Rest and Relaxation Ch. 04

We had tied up to the naval docks in Vung Tau unprepared for a confrontation with what had to be the sexiest woman in Southeast Asia, Kerri and Shauna's commanding officer, one Commander Lundgren, Navy Nurse Corps.

We also didn't expect the commander to be accompanied by Admiral Elmo Zumwalt, who commanded all U.S. Naval Forces in Viet Nam, COMNAVVN.

Further complicating matters was the fact that my crewmate, Marty, and the simmering Irish beauty, Lt. j.g. Shauna O'Meara had, improbably, fallen deeply in love.

Meanwhile, the bewitching Commander Lundgren was demanding of Kerri an explanation regarding the recent goings-on aboard the Stoned Pony, our battered but valiant river assault boat.

* * *

Lt. Kerribeth Cavalieri stood tall and answered Cdr. Lundgren's query. "Ma'am, we sailed approximately eleven clicks up the north coast above Vung Tau Harbor; made love exactly four times; test-fired two of the weapons; briefly engaged hostile forces, and returned to base. Oh, and Lt. j.g. O'Meara and Gunner's Mate Third Demarest are, if you'll notice ma'am, in love."

About as succinct a de-briefing as I'd ever heard. I noticed also, that mention of the unreported firefight was deftly concealed amid more prosaic events.

The commander stood with hands on heavenly hips and considered Kerri's statement. "Lt. Cavalieri, I should reprimand both you and Lt. j.g. O'Meara for conduct unbecoming and God knows what else. When I told you both to chase some devils, I didn't think you'd actually catch any."

Kerri, bronzed arms at her sides, merely lifted her sculpted chin defiantly. God, but she was lovely. I glanced at Commander Lundgren, contrasted my imaginings of this blond goddess naked beneath me with the indelible memory of Kerri standing in unadorned perfection at the wheel of the Stoned Pony. My brain continued to bounce crazily between sexual fantasy and erotic memory.

Commander Lundgren, in the meantime, had turned to Admiral Zumwalt for a whispered conference. As she presented her stunning profile, I became even more aroused at the mental vision I'd constructed of the commander's vulva mounding between her bronzed thighs, her labia, pink and glistening with pre-coital moisture, lurking seductively among her golden curls. Her clitoris, protruding in carnal regency from the spun pubes, reminded me of a tiny penis, and was throbbing . . . yes, throbbing . . . in expectation of fulfillment by my swollen member.

I was subtly trying to conceal said swollen member, as were most men standing in the vicinity, when Commander Lundgren turned back to us and called out, "You will, Lieutenant," a glance at Lt. Janvrin, "along with your two crewmen and my nurses, return to my office with Admiral Zumwalt and me. This situation can, I'm sure, be resolved with as little collateral damage as possible."

I believe this was the first time that I ever heard the term "collateral damage".

In a magnificent gesture to military correctness, Lt. Janvrin, with a curt "Aye, aye, ma'am" jacked his eyes from the commander's imposing bosom and glared toward us. "Axelsson, Demarest, secure the boat . . . no! Belay that! Each of you find a shirt, put it on and get topside."

He addressed the three other crewmen. "Looks like you gents have the pleasure of cleaning up after those two . . . sailors," he growled.

Commander Lundgren, officially designated, at least by me, the Sexiest Woman in Southeast Asia, called down in a considerably less strident voice, "Kerri, Shauna, I expect both of you showered, in proper uniform, and in my office, a-sap."

Personally, I liked the commander's way of putting the request far better than Lt. Janvrin's, but I hustled back into the deckhouse for my chambray shirt, grabbing one for Marty, as well. I rushed back out on deck to see Marty and Shauna once more interlocked; lips together, Shauna groping for Marty's cock.

I quickly grabbed her hand and patted Marty on the shoulder. "Hey, man," I murmured. "Let's get underway." I glanced to his beloved. "Ma'am, I'm really sorry about . . ."

She put a soft hand to my cheek, a touch I shall feel for the rest of my life, and raised the other to her lips.

"Demarest! Axelsson!" Lt. Janvrin bellowed. "Expedite!"

Shauna's green eyes flashed to the lieutenant, standing arms akimbo on the gangway, and momentarily I pitied the man. I really did.

I shoved the extra shirt at Marty, grabbed the waist band of his camo cut-offs, forcibly led him away from the woman who would one day be his wife.

I couldn't look at the other guys in the crew till Salty suddenly whacked my shoulder. "You guys for damn sure hit the freakin' jackpot," he said with a wink. Each of the others gave us a surreptitious thumbs-up as we passed, with Ollie Jackson blowing Marty a sardonic kiss and then slapping him lightly on the back.

Needless to say, the lieutenant wasn't happy with this display of camaraderie. "Belay the grab-ass and turn to!" he barked.

At the top of the gangway, I found myself face to face with Commander Lundgren. Her startlingly blue eyes, though undeniably lovely, were also among the kindest and most intelligent that I'd ever encountered.

"While I can't condone your behavior," she said quietly to Marty and me, "I do understand." She looked to Marty and asked simply, "Are you and Shauna, um, Lt. j.g. O'Meara, really as smitten as you seem to be?"

Marty held the commander's gaze and replied in a fervent voice, "Ma'am, I swear to God I'd die for that woman."

The impossibly beautiful commander was silent, judging the worth of this hulking Midwesterner. At last she responded. "Assuming Lt. j.g. O'Meara tells me pretty much the same thing when I ask her, I'll do everything I can to see that, while you're both in-country, you and she are together as much as possible. Is that fair?"

Marty nodded once and replied, "I appreciate that, ma'am."

I snuck a look toward the boat; Shauna, arms rigid, fists clenched, was glaring at us; hadn't moved since Marty and I had so precipitously departed.

Commander Lundgren's gorgeous eyes remained on Marty as she said, "Admiral, do you think you could pull a few strings, perhaps get Gunner's Mate Third Demarest transferred to a billet in Vung Tau?"

I had totally forgotten the existence of Admiral Zumwalt, who seemed to materialize from nowhere and stood just abaft the commander. "I think we can oblige you, Sheila," the Admiral responded quietly. "I'm well aware of what your nurses have been through these past couple of days."

The admiral paused to glance toward the less-than-spiffy Stoned Pony. "I also know what these boys deal with over here, and it's no piece of cake, either." He looked steadily at me. "It was your squadron that tried to evacuate those Viet kids in the middle of the assault near Dong Tam, um, last month, wasn't it? Were you men involved with that?"

Abruptly aware that the Admiral was looking at me, I was again forced to abandon unbidden thoughts of the commander's fabulous pussy opening to admit my stupendously engorged cock. Yet, having no idea what he'd just asked, I was forever indebted to Marty who answered, "Yes sir. Our boat was the one ordered to go in and get that family. I wish we'd'a been able to get to 'em quicker, but we were taking some pretty heavy fire, sir; did the best we could."

"I know, son," Admiral Zumwalt sighed. "It was just one of those unfortunate things. This is one seriously shitty war."

"Sir, there's a bunch of us wondering if we're wasting our time over here." Marty blurted this just as I had resumed tonguing Commander Lundgren's left tit, beginning a slow, oh so sensuous, grind; in, then nearly out of, then back in that tight and so alluring vagina. I could feel her blond maidenhair entangled in my own pubic thatch when an image of the LBJ once again intruded on my thoughts. I was, after all, among the first to wonder aloud a couple months back if we, collectively, were indeed wasting our time, not to mention our lives, in Viet Nam.

"Belay that, Guns," the admiral replied brusquely. His eyes took on a sadness, though, that caused Commander Lundgren to put a gentle hand on his arm. "I hear what you're saying," he continued, "but this isn't the time or place." Noticing Lt. Janvrin returning from a cursory inspection of the Stoned Pony, he ordered "Let's shove off."

We must have made a most intriguing and incongruous group. The breathtakingly attractive Commander Lundgren, side by side with COMNAVVN, in flip-flops, polo shirt, and shorts, no less, followed by an apoplectic Lt. Janvrin.

The Lieutenant was in turn followed by a gaggle of staff officers surrounding, and instinctively ignoring, the somewhat bedraggled Marty and me.

On the walk over to the hospital, I harangued Marty, or at least harangued him as much as was possible in a whisper. "'The hell were you thinking, man. We're deep enough in shit without you pissing off a freakin' admiral, 'specially that admiral."

Marty ignored me, of course; would only turn every couple of steps to glance back toward the boat dock, toward Shauna. Funny, though; I was doing the same thing.

We both saw the two lovelies walking in the opposite direction, apparently headed toward their quarters. Kerri's beach bag swung enticingly at her ass. I noticed that Shauna also kept glancing up toward us. But that didn't interest me near as much as the fact that Kerri did too.

Within minutes, Marty and I, along with Lt. Janvrin, Admiral Zumwalt, and Commander Lundgren were ensconced in the commander's small office, thanking God for air conditioning and waiting for Lt. Cavallieri and Lt. j.g. O'Meara to join us.

Commander Lundgren and Admiral Zumwalt had taken the only two seats in the cramped space and, with Lt Janvrin leaning between them, were once again conferring in a low murmur. The lieutenant appeared even angrier, occasionally shaking his brutally shaved head while mouthing watered-down oaths.

Marty and I sat uncomfortably on the bare cement deck, the whirring rattle of the air conditioning unit preventing us from hearing any of what was being said. Probably just as well.

I was, by now, beginning to comprehend just how much of an idiot I had been; having sex with an officer, no matter how willing she seemed; taking a commissioned United States naval vessel out for a two-and-a-half hour joy ride; lighting off several hundred .50-caliber rounds into what could very well have been a restricted fire zone.

Then there was the firefight that had put the two women in unconscionable danger. Had one or both of them been wounded or killed, I'd have had to live with that for the rest of my life . . . the bulk of which would most assuredly be not in the LBJ, but within the looming walls of the Portsmouth Naval Prison back in the World, the U.S.

Hell, Marty or I could have been killed, too. Altogether, our little cruise had been a very stupid thing to do; unforgettable, yes, but definitely stupid.

I did have some hope, however, that the commander . . . and the admiral . . . might, indeed, limit the "collateral damage" resulting from this little incident.

Despite my proximity to Cdr. Lundgren, I pondered more and more the lovely Kerri, her glistening body, her perfect tits, luscious ass, and form-fitting pussy, all given freely to me. I began, despite our dilemma, to get another hard-on, to wonder, once more, if I'd ever encounter such an opportunity, such beauty, again.

The muttered conference among the officers had ended and once more I beheld the commander's amazingly blue eyes. I noticed then the sadness in those eyes, the burden of seeing people at their most vulnerable: frightened, wounded, broken, sick, distraught. I knew that no matter how many firefights, assaults, and shattered boats I'd been through, no matter how heroic I thought myself, I couldn't hold a candle to this woman, to any of the doctors and nurses here, all of them dedicated to saving lives rather than taking them.

Yet, while it's true that those eyes shamed me, they also gave me hope.

"Before Lt. Cavalieri and Lt. j.g. O'Meara get here," the commander began, "I want you men to realize how fortunate you are, and why my nurses behaved as they did."

She folded her hands on the plain metal, military-issue desk and went on. "Until the day before yesterday, Lt. Cavalieri, Lt. j.g. O'Meara, and another nurse, Lt. j.g. Brenda Kasper were all very close. All three nurses worked in triage, same-same emergency room.

"Having been exposed to wounded and dying men yourselves, at least occasionally, you can imagine what these women experience on a daily basis; dust-offs and ambulances arriving daily with wounded soldiers, Marines, and sailors; even many of the enemy wounded who've been captured or who've surrendered. It would, plainly speaking, make you sick." She closed her eyes briefly, while I recalled my thoughts of a moment ago.

"After a major operation or battle, like the one you men were just engaged in," she continued, "things are especially bad. The wounds, the sounds, the smells, the chaos . . . the death," her eyes hardened. "It's madness. Utter horror." Commander Lundgren shot a look toward the Admiral, who sat next to her, frowning slightly.

"As I mentioned," the Commander sighed, "the three nurses were nearly inseparable, having experienced all this together for over four months now . . . in the case of Lt. j.g. Kasper, closer to eight months. All three nurses shared the same quarters in a Quonset hut just the other side of the boat docks, sandbagged to the hilt, but nonetheless not an especially safe area during the occasional mortar attacks we endure. Furthermore, because we're chronically short-staffed, all three have had a grand total of eight days off since arriving in-country. But they're dedicated officers; all my women are. And among the finest nurses it's been my honor to command." She paused, closed her eyes.

"In any case," she said then, "the day before yesterday, Lt j.g. Kasper was found dead of an overdose of Phenobarbital. There was no suicide note." The Commander glanced toward Marty. "Her body, I might add, was discovered by Lt. j.g. O'Meara."

My friend slumped forward, cradled is head on his knees, muttered "Jesus, Jesus."

The Commander, eyes cast to the gunmetal desktop, went on. "One of the reasons I believe she took her own life is that, quite simply, she'd had enough, had seen too much death, too many shattered young men, too much of the horror. It just overwhelmed her. Maybe she was just too sensitive for this duty, I don't know . . . though I should have."

Commander Lundgren stopped again, wiped at her eyes. "Another reason we think Lt j.g. Kasper took her own life is that her fiancé was killed in an automobile crash nearly a month ago." She paused, looked up at Marty and me, said "We were all trying to convince her that she had to get home, had to get out of this madness. Both Kerri and Shauna spent the past three weeks supporting her, grieving with her, pleading with her to go home, pleading with me to send her home. But Brenda refused to leave, said she wanted to work her way through her grief. I finally stepped in, far too late I'm ashamed to say, and ordered her home. She was supposed to leave yesterday."

After another swipe at her eyes, the Commander soldiered on, "Immediately after Brenda Kasper's body was discovered, nine helos . . . nine of them, all full of wounded boys . . . were brought in from the Rung Sat operation. Obviously, we needed everyone we could get in triage. Shauna and Kerri, all of us, have been working non-stop until early this morning, treating these men. More than a few died, but most will make it; we already have several on their way to Japan and Okinawa. But Kerri, and especially Shauna, have been traumatized, with no time for or means of dealing with their loss."

The commander paused to take a deep breath fascinating all of us with her swelling bosom. "I don't want them ending up like Brenda Kasper," she said with a hard look around the office. "Lt j.g. Kasper is certainly not the first to break under this strain, nor do I doubt she'll be the last. But I intend to see that she be the first and last under my watch."

Commander Lundgren's eyes were glistening. I thought her indescribably beautiful to begin with, but she had taken on an unearthly loveliness at that moment that I can never forget.

"Tomorrow," she said quietly, "Lt. j.g. Kasper's remains are to be flown back to the U.S. She deserves a place in Arlington National Cemetery, but she won't get it. Her family has been told only that, and I quote, 'The Department of the Navy regrets to inform you that on 27 July, 1969, Lt. j.g. Brenda N. Kasper died of wounds resulting from hostile action in the IV Corps area of operations, Republic of South Viet Nam.'"

Marty sat silently next to me. I suppose his thoughts were the same as mine had been: we didn't deserve to breathe the same air as the women we had so callously used that day.

The commander continued, "Originally, I had thought to send both Kerri and Shauna to accompany Brenda's remains to her hometown. However, because she took her own life, Lt. j.g. Kasper is not authorized an escort back to the States. She will simply be flown back home, her remains to be claimed by her family. As I said, she deserves more, but not even Admiral Zumwalt can buck Defense Department policy." She again glanced at the admiral, who continued to frown.

"Assuming only one or two medevacs," the commander went on, "Lt. Cavalieri, Lt. j.g. O'Meara, and I intend to go down to the sorry excuse we have for an airport here to see Brenda off, to honor her as an officer, as a nurse, and as a friend. It's only a fraction of what this woman has earned, and that's what makes all this even worse."

At that point, I began to comprehend why those officers at the dock had been so dismayed at the impetuosity of the two nurses in joining Marty and me aboard the Stoned Pony. I wondered if we'd sullied those women, and perhaps ourselves, beyond redemption. It also became apparent that Marty and I had originally represented a diversion, plain and simple. I was unsure whether to feel honored or humiliated.

Yet Marty and Shauna had found each other, had experienced the legendary love at first sight, were inextricably bound by the experience of that day.

Hell, I didn't know what to think, except where did all this leave gun-totin', fed-up-to-the-eyeballs, still-got-nine-more-months-of-this-shit me?

* * *

In the next episode, Marty and I learn our fate . . . and is Commander Lundgren, the Sexiest Woman in Southeast Asia, falling for me?