by Laer Carroll
"The other is for the next six weeks. I want to shadow A12 pilots as they do close air support. That's an aspect of the Air Force that doesn't get as much attention as I think it should. I hope I get the requests approved."
"I'll see what I can do. Now, I'm sure you want to get back to your parents. At least I believe those were the three people I glimpsed you with at the ceremonies."
She stood and they exchanged salutes.
<>
The Superintendent's Assistant came into her office after Jane had left the building.
"What do you think, First?" That was not her assistant's title but it once had been. "Still think she's a threat?"
"Not deliberately. She avoids hurting others. But pilots of ocean liners avoid running over row boats. It doesn't mean row boats don't get sunk in their undertow sometimes."
"You think she's a liner?"
The former First Sergeant said, "I think she's a fucking nuke super-carrier."
"An apt, ahh, metaphor."
They both grinned at the word play that reflected Jane's comment.
"Well," said Academy's commander, "maybe she'll get killed tagging along behind the Marines. A regrettable but final resolution to our conundrums."
"I don't think that'll happen, Boss. More likely anyone or anything that threatens that little girl will end up chopped to hamburger or vaporized to dust."
Chapter 17 - USAF Academy - Summer 2
Marines
On Sunday morning of the first week in June, having spent several days in Colorado Springs with her parents and Natalia, Jane boarded a civilian flight to Pensacola Naval Air Station in Florida. It was a five hour flight with a one hour twenty minute layover in Houston, Texas.
She wore civilian clothes: jeans, a short sleeved shirt, and tennis shoes, and had only carryon luggage with a change of outer and under clothing, a minimal toiletry kit, her Air Force identification, a passport, and incidentals. She'd been told all her needs would be supplied in Pensacola.
She arrived at Pensacola International Airport a little after 6:00 pm and had a hamburger and fries and Coke while waiting for a regular bus which took incoming military personnel to the base. On the bus she met people from all services, all who wanted to be sociable. A pretty open-faced girl attracted four male and one female acquaintance on the two hour and thirty minute trip.
She arrived at the base near 9:30 and reported to the Ground Duty Officer for the two Marine training units. She was checked in, given an overnight billet in the Officers Transient Quarters, and shown how to walk to the OTQ and her room. It was on a second story of a large three-story brick building, small, had its own bathroom with a shower, a living room and kitchenette, and two bedrooms on opposite sides of the living room.
Sitting on the couch wearing pajamas and old-fashioned reading glasses was a thin grey-haired woman of maybe fifty. She looked up as Jane came in and said, "Your bedroom is the one with the closed door." Then she returned to her book.
Jane stowed her meager luggage in a small pantry in her room and visited the bathroom. There were two medicine cabinets and she put her toothbrush and 'paste and a few other items in the empty one. She used the toilet and returned to the living room.
"Excuse me, is there someplace I can get snacks?"
"Down the hall to your right is a snack room. Or on the first floor ask the Duty Sergeant for food. He runs an unofficial little store. I don't know where he stores all the stuff but it's an amazing variety. Wonders of the entrepreneurial spirit.
"If you prepare anything in the kitchenette do it quietly and we won't have any problems. I'll wish you a good night now."
Jane smiled brilliantly and said. "Thanks! Good night."
The sergeant did indeed have an amazing inventory stashed behind two closets and (the more popular items) in the two bottom drawers of his desk. Jane got a wispy plastic sack containing three self-heating cans of beef hash, a box of crackers, and a ham sandwich.
She got a cold soft drink and ice from the second story snackery and ate the sandwich in her room with the drink. She spent a couple of hours reading about Venezuela on her vear before going to sleep.
<>
At six she rose, quietly made her toilette, and washed her armpits and crotch in lieu of a noisy shower. The nearest cafeteria had the usual breakfast items. She had a leisurely meal of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and orange juice, looking all about. The big room had a wide mix of people, most in uniforms. She saw personnel of the Air Force, Army, Navy, and Marines.
A visit back in her room for teeth brushing and a pee and she was ready for the day. This officially started at 7:30 when she got in a line at the Personnel Center for all the services and was officially checked in. She was to report to room so-and-so at 9:30 in building so-and-so.
This was a large classroom. A Marine Corps technical sergeant eyed her dubiously but gave her paperwork to fill out while sitting quietly in one of the desks.
Going to a nearby desk she noticed that there about 40 Marines in the room, mostly privates, three or four corporals, and about a half dozen sergeants.
Jane finished the paperwork and watched the people around her. She noticed that there were only two female sergeants and eight female privates. The ages of the forty-something Marines were in their twenties and early thirties. Regardless of sex or age all looked tough and experienced. Most seemed to know each other.
At 10:00 the oldest of the sergeants, a late-thirties tech sergeant, called Attention.
Everyone came to attention. Jane did too, but with less starch as she was supposedly a civilian working for some unspecified government agency. She'd been told at the Personnel Center that she'd answer to Jane Cook while on duty as an Observer with the Marine unit to which she was assigned for the next month. Her rank was GS-7, the civilian equivalent of technical sergeant. She been issued an ID that said that and given a safety deposit box. In it had gone her Air Force ID and passport. It would be stored here at the base until she returned from her duty in a month.
This had made Jane feel strange. Not bad, maybe not good. But she'd felt free of herself, free to be someone and something else.
Something deadly.
Inside Robot had seemed to rearrange itself as if to smooth a uniform better to her body and mind.
The lieutenant wore the silver bar of a first lieutenant and was female. She wore the combat grey and green camouflage uniform as everyone else did. She had short black hair and the trim body Jane thought of as that of a marathon runner. She stepped up on a low dais and approached the podium set there with a microphone on a slender stem.
"Hola, mis amigos," she said. Continuing in Spanish she said, "At ease. Please sit and be comfortable. This will take a while. From now on we will only speak in Spanish. Is there anyone here who is not at ease in this language? No? Not even our civilian? Good."
She took (an unnecessary, Jane thought) drink of water.
"As most of you know Venezuela has been in mostly non-violent state of civil war for the last several years. It has split into three sections. The dominant one is the former opposition force and is centered in Caracas and the surrounding area."
The large wall screen behind her lit with a map of the country. To Jane it resembled a spinning top. Caracas was a city on the shores of the Caribbean Sea at the upper center of the top. A large swath of the country "below" the city lit up.
"It controls most of the military and civil organizations. It got the oil producing system running again and is steadily increasing its capacity. It has rejoined the Organization of American States and normalized the country. The US has recognized it as the legitimate government. It is far from perfect but doing a reasonable job."
Another sip of water.
"The former government of Chavez and Maduro escaped to this area with enough of the military to prevent the recognized government from easily taking it back." Another swath of the country lit up.
"A third smaller section is HERE. It too has some military. I
n all the rest of the country local control is the law. Individual cities or clusters of cities run this area but otherwise it is the Wild West in Venezuela nowadays.
"What amazes me is that the country is on the whole peaceful. Except--HERE."
A long bright bar appeared running from southwest toward the northeast. It came up from Colombia "below" Venezuela and extended deep into Venezuela toward Caracas.
"This is part of a wide flat area and over its roads come drugs from Colombia, still one of the largest drug-producing countries in the world.
"Our job is to interdict drug shipments. We're only the latest of three platoons to be sent in at the request of the Venezuelan government to help them do this job. We'll liaise with the dominant government but mostly we'll be out in the boonies by ourselves.
"So, boys and girls, we're going to have some fun in the weeks to come. But first there are some preliminaries to be gotten through. For that, I turn you over now to our platoon sergeant Brendan Leigh."
She got off the podium as the sergeant called out Attention!
"Walk with me, Cook," said the lieutenant as she passed by Jane. Outside she continued down the hall, speaking as she went.
"I don't know who you are or what you're doing with us but if you can't keep up I'm sending you back to where you came from. Understand me?"
"I do, lieutenant. May I return to hear what Sergeant Leigh has to say?"
"You're dismissed, Cook."
Jane resisted her reflex to say "Yes Sir" and turned back.
<>
She hadn't missed much. The sergeant was telling them the next job for them to do is re-qualify their physical. "I don't care if you did that yesterday. Everyone does it. That includes you, Cook."
The 41-strong group went quickly outside and began jogging behind the platoon sergeant. They zigzagged twice before entering a gym.
"OK, everyone. We're not going to bother with changing clothes. When I call your name approach the bar and do as many pull-ups as you can. I'll start."
He went to the nearest of three bars in one corner of the gym away from the floor pads used for wrestling and the apparatus for other activities. Shucking his long-sleeved shirt revealed an olive tee shirt underneath. He began to do pull-ups while an assistant sergeant counted them off. At 20 he dropped to the ground, sweating and his face red but only a bit. He was followed by the four other sergeants, including the two women. The latter were slowing down a lot toward the end of the 20 but did finish.
Called, Jane stepped forward, saying loudly. "Bunch of sissies. Here's the right way to do it."
She jumped up, caught the nearest of the three bars, and did the 20 very quickly, saying the numbers aloud herself rather than depending on a spotter. At the end she swung back then forward to fly up in the air and do a somersault to land on her feet.
For moments when she looked at the stony faces of the Marines she thought she'd overdone it.
Then one of the women said, "Jesus Christ. The fucking Cirque du Soleil has come to town."
At that most of the other Marines began laughing.
Then all 36 privates did their pull-ups including the eight women. At the end all of them except the sergeants were lying on their backs, only occasionally going up on an elbow to sip from plastic water bottles.
Jane was sitting up cross-legged, sipping a bit of water herself though she did not need to. She'd not sweated at all.
"Hey, Cook," said one of the privates, "where'd you learn that?"
"In high school. I competed in acrobatics. I might have gone on but service to my country, yada yada, came first."
"What exactly is your service? CIA? Homeland Security? Drum and Bugle Corps?"
Jane just smiled.
The next test was abdominal crunches: lying flat on one's back, raising one's upper body off the floor, holding for three counts, then relaxing. Jane was one of only of five who did 100. Most of the women and smaller men did low 90s, the rest low 80s to mid 80s.
The last test was the three-minute mile. Jane did it in 18:00 minutes though she could have done it in half that. That would be too spectacular, way beyond normal human limits. Seven others did that or near it, more men than women.
It was noon when the task force finished the tests. They jogged to their barracks, Jane peeling off at the OTQ. As she did so the platoon sergeant yelled at her to meet them at the cafeteria.
In the cafeteria Jane approached the three round tables the task force had commandeered and paused. There seemed to be no place for her. One of the Marines farthest from her, a female sergeant who was facing her and had seen her first, spoke loudly, "What's wrong, Circus? Don't want to be seen associating with knuckle draggers?"
Jane began walking around tables to approach the table where the woman and several privates were making room for her at the crowded table. She spoke up so all three tables could hear her.
"No. I LOVE slumming. I learn SO much watching the antics of low lives."
The conversation was general around the table but it eventually got to Jane.
"Yo, Circus. What can you add to the mission besides tricks?"
"I'm just along to watch and add to my education. Not to bring back reports on any of you, if anybody wonders about that. But I can fly anything with wings. Not that that's going to be much use on the ground.
"Besides that I'm really good at sneaking around. Maybe I'd be useful as a scout."
She would be, but Jane hadn't known that until the words came out of her mouth from some deep well of knowledge inside her.
The female sergeant who'd invited her to the table said, "Maybe. You getting killed would seriously impact the mission, but we'll take all the help we can get. We'll check you out on field navigation and so on before we risk you. And the mission."
<>
The first job after lunch was for everyone to receive clothing and equipment. Jane, along with the others, was issued two sets of camo clothing and a single pair of boots, underwear, and other necessities.
The second was issuing weapons. Their base in Venezuela would have ammunition and other supplies, but not weapons.
The Marine armory was a big building all by itself with vidcam surveillance and other security measures, including armed guards inside. Jane joined the others as they shopped under the supervision of the sergeants who knew the needs of each group.
There were three squads, made up of three fire teams of four Marines. Each fire team was commanded by a corporal, each squad by a sergeant (one of whom was a woman). The two extra sergeants of five assisted the lieutenant in running her platoon. They were informally called First and Second and formally the Platoon Sergeant and the Platoon Guide.
Marines were taught unarmed combat and several types of combat with weapons. First and last of those weapons were rifles, so Jane's companions gravitated there and were quickly involved in much discussion. There were several kinds of rifles. Too, each seemingly identical rifle was different in small ways both important and inconsequential. A Marine knew HIS or HER rifle from all others.
Jane had learned this the previous year at the Academy as part of the Military Rifle Club and felt the same way about her weapons. The first of which she was drawn to were knives.
She was looking at a big knife which was a streamlined bowie knife, a weapon with a long and heavy blade, when one of the Marines nearby said, "Hey, little girl. Can you even lift that?"
Jane had only to touch a machine electronically or physically for it to become a part of her as much as her nose or tits or hands or butt or feet. Looking him in the eyes she tossed the knife spinning end over end above her to fall behind her. She put out a hand at the precise instant so that its butt fell into it.
She brought the weapon out from behind her back and caressed one of her cheeks with its blade. She lifted an eyebrow.
Another Marine beside her questioner guffawed. "You keep poking a ferret it's going to claw your eyes out."
The victim of the laugher smiled and said, "Just l
etting Circus know we care about her well-being oh so sincerely."
In the end Jane chose for weapons a stiletto with a six-inch blade and four throwing knives. These were little more than a blade with thin slabs of leather glued on it for the hilt. Instead of a pistol for a short-range weapon she chose a dozen marble-sized ball bearings. She could throw them with great accuracy at more than 150 miles per hour. For a rifle she chose a light bolt-action rifle with a six-cartridge magazine and a telescopic sight with mid-range optics. With a similar weapon she had reliably hit beer-cans 1000 feet away.
Her companions commented on the throwing knives. Professionals, they knew that movies showing thrown knives taking out enemies with chest or throat shots were fantasy and said so.
"You're right. For most people these are only useful for distractions. But I can put one through an eye at 50 feet. I know it sounds like a brag but I'll demonstrate if anyone doubts me."
The Second was nearby, finalizing the paperwork for all the choices of weapons. They would be boxed up overnight and travel in the same transport the day the platoon traveled. She said, "We'll let you show us that when we get to Venezuela. We've got to know your real capabilities. But for now we've got to get to chow and to bed early. We're up at first light. Now move, everybody."
<>
Jane's civilian clothing and a few other items she left boxed up with the OTQ desk sergeant for storage on the base till her return. She joined the platoon at their barracks with a small duffle bag of her belongings and got into the bus which would take them to the big Pensacola base airport.
The aircraft they boarded was a military version of a mid-range passenger jet. Besides the platoon there were about a hundred other passengers, mostly military but with a score of civilians.
A half hour into the three and a half hour flight a man in Air Force uniform came back to Jane's seat and said the Captain would like a word. Jane slid up her vear view plate on which she'd been watching a YouTube music video and rose to follow him.