by Tom Wilson
When they broke, he blew a happy but noisy breath, wishing there was less fog in his brain.
"Shhh. Linda's next door."
"Say," he whispered, "has the Ice Maiden got something going with Major Lucky?"
Jackie ignored him and he heard rustling sounds. He peered until he could make out her shape in the darkness, and the shape was fumbling with buttons. She's taking off her clothes, for Christ's sake. He grinned as widely as possible without tearing the sides of his mouth and began undoing the side zippers and pulling off the fancy flying boots he'd had custom made by Herr Probst in Germany. He hopped about to remove the second boot.
"Hon, be quiet."
He shucked his flight suit from his shoulders and fell against a chair as he tried to step out of it. "Turn on a light," he suggested, wishing he hadn't drunk quite so many MiG-15's.
"Be quiet," she hissed. She'd removed her blouse and was reaching for a chair to place it on.
"I'm sure glad you stayed over a day," he said, and in the dim light he could see she was removing her bra. He watched her breasts bob free, and exulted because they were as magnificent as he'd imagined. He felt a wash of drunkenness as he reached out to her, then moved closer and moved his hands over her body, anticipating, wanting to use her to cleanse the memory of the fear and restore his manhood.
"Your shorts," she whispered.
He reached down and began rolling down her panties. "I'm busy," he said, so she began to fumble at his waist.
"Oh God, Manny," she whispered. "I want you so badly."
They fell on the narrow bed and kissed hard as their hands explored. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, and she caressed it lovingly with her own. He succeeded with her panties, but she was still struggling with his shorts.
He helped her.
"God, it's huge.'' She inhaled a sharp breath.
Manny worried about hurting her and felt to see if she was lubricated. Moistness squished noisily when he probed. She trembled and sucked a breath. He slid wet fingers about her bottom, feeling and caressing and listening to her low moans each time his fingers penetrated an orifice or brushed her clitoris.
She was panting and arching her body. "Hurry," she whispered.
"Be patient," he whispered back, anticipating.
It must be so wonderful that it erases memories.
He moved his hands over her and felt her firm flesh, dropping them now and then to make her moan and shiver. "I can't stand any more, Manny," she whispered finally. She was trembling, caressing the length of him.
"Now?" he whispered.
"Yes!" she cried hoarsely.
As he positioned himself, she pushed her knees up and out and held them there. She sucked a sharp breath at first contact. He had never felt more engorged. I've got a prick of steel, he crowed to himself, and very slowly pushed into the moistness. It slid in easily at first, but then she tightened and gripped him like a powerful fist. He stopped, groaning and praying he wouldn't lose it, afraid that if he pushed harder, he might hurt her.
She clutched him about the back of his neck, moaning from the pressure, gripping relentlessly with her vaginal muscles. He pressed lightly to no avail. She only tightened more.
Are you a man? Manny asked himself. He pushed with all his might. She gasped and released, and he pushed on, powerfully, until he was fully lodged and they were belly to slippery belly. But then she somehow constricted again and captured him, and he felt as if his organ had been squeezed into an impossibly small glove.
"Oh, God," she moaned, shuddering uncontrollably, and the muscles held him tight.
He reached to each side and held her knees, one in the crook of each arm, and slowly pulled them upward. When they were breast high, he slipped his arms around her and held her. He felt the pressure relaxing, then lifted her knees higher yet. When she was fully vulnerable and unable to tighten herself, he felt a sigh shudder through her.
My turn, he thought, and pushed deep, feeling the heat that radiated from within her.
She moved her head slowly from side to side, moaning her pleasure and speaking love lies in small rushes of words. He held her tightly and hardly moved except to breath. He could feel the blood pulsing as it grew larger and began moving as of its own will, seeking the source of her fever.
Something inside her surrendered, and she cried out.
"Jesus," he gasped in a croaking sound, for he was into the center of the heat.
She sobbed, and he knew he'd hurt her and hated himself. Then she began to move her hips and make incoherent sounds and progressed into a grand, shuddering orgasm. As her joy continued, he pulled his arms up farther, lifting her knees and positioning her heels over his shoulders. He slowly withdrew, then pushed harshly into the fiery heat, again withdrew and again went in, establishing a rhythm. With each thrust she shuddered and tossed her head in yet another orgasm. He'd never experienced a woman who did that, and it mystified him. He moved faster, and her orgasms became smaller but still joyful.
Then he reared back, almost full-length, and rammed hard, not stopping until their lean, slick bellies slapped together, and she squealed, "Oh God." He did it again and then again, driving her into the mattress, and each time she squealed her pleasure.
He counted five orgasms for her, and by then his testicles were aching, and he knew he must have his own relief. He drove harder.
It wasn't working.
What kind of man . . . ?
Manny stifled a sob. He was still hard, and his balls throbbed unmercifully.
Don't quit.
He deftly rolled her onto her stomach and heard her whisper encouragement. His breath was coming fast, almost in gasps, and some inner wildness would not let him pause. He lifted her onto her knees and spread her legs, then stroked and caressed with trembling hands as her spoken desires increased in urgency. She told him she loved him as he pushed in. When he was sheathed, she screamed, holding her face against the pillow to muffle the sound.
He had to make it.
He worked, driving harder and harder into the heat, jarring her, hearing her animal sounds each time he was deep.
It was no good.
He withdrew almost frantically and turned her again. She was not as wet as before, but there was little obstacle as he rammed fully in and then frantically began to fuck.
She began to cry. He stopped, thinking he'd hurt her.
"It's . . . wonderful," she whispered between sobs, and he realized she was experiencing a big kahuna orgasm. He pressed and stayed there long enough for her to finish.
She subsided finally and spoke between huffs of breath. "I've . . . never . . . never . . . had anything . . . like this."
He lay there, calmly cursing himself, fully extended into a lovely and desirable woman and unable to finish. He wondered if it would always be like that now that he was not a man. He tried to start again but knew it was no good, so he slowed and then stopped.
It was over.
He decided to have a cigarette and try to forget this failure, just as he wanted to forget the other.
She blew out a long breath. "You were wonderful."
He was still atop of her, still in her, but was relaxing and losing his tumescence, thinking about the cigarette, when she suddenly, violently, whispered, "Oh, Manny!"
"Huh?" he asked. She'd bent her knees at his sides and was reaching down to grasp her ankles.
"Huh?" he exclaimed again, because he'd never seen a girl do that. She began to rock, ever so slowly to and fro, as gently as a mother might tend a cradle, and at the same time she was kissing and suckling on his chest and nipples.
"Jesus," he said, for it all felt very good.
"Hush."
She continued to rock slowly and established a steady, serene, and increasingly wonderful tempo. He felt himself growing in her again.
He relaxed and enjoyed, periodically groaning as the heat inside her would engulf him. Freed, she worked the inner muscles, tightening and then loosening and moving up or down
on him, then tightening again, and then she began to ripple and quiver inside. She worked silently as her mouth suckled on his chest.
Once, as her muscles relaxed, he started to move, and she stopped cold. "Don't."
She pulled and twisted until he was rolled over onto his back, then she lowered herself on him, catching her breath and moving her hips from side to side as she did so. When she had fully succeeded, she reached back and again grasped her ankles and went back to work, carefully attentive and responding to his every quiver and gasp, for the inner muscles worked even better when she was on top.
The pleasure turned almost unbearable. It intensified until he was hoarsely yelling, "ah . . . ah . . . ah," as she tightened and pulled and rippled. Then she could stand it no longer and released, convulsing again and again, moaning through gritted teeth, helpless as she carefully and methodically milked his juices.
Finally he lay still, head back and utterly contented.
"Okay, hon?" she asked primly as she ran her hands over his chest, still straddling and pinning him with her knees.
"Jesus," he said. He really wished he had a cigarette now and wondered if she would mind.
"Feel better?" she whispered.
"Yeah. I feel a hell of a lot better. You?"
"You were wonderful."
"Yeah? You too."
She shuddered. He started to lift her off, but she resisted, wanting to stay connected. He slowly rolled over and lifted onto his elbows, wondering where he'd left his flight suit, for his cigarettes were in the shoulder pocket. She relaxed and sighed.
"So good," she whispered. Then she began to bring her knees up at his sides and reached down for her ankles.
"Jesus," he said groggily into the first dim light of morning. "That was five times."
She stretched lazily and snuggled. "That was six times, hon."
"Jesus," he said again, wondering where he'd lost track.
She kissed his chest. "I feel wonderful."
"Dinner tonight?" Manny asked to get her mind off sex, because she was licking his nipples and squirming against his leg as if she were becoming aroused again. Didn't she sleep?
He was exhausted.
"I've got to go back to the camp today, hon," she said.
"That's too bad." It was okay by him. It would take weeks to get back into shape.
"We've got a phone at the camp. I'll write out the number and put it in your pocket so you won't forget it. Will you give me a call tomorrow?" she asked in the little girl's voice.
"It's not easy to get an outside line from the squadron."
"Colonel Lyons said he would call."
"Hell, Jackie, the bastard is married with three kids. You oughta stay away from him."
"Why? Do you intend to marry me?"
"Maybe I'd better go."
"Just joking, hon. I don't like Colonel Lyons. He's too egotistical. But I've got to get some things for my camp, and Colonel Parker says to work it through him."
"Lyons is an asshole."
"Will you call?"
"Yeah," said Manny. "There's a Thai pay phone at the Service Club."
She mewed some more and began to slip down under the sheet.
"I don't think I can do it, Jackie."
She proved him wrong.
When they emerged from the air-conditioned trailer, the heat of the morning sun was startling.
They walked toward the nearby O' Club for breakfast.
"It's hot today," she complained.
"Hell," he said. "It's hot every day."
"Not long until the monsoon rains arrive," she said. "They should be here within the month. Maybe that'll cool things off some."
A voice sounded from in back of them. "Could I speak with you, Miss Bell?"
It was Colonel Tom Lyons, and he looked irritated.
Manny saluted.
Lyons did not return it. "Where's your hat, Captain?"
Manny pulled it from the leg pocket of his flight suit and put it on.
Lyons shook his head at Manny as if exasperated, then motioned to Jackie. "I'd like to speak with you at my office. It's concerning your requests."
Manny bristled until Jackie patted his arm. "Since I'm going back to the camp today, this is my last chance to get the things I came for." Then in a lower tone she whispered, "Call me, and went with Lyons toward his blue staff sedan.
Colonal Lyons gave him one last hard look before he opened her door and began his smooth line. Jackie waved to Manny, then joined in the conversation, making her pitch for as much support for her camp as she could get.
Manny wandered on toward the Officers' Club. He thought about how he still owed Bob Liebermann a burger, and wondered if he hurried if he might find him still at breakfast. He also remembered that there were some things he needed to pick up at the base exchange. He didn't reflect on the fact that Jackie Bell's solution had worked, for it had been so effective that he'd utterly forgotten about the previous day's problem. At least for the present his fear had been washed away.
Later that morning Lucky Anderson told him it was time to send someone from C-Flight on rest-and-recuperation leave, and offered it to him. Manny thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. Too many things that needed to get done, he told him. He didn't tell him that one of those would be to explore how any female could grab her ankles and make Manny DeVera alternate between snorting like a bull and squealing like a happy baby.
CHAPTER TEN
Monday, May 1st, 1005 Local—HQ Seventh Air Force, Tan Son Nhut Air Base, Saigon, South Vietnam
Lieutenant Colonel Pearly Gates
The general saw him at the doorway and waved him into his office. "I've got ten minutes before my next meeting."
Pearly hurried inside, eyes feeling grainy and his body near its limits of exhaustion.
"You got the recce photos?" Moss asked.
"Yes, sir," Pearly mumbled.
Pearly pulled them from the folder and placed them side by side before the general. There were six in all, and they created a montage of the bridge and its surrounding area.
Moss leaned over them. "You said there were three hits?"
"Two on the bridge surface and one on a piling." He pointed them out. "Here on the northern span, here on the southern span, and this concrete piling on the island's damaged."
"Not only is the damned thing still standing, you can hardly tell it was hit."
"You were right about the Bullpups being inadequate, sir."
"Damn right I was."
"The railroad side's damaged on the southern span, sir. And on the northernmost span there's a hole penetrating through the highway surface. The damage is worse than it appears."
Moss shook his head. "Don't try to make ice cream out of horseshit, Pearly. We may have inconvenienced them, but we didn't stop much traffic. How long until it's repaired?"
"Intell figures the road traffic was shut down for six to eight hours. The rails were repaired in less than twelve hours."
"So it's already back in operation?"
"Yes, sir. And we lost three pilots." Pearly's voice cracked on the last sentence.
Moss pursed his lips thoughtfully. "You ready to forward the results to CINCPAC?"
"Yes, sir." Pearly didn't try to hide his disappointment.
Moss leaned back in his chair, and Pearly swallowed under the scrutiny.
"You look tired, Pearly. You getting proper sleep?"
"Not much, sir."
"What is it? Losing the pilots?"
"That and wondering if I didn't screw up by picking that target."
"You didn't make the decision, I did, and I sleep just fine, Pearly. We lost some good men and I hate it, but I'm able to sleep at night and function and get on with things. And"—he looked Pearly in the eye—"I expect my key staff officers to do the same."
"Yes, sir."
"Don't blame yourself for having qualms and second thoughts. We all do. But once a decision's made, you've got to learn to put your faith in the
guys with the stick in their hand. The whole difference between good men and good military men is that from time to time we have to be able to overcome the Judeo-Christian heritage we've been taught since childhood. We've got to be able to kill our enemies. And . . . we've got to be able to send men out knowing some aren't coming back."
A colonel, Moss's chief of staff, came to the door and looked in. It was time for Moss's meeting. Moss waved him away and continued to eye Pearly Gates.
"You keeping up with what's happening here in South Vietnam?"
"Not really. I'm busy enough with what's going on up north."
"There's a big fight going on at Khe Sanh. Our Marines are engaging a regiment of NVA regulars in the mountains there, and they're taking losses. They'll probably lose a hundred fifty or more, with maybe four times that many wounded. Good, brave men, Pearly. Tough guys, and they'll win like they usually do. There's three strategic hills there, and they'll take them all."
Pearly nodded.
"You know what we'll do then, within a month or two, maybe less?"
Pearly cocked his head.
"We'll abandon the hills. See, our soldiers here have no front lines, and there's no real objectives except to kill enemy soldiers and try to keep them out of key areas. We're kicking the shit out of them here, then going over there to whip 'em again, but we're not taking anything and holding it. Our guys are fighting a war of attrition against an Asian enemy, which is precisely what General Joe Stilwell said never to do some thirty years ago. And Joe Stilwell likely knew Asia better than any American military man ever, including MacArthur."
"Doesn't make much sense, does it, sir?"
"Right now there's four hundred thousand enemy troops here in the south. Maybe three hundred thousand are operational fighting men. Every day they receive reinforcements and supplies from North Vietnam. And every few months General Westy asks for more American ground forces to fight them with. Hanoi sends more NVA troops, we send more American military men. It could keep going like that until the American public gets tired of it."
Pearly nodded.
"So what's our ace in the hole? How the hell can we turn a fucking no-win, two-bit war in Asia into something manageable? Which really means, how the hell can we get the North Vietnamese to back out of the fight and let this country decide its own fate?"