by Tina Maurine
He looked at me and I shrugged. He stood there waiting for Honor to get our drinks, but before I could grab a seat next to Sammie on the futon, she pushed off of Trigg’s thighs, grabbed my arm and led me out the front door into the hallway.
“What are you doing?” I asked incredulously. The last thing I fucking needed was for her to chastise me when I already felt like Dane and I had been more on the inappropriate side of the fence. I mean, who disappears immediately after arriving at someone’s place? The only comfort I had was in knowing most everyone, except Sammie, Dane and myself, were shitfaced.
“What am I doing? Seriously? You have the gall to fucking ask me what I am doing? Where’d you guys go off to?” She sighed, and her demeanor changed when she saw how mischievous I looked.
“Nowhere. We just walked around a bit and talked. There’s no privacy in the small studio, and we wanted to chat without eavesdropping ears.”
“Sure you did.” She sidled into me for a comforting bear hug and I threw my arms around her. “It’s not like we have to see them again. They’re not from our squadron or anything.”
“True,” I said with a hint of resignation, “but what if I’d really like to?”
“Tess, there are other fish in the sea, and we’ll worry about this fish as we need to; but right now, we really should head back to our room. It’s got to be after three.”
It was looking, and reassuringly so, that Sammie would be a strong moral and personal compass to help me to walk the respectable side of the fence. I nodded in agreement and a sigh of relief gushed out of me.
She’s not going to hold this over my head. It’s already water under the bridge. She doesn’t care that I just had a hot roll in the hay with a stranger.
We hugged one last time and opened the door to Honor’s flat.
Dane and Trigg were standing there. Trigg pulled Sammie aside as soon as we walked back in. “How’s Tessa doing? Dane didn’t get out of hand, did he?”
“No, no… it’s nothing like that. They were just visiting.”
“Okay, cause I’d hate to have to kick his ass again.”
Sammie looked at me, “No, Trigg, really, she’s fine.”
He put his arm around her and dropped his voice, “Would you maybe like to come back to my place; I’ve had a great time with you tonight.”
I saw Sammie give Trigg a brisk hug, and pat his back, “We are really beat, and after the crazy night we’ve had, I think it’s time to head home, but why don’t you give me a call after work tomorrow?”
Dane had stood there with his hands shoved into his tight jeans, occasionally pulling one out to comb his fingers through his mussed hair while the two of them set up plans for tomorrow.
“Tessa, let’s talk, ‘ey.”
Dane guided me his usual way with his hand at the small of my back, out the door.
“Hvenær munum við ríða aftur,” He paused “‘Ey, in English, Dane,” he chided himself. “I’d like to see ye’ again.”
“Mmm hmm.” I cocked an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look. “Is that what you said the first time?”
“‘Ey, Tess, not exactly. ‘Ye got me.” He flashed his million dollar smile. Before I could ask him what he’d said, he interrupted my line of questioning, “I asked ‘ye, sæta, when we’d fuck again. But ‘ey have to say, thanks for an amazing evening; I’d truly like to see ‘ye again.”
I smiled and shrugged, touched that he even cared about trying to make plans.
I, however, had chosen to listen to my carnal desires and not to reason. “I’m not sure. The deployment is new; work hasn’t even really gotten into the swing yet,” I said with a laugh. “Let’s just play it by ear. We’ll either make something work or there’s no love lost, right?”
You chose to have this one night stand before you even met Dane, remember? I reprimanded myself. Don’t be so heartless and rude. You should make more of an effort to see him again.
I looked up into his eyes. It’s not as if it were easy to act so cavalier about all of this, but the reassurance that I saw there somehow made me feel better.
He came in for a hug and was grabbing my ass as the studio door opened and Sammie came out.
“Let’s go,” she said, and looked back inside to shout goodbye to everyone.
I squeezed Dane one last time, gave him a sensual kiss that inevitably deepened more than I’d intended… just for good measure. For him to remember me by. He tapped my ass as I looked inside and also bid everyone adieu.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” The words fell listlessly from my lips as leaves do when they turn brown and fall off their branches. They held no promise.
“Until then, sæta mín.” His clear blue eyes shone back at me, and I knew that this was either the most interesting one-night stand I'd ever had, or I'd been in Iceland barely forty-eight hours and was now in a casual fuck-buddy relationship. Either way, I needed to absorb what I was feeling. Getting home and resting for a couple of hours before work was just what I needed.
8
“Ugghh. Oh. My. God. I am so tired!” I couldn’t help complaining when the alarm went off. I rolled over, and 0710 glared back at me. And no wonder. By the time Sam and I walked back to our barracks, showered, very briefly debriefed one another on our evening and slid between the sheets, the clock read 0445. We didn’t even get two and a half hours of sleep, and now we have, I presume, a full twelve hour shift.
“Sammie, get up. It’s time.”
I only elicited a moan from her. We had until 0730 to be downstairs waiting for the squadron bus to pick us up. I turned on the TV and the weather read -33 degrees Fahrenheit with 30-40 mph winds. I sighed. Today’s going to be a long, long day.
We made it downstairs at 0729; a true feat if I do say so myself, considering I literally had to pull Sammie out of her bed. We somehow managed to throw our hair up into proper chignons, dress in our crisp, long-sleeved shirts, black sweaters, dungaree bell-bottoms, and even whip the instant buff polish across our scuffed flight deck boots. Not bad considering we were negotiating the world in an exceedingly fucked up, zombified state.
The bus rolled up and we crowded on, all zipped up and huddled into our FMJs. I couldn’t tell if the bus heater even worked, but it had to be only ten degrees warmer on the bus, so instead I just meditated and try to keep blood in my extremities. The bus made one more stop at the officers’ barracks, and then circled back around to the squadron hangar located on the flight line.
Once we rolled up on the flight line side of the hangar, we filed out. The doors were mostly closed, and huge heating fans bellowed massive amounts of warmer air into the hangar’s open-air spaces and smaller shop areas. I gave points to the khaki-clad administrative officers for trying to warm up the hangar before muster, but it still had to be about forty inside the enormous space. Here, two P-3s could easily fit side by side, with ladder carts parked in between. Along the left and back sides were the shop doors and beyond them, the different work spaces. All the ordinance racks were parked on the right. This hangar; however, was maybe two-thirds the size of the one back in JAX.
I shook my head. Here we go again!
Sammie patted my shoulder in support.
Operation officers stood in their working-blue uniforms, or flight suits if there were on the flight schedule. They held their clipboards with quiet authority, checking off our names as we reached the front of the lines we had voluntarily formed, and telling us which shop to check in with for our deployment assignments, which would last the next several months.
From the looks of it, we weren’t the only two, Sammie and I, who had partied too hard last night. The somber faces surrounding us didn’t help improve ours when we got our assignments: First Lieutenant… again. As we walked off in the direction of what we assumed was the Geedunk, Sammie spoke first.
“Are you fucking kidding me? First Louie again? I am so over cleaning up piss the guys cannot seem to get in the toilets, as well as stripping and waxing shitty tile flo
ors that should be retiled. Ugh! You cannot turn a pig’s ear into a silk purse, so when are they gonna stop trying to make us do it?”
I patted her back through the heavy jacket, completely understanding her frustration. My second duty station, and here I am again at the bottom of the pecking order.
Once in the squadron hallway, Sammie seemed to relax. We walked by the Aviation Mechanic’s (AD) shop and dropped her jacket off. As we passed the Aviation Electrician’s (AE) shop, I slung mine in, and it landed on the vinyl couch. Then, we headed toward the delicious smells emanating from the end of the hall. The Geedunk supervisor already had her crew slamming out breakfast burritos and sandwiches nearly as fast as they were ordered. We stood in line and ordered our own burritos and coffee. Trust me, we definitely needed coffee after the night we’d had.
Shit, I need it, because I’m still in a fog from all the crap that’s occurred since I’ve stepped onto that deployment plane in Jacksonville two… three… four days ago? Honestly, who knows how long it’s been.
My mind, along with our deployment thus far, had been AFU, and coffee was definitely what the doctor ordered. We sat down, and it took less than ten seconds for Petty Officer Reeser to walk up to us. He placed his hand on my shoulder, ever so briefly.
“Hi, Petty Officer Christy. It’s good to see you today. Did you have a good evening?” There was an upward lilt in his voice.
Unbelievable. He’s actually asking me if I fucked the bartender after he left the pub last night. “I did. Thanks for asking.” I left it at that and gave him a flirtatious smile. It’s none of his business anyways.
“Glad to hear it.” His response came off probably harsher than he had intended, so I let it roll off my shoulders. “Just glad to see you made it to work on time.”
We traded courteous smiles and I turned back to Sammie as Sage walked over to a table filled with some guys wearing flight suits.
“What the fuck was that all about? He acts like he owns me, or something.”
“I didn’t take it that way at all. I think you must’ve gotten under his skin and he was just glad to be done worrying about last night. You know, he only warned you about Dane ‘cause he likes you.”
I flipped her a look that may as well have been a ‘bird’.
“Don’t look at me that way! He truly seems to care, which I can’t for the life of me understand; especially considering that you don’t seem to at all.”
I cursed because I knew Sammie was right. I resolved to myself not to go ‘hooching’ around on this deployment. I hadn’t at my last squadron and I DID NOT want a reputation. Those were terrible and impossible to get rid of.
Before we knew it, all shifts were in the hangar-bay, our division officers had taken muster and we stood in our assigned shops, a shoulder-width apart in parade rest.
“All hands, ATTEN-TION!”
Our feet snapped together, our bodies upright with an assertive and correct posture—in boot camp they’d taught us ‘chin up, chest out, shoulders back, stomach in.’ We saluted the Commanding Officer until he reached the podium.
“Parade, REST.”
The C.O. waited while the shuffle subsided, “You have all attended the deployment prerequisite class on the proper behavior while you are attached to this squadron, on this base, while the eyes of the world are focused on us. You have been made aware of cultural differences between yourselves and the Icelanders, so as not to offend them when you are addressing them or working with them.
This is a NATO base, and in addition to the twenty-five US military commands, Canada, The Netherlands, Norway and Denmark have representatives stationed here as well. NAS Keflavik also supports deployments from the German Navy and Royal Air Force.” He paused and took a swig from his coffee mug, “Why is all of this important? Because, I WILL NOT TOLERATE behaviors that are not in line with the Uniform Code of Military Justice. You are to respect yourselves and others while you are here, and this includes the more than 900 Icelandic civilians employed by this base. ANY mistreatment of others will result in punitive action.”
He droned on and on about squadron deployment rules and regulations regarding officer and enlisted relations—they’re not allowed socially. He discussed cohabitation between the opposite sexes in the BEQ—also not allowed. He addressed where and when we were allowed to smoke—and not to purchase duty free cigarettes and alcohol for the Icelanders.
Parade rest is a terribly uncomfortable position; we stood with our feet about ten inches apart, our legs straight—hard to do without locking your knees—and with our hands behind our backs, placed straight, overlapped across the other at the small of our back, palms out. Our heads and eyes remained at attention, and our bodies silent and unmoving. I cracked my neck and bent my knees a bit, tuning into what the CO was saying.
“...Only defense force members over the age of twenty years may purchase, possess and/or consume alcoholic beverages aboard NASKEF and in Iceland,” he read from the base regulation manual. “So, that while the drinking age on NASKEF is twenty, that does not mean that it gives all of you under the age of twenty-one, or anyone else for that matter, free license to make asses of yourselves. Anyone from this squadron who violates this instruction, or the regulations contained in the base manual, is subject to administrative actions and or punishment under the Uniform Code of Military Justice.”
We continued to stand at parade rest for the rest of the hour while they made sure we all understood the NAS Keflavik laws, rules and regulations. Then, the C.O. went over his expectations and regs; ending with, “I know this time away from your friends and family is a trying time. Please try to leave work at work and use your time off to decompress responsibly. Take the time with your loved ones when you visit to truly share, that’s what keeps relationships strong in our absence. Squadron, DISMISSED.”
It was a long squadron command, but a much needed one, since I’d already broken two rules and had almost broken four. I’d already had relations with the locals, which he strongly discouraged, and had gotten home long after his unofficial curfew of 0200. If we had gone off base, that would’ve been three, and not making morning muster would have been four rules broken. I know if Sammie had been standing closer to me, I would’ve felt her elbow in my ribs.
After they dismissed us from the squadron command, some of the guys in our respective shops snagged us. It took Sammie and I a bit to show up at the Geedunk for check in with our supervising petty officer, much longer than it had taken the others.
No sooner had we walked through the door than she was on our asses. “So glad you two could finally join us.” The sarcasm dripped from her voice, thick and edged.
“Sorry, we both were pulled aside by our shop supervisors,” Sammie responded snarkily before I’d the chance to belay her comment.
God, Sam! You never challenge your new supervisor!
“You must be Airman Anders? It would seem Petty Officer Christy–” she looked at me. “You are Christy, correct?”
I nodded, “Yes, AE3 Tessa Christy.”
“Well, Christy, try to keep your friend in line. Teach her the lay of the land so to speak before she falls off a cliff.”
“Sure thing, Petty Officer…”
She interrupted me, “Nuniez. Petty Officer Second Class Nuniez.”
I nodded, and smiled—showing her I knew my place, and that I understood her veiled threat. This was not how I had reacted at my first duty station back in Puerto Rico; I’d learned my lesson though, check my tongue at the proverbial door.
“As I was saying before these two showed up, I am Petty Officer Nuniez, and I run a tight ship. My Geedunk is always spotless, and the food always comes out fresh and quickly. Is that understood?” Again, we all nodded. “A though M, go with Petty Officer Rodriguez for your job assignments, N though Z, come with me—it’s time you see how I do things.”
We all lined up according to the first letter of our last names, behind our respective supervisors.
“Airman Bach
, Airman Monte, Airman Glass—you have the admin offices upstairs, personnel, C.O. and X.O.’s offices as well as the duty office. Starting today, take care of trash in all spaces, and on a three day rotation, mop and buff the floor, mop and top dress the floor with new wax and buff, then on the third day strip the floor, mop and wax it. Bathrooms and locker rooms need to be spotless. Understood?”
They nodded then she turned to me, “Petty Officer Christy, Petty Officer Julliet, Airman Anders, you have bathrooms and first floor walkways—same three-day rotation applies for you.” She went on and addressed the remaining three who were stand-by; basically, they were assigned as permanent wash-rack volunteers, filled in in the Geedunk or wherever else she needed an extra body. I didn’t really catch the other jobs they’d have, since I tuned her out once I heard I had the fucking shitters and floors.
Again? Unbelievable. Who’d I piss off already? I had to wonder, since I had time under my belt and really shouldn’t be assigned to First Louie at all. I’d figured maybe the Line Shack, or even the possibility of an assignment to my AE shop, but toilets? AGAIN?!
After she’d assigned us to squadron spaces, she went on dangling the ‘Line Shack’ carrot over our heads if we “did our jobs and did them well.” Perhaps in the next couple of weeks, when a new set of newbies checked in, if all went according to her plans.
For those of us in the inner circle, the Line Shack wasn’t just a shop placed far out on the flight line that housed young plane captains, the ‘runts’ who launched and recovered the aircraft. Oh no! The Line also served as a clubhouse hangout, which was part of its allure. Everyone was young, even the supervisors. The only time older Petty Officers showed up out there was either if they had been part of the crew in their time, or they were considered cool by the rest of us. There were a few who had been accepted and they usually came out to the Line Shack when they needed a break from the squadron bullshit and found themselves in search of somewhere lax to hang out.