Friend Zoned

© 2024 Duleigh Lawrence-Townshend. All rights reserved. The author asserts the right to be identified as the author of this story for all portions. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review or commentary. If you see this story on any website other than Literotica.com, it has been copied without the author's permission.

Friend Zoned

Fortune Favors the Bold

Technical Sergeant Michael "Wedge" Donovan wasn't overjoyed with the orders he got, but he wasn't unhappy - Kunsan Air Base. Eighth fighter wing, eightieth fighter squadron, weapons loading flight. Wedge wanted Europe, but he'll take Kunsan. It's a perfect location for a lone wolf like him, no families, no useless First Lieutenant trying to turn a fighting unit into a social club. He loved the Strategic Air Command, but Minot North Dakota was a bit too cold. He tried to ignore the anxiety that gnawed at him as the plane clawed its way from Seattle to Seoul, Republic of Korea. He didn't know what to expect from Korea, the closest he has been to Korea was a short temporary duty assignment to Guam, but he was told that Guam wasn't representative of anything else except Tinian, Guam's tiny sister island.

Michael Aloysius Donovan was a large fellow from Coudersport Pennsylvania who enlisted in the USAF to avoid the economic malaise that greeted him when he graduated from high school. So far, the Air Force has been kind to him, and he's been to several state side bases interspersed with overseas bases in his career, but he still hasn't received orders to his top choice, England. He wanted England so he could take some time off and visit the Mother Country - Ireland. He was sure that he got orders to England this time when he received orders six months ago, but when he opened the envelope that his NCOIC (Non-Commissioned Officer In Charge (the Boss)) handed to him, he found that he would be on the opposite side of the world from England.

They landed late at night and the city of Seoul seemed to go on forever to Wedge. The city lights stretched out to the horizon, and it appeared like the whole country of South Korea was lit up for him as they approached. After 19 hours they touched down in Kimpo Airport and rolled to a stop at a massive terminal. Wedge found that his hips and legs were numb from sitting in the most uncomfortable airline seat he has ever sat on throughout his travels. (Thank you Northwest Airlines!) After gathering his luggage and clearing customs he found a telephone and called his duty section. "Weapons flight, Sergeant Clark."

"Sergeant Clark, I'm Sergeant Donovan, I've got orders to your section."

"Ah yes, you're due in tomorrow."

"It will be tomorrow in about twenty minutes," said Wedge.

"Holy shit... sorry, we're in an exercise here, I didn't realize how late it was. Ok, I'll let the first shirt know you're inbound. Go to the Military Transport Center to get a ride. When you get here they'll drop you off at the rec center, give us a call when you get there."

And that was it. Wedge found his way to the military transportation center and found that the bus wasn't leaving for hours. "I have a duce and a half taking cargo to 'The Kun' right now if you want to ride in the back."

"I'll take it," said Wedge and fifteen minutes later he and two other fellows were in the back of a two-and-a-half-ton cargo truck. In the Air Force a duce and a half is not the big dual axle Army truck you'd see in an old war movie, they call that a "ten by." A duce and a half is just a really, really big pickup truck. It was a warm night and at midnight the city was wide awake. Lights were on, the streets were full of people, and Wedge was inundated with the sights and sounds and smells of the city. "What is this? A holiday?" asked Wedge, shouting over the wind of their passage.

"Yeah, it's a celebration of capitalism!" his fellow passenger said. "It's like this twenty-four seven!"

Wedge was riding in his class A dress uniform; the Air Force calls it the Service Dress uniform. His co-passengers were in civilian attire and headed to Kunsan also, but they were in the Army. "I didn't know there was an Army unit at the Kun." said Wedge.

"US Army?" shouted Glenn Fry, a tall slim black guy who looked like he was about sixteen years old. "There's only one US Army unit, an ADA unit. There's several ROK units." ROK stands for Republic of Korea and their military is one of the best trained, fiercest militaries on earth. Glenn described how military service was mandatory for all able-bodied Korean men, but by then they had pulled on to an interstate highway and picked up speed and the rushing wind made conversation impossible. Wedge, Glenn and the third fellow, Shakir re-arranged boxes and sat with their backs to the cab of the truck as they headed out into the countryside.

Wedge woke up with Glenn shaking his shoulder. "We're at the Gate, get your ID out."

Wedge looked around and it was pitch black in all directions. Far off in the distance he could see lights from a Korean village but nothing else. Out of the blackness a security policeman appeared and stepped up to the truck. He had a few glow sticks stuck into an elastic strap around his Kevlar helmet and carried a 90-degree flashlight with a blue lens over the light bulb. "ID?" Wedge showed him his ID card then the policeman asked, "How long have you been here Sergeant Donovan."

"I just got here," said Wedge. "I got off the airplane at Kimpo at eleven o'clock."

"Orders," the cop said sternly.

Wedge pulled his stack of orders out of his briefcase and the cop studied them. Finally, the cop handed them back and said, "Ok, we're in an exercise, total blackout condition. Do not go wandering around until you've spoken with your first shirt. Welcome to the Koon."

Soon they were driving across the base, but all the lights were out, including the streetlights. Wedge had never seen darkness like this, and when they stopped at a stop sign, the two young army fellows hopped out and disappeared into the night. Soon they stopped and the driver came back and helped Wedge gather his baggage. Pointing off into the inky blackness the driver said, "That's the rec center, you can call your unit from there.

Wedge stumbled in the dark until he found a building and went in, there was a light trap that kept the interior light from escaping to the outside. Near the entrance was a phone and he called his unit again, and again Sergeant Clark answered. "Go get a good meal, and get one to go, you'll want something to eat in the dorm while we're in exercise conditions."

"Roger that," said Wedge and after hanging up he parked his suitcase, duffel bag, and backpack at a table then went to the lunch counter to order.

"Hi! You new bee?" asked the middle-aged Korean woman at the grill.

"Yeah, what gave me away?"

"You wear blue, new bee wear blue," she said with a huge toothy smile. Even though she used simple English words he was having a problem picking out what she was saying because of her accent. He ordered a taco salad and a couple of ham hoagies to go.

The taco salad was good, but it tasted completely different from anything he ever had. It was a tortilla shell, lettuce, tomato, onion, and ground beef but everything had a different flavor, it was interesting but even the lettuce had a weird flavor. It wasn't bad, it was just different. As he ate, he looked around the room and saw about a dozen people scattered around, all of them were wearing flack vests and had their helmets and gas masks at the ready. Their numbers grew and at some point, a loudspeaker outside said something about alarm yellow and a tech sergeant who was lounging without flack vest finished his coffee and rose.

"All right! All you dumb dead, follow me," and he led most of the people in the room outside. Soon a bedraggled Senior Master Sergeant in full combat gear came in and walked up to him.

"Michael Donovan?"

Wedge swallowed his last bite of the salad and said, "Yes, are you my first sergeant?"

"Yep, Mike Schaeffer."

Wedge stood and shook hands, "Everyone calls me Wedge after a character John Wayne played."

"Wedge? Oh yes, the Fighting Seabees. Come on, let's get you into a room. Wear this," and he handed Wedge a badge that had a number and the badge boldly proclaimed in bright red letters, "In Processing."

"And if I don't wear this, I may end up Dumb Dead?"

"Exactly," said Sergeant Shaffer and he led Wedge outside and they walked through the blackness of the Korean morning. "Watch your step or you'll end up in the binjo." The sidewalks were narrow and there were deep ditches on either side of the sidewalks that were called binjo ditches. In days gone by the contents of the ditches were more sinister, Wedge was told that they were once the sewage system of Asia, but these were not as odiferous as the binjos of the past once were.

"I've never seen a sidewalk with drainage ditches before," muttered Wedge.

"Wait for the rainy season." The first sergeant carried Wedge's duffel bag and led him through an area with small single-story barracks to a new three-story dorm built on a hill next to the flight line. "This building is all tech sergeants and staff sergeants with a line number for tech sergeant," explained Mike Schaeffer.

Mike led Wedge up to the second floor and Wedge found himself in a room with a bed and two large lockers, a dresser, and a counter with sink. The toilet and shower were shared with the room next door. "Keep your curtains closed or you'll end up dead for sure, regardless of what your status is. Get some sleep and be at my office at fourteen hundred in BDUs. We'll get you your gear then and start your in processing."

Wedge took off his blues and kicked off his shoes and socks, took a quick shower and found the shower filled with 'girly' products, so he just used the Head and Shoulders then pulled on fresh underwear and lay down on his bunk. The next time he opened his eyes there was a Korean woman in his room chattering in a rapid-fire mixture of Korean and English, the only words he caught was "new bee." She gathered up his uniform except for the blouse (jacket) and picked up his low quarter shoes then left and locked his room from the outside.

Lying back, he convinced himself to call the police but the next time he opened his eyes there was a black woman peeking at him from around the corner to the bathroom. She was wearing BDUs (camouflage Battle Dress Uniform) and belt with gas mask carrier and canteen. Wedge sat up and she smiled then tried to hide the smile. "It's ok, you can look all you want," said Wedge with his best wise-ass grin, "Touching will cost you."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Dinner," she looked a bit angry, but he said, "You have to have dinner with me."

"You buying?" again with that smile. Wedge has never seen a smile like that before, her smile spoke of jokes and laughter and maybe a little 'slap and tickle' later in the evening.

"Of course." Wedge climbed out of bed and pulled on a black t-shirt then extended a hand to shake. "Michael Donovan, folks call me Wedge."

"Roxanne Dawson, folks call me Roxie."

Wedge pointed to their clasped hands, "You're touching. Where am I taking you?"

"That was the worst!" Roxie said with a smile. "Michael Donovan I've been asked out a million different ways and that was..."

"The most effective?"

Her face suddenly became angry. "I came here to tell you to use your own damn towels when you shower and keep your hands off my product. Use your own." And she stomped off to the bathroom. Just as she was about to pull the toilet door closed she peeked back at him and with a smile she said, "NCO Club. Friday is Mongolian Barbeque." With a waggle of her eyebrows, she pulled the door closed.

"That was totally confusing," muttered Wedge. He checked the alarm on his ancient wind-up travel clock and lay back down.

Two hours later, Wedge Donovan was at the first sergeant's office and started in-processing. First he got his combat gear, flack vest, canteen belt, gas mask and carrier, Kevlar helmet, extra gas mask filters, flashlight and so much more. Then he hauled his stash from office to office, most were just visits to officially let the office know he was on base, like at the library, other offices he had actual business. At personnel he handed his records over to them, and the same thing at the tiny base hospital. At the security police he got a line badge that allowed him on the flight line and that allowed him to go to work.

He walked into his duty section in a large bomb-proof block structure and found a large open area filled with tables and chairs and small offices lining the walls. He knocked on the door of the weapons flight. "Ah! You're here!" said a Tech sergeant with a deep southern accent. "Josh Gravely," and he extended his hand.

"Mike Donovan, folks call me Wedge."

"Why do they call you wedge?" asked a short blond Master Sergeant who was behind the desk.

"Because I tell them to," said Wedge.

"Good answer!" laughed the blond fellow.

"That's the NCOIC of the weapons flight, Dan Baker," said Josh. "I'm the assistant NCOIC for Day Shift and you are my new weapons expediter."

"Sounds like fun," said Wedge, "that's not something I've tried yet."

"What's your background?" asked MSgt Baker, suddenly extremely serious.

"Back when I was a baby, I cut my teeth loading weapons on F-4's," said Wedge and began to list off the bases he's been to and the jobs he did as he moved about the military. Most recently he was at Minot Air Force Base loading B-52s.

"You like to keep on the move," said Josh. "No woman to tie you down?"

"Uhhh, no. She married my best friend while I was in basic training."

"No shit?"

Wedge shrugged, "He joined the Navy the next year and she ran off on him on his first deployment."

"Sounds like you've dodged the bullet. And it sounds like you've done everything a bomb loader can do," said Dan as he leaned back in his chair.

"Hardly. I'm the only one in this room without wings," said Wedge pointing to their uniforms. Underneath their flack vests both Dan and Josh were wearing flight crew wings showing that they were gun crews on AC-130 gunships.

"Well... that's not as much fun as it sounds," said Josh as he looked at a large desk calendar and Wedge's in-processing schedule. The schedule was filled with appointments and in-country briefings. "We will see you back here on Monday at your oh eight hundred welcome to Juvats Weapons briefing."

As Wedge stepped out of the office, he saw a small black girl in her combat gear. She wasn't tiny but she was small enough to make the flack vest and Kevlar look like they belonged to her older brother. "Hey Roxie."

"Mister Donovan," she said. He couldn't tell if she was smiling or not.

"Don't be messing with my Roxie," said Josh as he put an arm around Roxanne's shoulders. "Roxie and I go way back."

She rolled her eyes and said, "All the way back a month maybe."

"Has it been that long?" asked Josh as he patted her Kevlar helmet.

"I swear, all you southern boys are crazy." Her glare included Wedge.

"I'm from Coudersport PA," said Wedge defensively.

"Then I'd expect you to be normal. It's got to be the bombs what make you guys crazy," she said as she stormed out of the office.

Josh shrugged "She's a Com/Nav troop. They get kind of flakey on the F-16."

"And keep your hands off my product!" she shouted from the other side of the heavy entry door.

"Oh?" Josh and Dan stood grinning at Wedge. "Keep your hands off her product? Please enlighten us," Josh said with a huge grin.

"Product? Is that what the kids are calling it now?" said Dan Baker.

"I have in processing to do," said Wedge leaving their jokes and questions unanswered. He picked up his heavy duffel bag that was full of his MOPP gear (Mission Oriented Protective Posture) which was a set of protective outer clothing, overgloves, overboots, gas mask, and real gasmask filters. He was already wearing the flack vest, web belt, mask carrier, detection kit, and canteen. He dragged the bag outside and saw Roxie sitting in the driver's seat of a big metro van marked Juvat Six.

He stepped up to the door and said, "Ma'am, can you give me a lift to the gate please?"

"Get in," she said with an all-suffering sigh. "You need to get a bike."

It was incredibly difficult to get a driver's license in Korea and cars were insanely expensive. The troops were only there for a year, so they didn't bother, they just got a bicycle. "I can't carry this heavy crap on a bicycle."

"Newbee," she muttered and pointed to the path that heads toward the gate, there were airmen heading in both directions walking their bikes, their heavy MOPP bag perched on the bicycle seat as they walked next to the bicycle holding it up. "I hope you're not in a hurry, I have people to drop off," and she turned away from the gate and drove up to an F-16 that was being prepared for launch.

Each plane had a concrete shelter that looked like a huge concrete pipe half sunk into the ground and the nose of an F-16 could be seen peeking out from the gloom inside the shelter. "Smith!" Roxie called. "Fireguard." And without a word, an airman in the back grabbed his MOPP bag and jumped out the back of the van. She set out several fireguards and at the last plane a lieutenant colonel stepped up to her door and she slid it back.

"What'cha got for us today, Roxie?"

"Just setting out fireguards."

"Who's your co-pilot?"

"Colonel Walker, this is Technical Sergeant Michael Aloysius Donovan."

Wedge leaned across Roxie and shook hands with the colonel. "Sergeant Donovan, does anyone call you John Wayne?"

"They only call me that once, sir. Most people call me Wedge."

"He's your new weapons guy, sir," said Roxie.

Lieutenant Colonel Walker grinned, "Well Sergeant Striker, I'll see you Friday..." suddenly all the Public Address Speakers drown out what the Colonel was saying.

EXERCISE EXERCISE EXERCISE. EXERCISE ALERT LEVEL RED, TAKE SHELTER IMMEDIATELY. MOPP LEVEL ZERO

"We're launching in a red!" he almost laughed. "Get that truck under cover!" shouted the colonel and Roxie shifted to drive and hit the gas almost sending Wedge tumbling to the back. Across the taxiway there was another shelter that wasn't in use and suddenly a million things happened at once. The pilots that were inspecting their F-16's up and down the flight line scrambled into the cockpit and in very short order the roar of the little fighters starting up echoed all over the base.

"Up that way!" shouted Roxie pointing to the south end of the base, "is the thirty fifth fighter squadron. They kicked our asses last year; this year we show them!"

There's two American F-16 squadrons on base, the 80th Fighter Squadron, the Juvats, and the top of their plane's tail was gold (yellow, but you never say yellow when talking about an airplane) and the 35th Fighter Squadron, the Pantons (a panton is kind of a lion) and the tails of their planes are tipped in blue. The squadrons are highly competitive, constantly trying to outfly each other, at the same time trying to out maintain each other and have the airplanes in the best physical condition.

One by one the aircraft crew chiefs trotted out in front of their shelters and when they got a signal from the pilot, usually a flash of the landing lights, the crew chief raised his hands and began marshalling the planes out of their shelters. The specialists that Roxie dropped off stood by their huge fire extinguishers in case fire broke out on the little fighters. One by one the F-16s dashed out onto the taxiway and headed off toward the runway, taxiing a lot faster than anything Wedge has ever seen in the past.