who looked for special talents.
Chapter Nine
“What do you want to become eventually?” someday a newly arrived colonel asked me at lunch.
“CBRN ordnance specialist,” I replied immediately. Still I hoped to have as few problems as possible with my size in this direction. You simply didn’t need to be tall as a tree or insanely powerful to push a button.
“That you are already,” his answer surprised me. “But what will you do with it?”
This question caught me on the wrong foot. I had at best nebulous ideas regarding my military career. Solve all assigned tasks and collect rewards. What was possible, after all?
His rank insignia should be in reach in the long run, but that answer was too abstract. Well, his question was abstract, too. So I fired a shot in the dark.
“I want a quick career. So I have to go where something’s going on, on the frontlines. Which arm will work best? Army or Navy?” I had already ruled out Air Force—too short for a pilot, and at the missiles I would be the last to enter the action—and I didn’t want to see that happen. “I’ve picked Army, because you’re in the front lines there.”
“Do you set a high value on the assignment?” he dug deeper.
“I want gripping tasks, not parades. Once I’m flat down in the dirt, the color of my uniform won’t count. And I want to go somewhere where I have some free room to take some initiative.”
He nodded, pleased. Initiative and the readiness to assume responsibility for one’s own decisions wasn’t equally shared by all young officers.
“What about a special unit in the foremost front line? Far from the chain of command? Where the air is full of lead and the backup is always far away?”
Well, where could that be? It couldn’t get as bad as Vietnam, I thought. Only, what did they need an CBRN ordnance expert there for? “No problem, I’m harder to hit anyway,” I joked boldly. “I’m in the Army. I knew before what it would mean to be a soldier, including combat missions. And a special unit sounds like it would have more and interesting tasks, smaller teams and better equipment. This seems to be exactly what I’ve been looking for.” He nodded. And faster promotion, I said to myself.
“And it pays well,” the Colonel added, who hadn’t introduced himself yet, as I suddenly realized. No name tag, no unit badge, only the rank insignia.
“And is top secret,” I continued his sentence and baffled him. “For people who are ready to leave everything behind, disappear and lead a different life. Okay, I’m in.”
“Wait,” he protested. “No questions about it?”
“I see opportunities,” I returned. “Potential. But so far”—I stressed that—”I see no data basis for well-founded questions. And no need for secret information. Not here, not now.” I didn’t need to think it over again. “I can have my locker packed up in five minutes. Or I can come along right now. I assume, where we’re going I only need myself?”
Later I kept it this way—I was always prepared for travel, never had many belongings. No emotional ball-and-chains, for which you had to come back to somewhere.
Part Two
Team
Chapter Ten
So I joined Matt’s team as an expert in CBRN ordnance and explosives. The youngest and shortest, and moreover the only woman on the team. But for the first time I was accepted as an equal fellow right from the start, didn’t have to be little and mean—at least not to them. They were simply good, and didn’t have to show off for others. Simply three nice boys.
Matt, the team lead, was a true Terence Hill type, with blond curls, blue eyes, a mischievous grin, a dimple in his chin, toned body, a straightforward character with a sharp mind. We didn’t talk much about our respective backgrounds—in this regard it was a bit like the Foreign Legion—but he had received his commission in the Navy and already been on active duty there for some years.
Cheb was of slightly stronger build than Matt. His curly hair showed traces of silver, he was the oldest team member and responsible for our equipment. I assessed him as a former provisioning NCO, and if the usual clichés applied, he had surely been a smuggler or receiver of stolen goods in his youth, or at least he would have qualified for it. He could as well have come from a garage, he passionately fiddled with our transportation—even during our down time. He was difficult to judge, he didn’t talk much, and even less about himself.
And finally Rico. He came from the Marines, the only one in the team who had been with another elite unit before, and he placed high expectations on himself. His build and composure fulfilled these expectations anyway, but he wore even his civil clothing like a perfectly fitting uniform as long as he didn’t have to cover himself. He may not have been as well-read as the rest of us, but he had a bright mind and put it to use. I believe, the role of the brave, selfless receiver of orders suited him but didn’t exhaust his potential. He was over-qualified for the Marines, and so just right with this team.
So I was the only officer apart from Matt. In this rather anarchically cooperating team this wasn’t really of importance, but I got the formal deputy position automatically and thus quite a lot of responsibility.
I had erred when I had thought it couldn’t get as bad as Vietnam. Oh yes, in general the fights were less spectacular, but for a special unit it’s always something different. Many soldiers have been on combat assignments before they join such a unit, but I started with the full scope.
In a scratching, stinking, sweaty local Afghan dress, on foot avoiding roads, through the mountains and rocky plains, shadeless brooding hot days and bitter cold nights, with armies of insects with and without wings, but all greedy for blood, we sneaked up to the assumed rebel bases. Always exposed to the risk of friendly fire by our own units, artillery and Air Force, as well as to local snipers. Dusty and dirty, hungry, thirsty, with upset stomachs and a flush from not entirely clean drinking water, weeks without a change of clothes, bathing only under the watching eye of the teammates, so to say public—okay, the latter I had expected.
Before the first mission, in the training camp, I had entered the boys’ showers in my birthday suit—which had cost me a lot of courage!—and had declared with a wink, “Someday I won’t have privacy anyway. I’d rather like to get to know you under more pleasant circumstances.”
They all turned away and played the gentlemen.
“No, I want you to look at me,” I had told them. “Look at my tits and between my legs. I want you to remember this clean, pleasantly smelling April, if we have to do with simpler means someday in the open. And if my life depends on one of you standing guard while I wash myself, I don’t need a stealthy sidelong glance on my pussy. Examine it now, until you know it by heart.”
That had worked, and I had learned to know three splendid cocks with talented and tender owners.
Chapter Eleven
Of these cocks I had thought sometimes, when I had pressed my face into the dirt and had hoped, that again all coming, chirping bullets would miss me, while we let the opponent approach, into the prepared trap, until I could press the trigger, which would tear them with their cheap, ugly-tumbling-small-caliber-bullets-spitting Kalashnikovs into large, bloody chunks.
We went where no regular soldier would go—into the heart of the hostile country, where we tried to bug the tribe chiefs, infect them with radio tags, to uncover their organizational structures and their plans. It was a hope, nothing more, but this Hydra had too many heads.
We were dug in by day, on the run by night, between the armed natives who would slowly saw our heads off our bodies with a rusty, blunt saber, if they would get us alive.
For this reason I always had a little, mean charge as backup. They wouldn’t get me alive or in one piece.
I caught myself again and again developing a primitive hatred against these people, the entireness of this lying religion, which called itself peaceful, which did not lead their Holy War against the satanic temptation of revenge and violence—as originally preached by their religious leader—but against unarmed men, women and children—ours and even their own! And again and again I fought my own Djihad, called myself to order, reminded myself of our goal—to find the fanatic ringleaders who suppressed their fellow countrymen who would be ready for dialogue, who would want peace. Who then would object against an educated Islamic theocracy, which searched for true peace?