In Free-Fall

I chuckled, "think you know us guys pretty good, do you?"

"Oh, yeah," she giggled again, "now go back to sleep, baby."

My balls comfortably drained, I fell back to sleep. It was nice, I thought, her nice warm body in my arms, my cock limp between a cushiony pair of ass-cheeks.

I woke up around 5 PM feeling a warm dampness on my cock. I looked down to see Gina kneeling by my side, a warm, wet wash-cloth in her hands as she cleaned my cock off.

"Hey, baby," she smiled and greeted me, "I hope you don't mind me having fun," she continued to clean me off. She wore my old terry-cloth bathrobe, a Christmas present from long ago. I hadn't used it since that first time and usually kept it hanging on a hook on the back of the bathroom door. I smiled and reached out a hand to caress her cheek. Then I opened my mouth and said the stupidest thing I could ever say.

"Baby doll, why aren't you married? Why hasn't some guy snatched you up and shanghaied you off to be his woman?"

She looked at me, her face didn't change expression, but her whole demeanor seemed to change and she said nothing at all. She finished cleaning me off and bent, kissing the head of my cock. She stood up and marched back into the bathroom. She came out a few minutes later fully dressed.

"Well? You taking me home or do I have to walk," she asked, almost sadly.

"Aw, Gina," I groaned, "don't do me like that."

She looked me up and down, it didn't look like disgust, I wasn't sure, but it looked more like a cross between regret and sorrow and something else mixed in with it, I couldn't tell.

"I guess I'll walk, then," she squared her small shoulders and headed for the door. On the way she kicked off her shoes so she could walk. I barely managed to reach it and put my hand on it blocking her departure as she started to open it.

"Let me get dressed, baby," my shoulders slumped, I wasn't going to force any woman to do something that she didn't want to. I felt totally dejected as I wondered what I'd said. Gina nodded and stood aside as I went to get some clothes on.

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The ride back to Post was quiet. I reached for her hand but she sat there completely unresponsive, letting me hold her doubled-fists but adding none of her cooperation to my grip. She just sat with her head bowed looking sad and regretful. Jackson's car wasn't in his car-port and I jumped out of my side when we got there, intent on opening her door. She popped it open before I could get around to it, stepped out and ran inside, her face crumpling, tears glistening on her cheeks as she ran.

I stood staring at her retreating back, embarrassed and confused, trying to figure out what I'd done, what I'd said, how I'd fucked up and gotten her so pissed off at me. I closed the Spyder's door, leaning on top of it, bending and banging my head on it for a minute or so. What did I do? I lamented to myself, what did I say?

I turned and looked at the door she had disappeared into. Jalisa happened to be looking out, and waved through the screen door. I waved back and slumped around the car, climbed in and cranked it up, sitting there for a few seconds. I could feel Jalisa's eyes on me, but I didn't look. I sat there slumped behind the wheel for a while, hoping and wishing Gina would come back out and tell me that she was fooling. But she didn't, so with one last wave at Jalisa I put it in gear and pulled out. I waved at Jackson as he came around the corner of Yadkin Road. He smiled happily, probably glad that I'd brought his sister home without fooling around. The original date had been for late in the morning, so middle of the afternoon seemed good enough to him.

I was thoroughly confused by this sudden onslaught of feelings. I was the big bad Special Forces dude, trained paratrooper and Ranger, I was the meanest sonuvabitch in the valley of death, I was brutal, I was a cold-hearted bastard, so why was I suddenly crying? Why did I feel this loss? I pointed my Spyder north on Bragg Boulevard and passed a pair of MP's in their beat-up cruiser.

As I cleared the housing areas, I fed it more gas. The responsive little car leaped eagerly forward, it's little engine growling like a cat over it's food dish. I was soon rolling down 87 pegging the speedometer at its 120 miles an hour limit. I slowed when I came into the Sanford city limits, but as I cleared the other side, I kicked it up again and pegged the needle again.

I sailed past a Randolph County Sheriff's Deputy. I saw his roof lights come on but by the time he managed to get on the road I was out of sight and in Guilford County soon climbing on the 840 Loop in Greensboro. I was still having trouble seeing through my unwanted tears.

I wiped my face and sniffled, trying not to sob. I'd never cried much before. I'd carried some of my colleague's bodies back, but it had never hurt this bad. I couldn't understand it. What had this little girl, this--, this--, this-- I couldn't bring myself to say the "N" word, I couldn't bring myself to admit to myself that this little girl — no, this wonderful woman had turned my heart upside down and literally tied it in knots. She had hurt me when she walked away today.

I couldn't believe in love at first sight. We'd had sex that first night, for God's sake! Was it just an infatuation? It couldn't be, it wouldn't hurt this bad if it was just an infatuation, would it?

I spotted the Asheboro sign and turned on it heading south, pegging the needle again. My tears had dried and I just felt numb. I felt as if my arm had been physically ripped off my shoulder and the pain had subsided to a numb throbbing. I managed to push Gina into the back of my mind. I slowed down to 80 as I came into the Rockingham area. It was nearing 2300 hours by then. My mind had quit working on the problem, I was just driving to lessen my dark mood.

I put-putted toward Hamlet heading toward Laurinburg at a more sane speed. Still inside Rockingham and just before Hamlet, I stopped at a gas station and got some coffee and gas and took off again. I got through Hamlet and, half-way to Laurinburg, I cut off on the old Wire Road. I let it out along that road, the exhilaration of taking curves at speed beginning to bring me out of my funk.

I crossed 601 and waved at Trooper John Eggleston, a former Special Forces colleague. He waved back as I continued on to 401 and north through Raeford and into Silver City and home. It was 0430 as I pulled into my parking spot. I ran upstairs and changed into my PT clothes, grabbed a clean uniform and spit-shiny boots, my ditty bag with clean underclothing was still behind the passenger seat, so I stowed my boots and clothes in the trunk and headed in.

The day dragged. First Sergeant called me in to his office twice to rag my ass about being too harsh on my soldiers. My response both times was to ask if he'd rather count bodies or count frowns. His return both times was, "what the fuck does a full GI Inspection got to do with combat? get the fuck out of here and do your job!" I didn't back down, that was my nature, never back down, never show weakness, never bend, and never, ever, break.

Staff Sergeant Jackson came in to talk to First Sergeant. We crossed paths as I headed to the mess hall for a cup of coffee. He stared through me without a greeting. I got my coffee and pulled out my notebook, writing the names of my platoon, starting with my squad leaders and left a blank line beside each name. Staff Sergeant Blakely, my Assistant Platoon Sergeant came strolling in and grabbed a cup of coffee on the way to my table. He sat to my left and picked up my notebook as I leaned back. He glanced over my handiwork.

"The ass-hole got called from his Battalion meeting," he flipped my notebook back at me, "somebody went crying to him that you were on a rampage."

"Fuck him."

Jackson came in grabbed a cup of coffee also and surprised me by sitting to my right side. He stretched his long legs out to the side.

"Sergeant Blakely," he nodded at him.

"Sergeant Jackson," Blakely answered sipping his coffee.

A few minutes later, with no one saying a word and Jackson continuing to stare at him, Blakely got the hint.

"The LT's in with First Sergeant and the CO," he shoved his chair back,"far be it from me to tell you what to do, Sergeant Garcia, but I would suggest saving the war for the enemy."

"Duly noted, Sergeant Blakely," I nodded.

He stood and strode out dropping his cup off at the dirty dishes window.

Jackson and I sat silent for a while, Jackson staring at his cup, his wide, flat nostrils flaring even wider as he tried to figure out what he wanted to say.

"What's YOUR problem?" I snapped at him.

"You're an ass-hole," he snapped back calmly.

"Nothing new there," I half-turned to face him, my face impassive.

Finally he slapped his cup on the table, spilling some as he did.

"What the fuck did you do to my sister?" he finally ground out.

"What the fuck did your sister do to me?!?!" I fired back leaning into him, "what the fuck did she do to me!!" I whispered in a harsh gutteral groan and poked a hard finger into my own chest, the sudden hot tears scalding my eyes.

Jackson was taken aback. He sat silent as I impatiently swiped the tears from my eyes with trembling hands and stared hostilely into his.

"God . . . damn!" he looked at me not comprehending at first, "God, damn," he repeated as it began to sink in, "God DAMN!" he leaned forward and cupped his coffee in his big hands, peering down at it "Gaw-awd damn!"

We sat quiet for a few moments, then, "I remember when I met Jalisa," he reminisced, "she turned my whole life completely upside down, you know?" he pursed his lips and took a sip.

"No, I don't, Jackson. No, I don't," I pushed my cup around, "and I don't want to find out. I'm a combat soldier, all I know is how to kill. I can kill you six different ways and you'll never realize you're dead until you run into St. Peter, what the fuck do I know about shit like that?"

"Probably nothing," he shrugged leaning his chin into his hand, "but Gina's crying her eyes out at home and you're here rampaging like an insane bull, tormented by the ban-derriere-ohs at a bullfight," he shrugged, "something's up between you two."

"She just left me, Jackson," I rubbed my face, "she just stood up and walked," I stared off through the window watching the ass-hole LT striding up the handicap ramp, "you tell me what I did."

"What's it matter," he shrugged, "you only met her yesterday, and she's just a fat little ho', you know?"

My hand snaked out of it's own accord and grabbed his collar, yanking him to me, my other hand on his throat, the thumb pressing into his Adam's apple.

"Don't," I paused, "don't you ever . . . ever call her a fat little ho', you here me?" his hands were on my wrists trying to twist out, his eyes bulging and ready to pop out of his head.

I let go and shoved him back. He coughed and fell back into his chair.

"Shit, brotha," he gasped and coughed some more, "it's like that, is it?" he rubbed his throat where I'd gripped him.

"Ah, shit!" I leaned back and grabbed my head, "I'm sorry, primo."

"Goddam!! An apology, too?" he stared at me completely forgetting about his throat.

We sat silent for a quick few seconds, then he shrugged, "Jalisa did that to me. I never figured out what I did or what I said, but I hung around practically stalking her until she let me back into her world," he nodded, "I've been there since," he grinned at me, "topsy-turvy, bro Garcia, topsy-turvy," he took a last quick sip as I just looked miserably into my coffee.

"Hyah come ya massa, boy," he slapped me on the shoulder, "catch ya later, breeze," he stood up.

"Good afternoon, sir," he greeted my "massa" First Lieutenant Gregory as he left.

The LT nodded at him and focused on me. He didn't even bother coming all the way in.

"Sergeant Garcia," his high voice cracked half way through, "my office right now!" he spun on his heel and walked out.

His dog, me, dogged his heels as he strode down the handicapped ramp. He was okay, as company grade officers go, he had a strong command hand, but he was such a skinny little guy and had such a high-pitched voice that most people couldn't take him seriously at first. The fact that he had personally come to get me spoke volumes about the respect he had for me.

He didn't pull me off my inspection. It was too late for that and he didn't want to cause me to lose face in front of my troops. Instead he told me that my people would receive an "excellent job" from me and that since there was no major training tomorrow or Friday, that I was giving them the day off maybe a long weekend, and I was to go home, stay out of the company area for at least two days until I got my act together. Is that understood Sergeant. I protested that I couldn't do that, and he didn't ask why, simply repeated his instructions and said that there was no room for discussion or protest, I was to close out the day and go home and get my shit together or he'd put me on Staff Duty until I got over my case of the red-ass. I nodded and said "will do, sir."

"You don't do as instructed, Sergeant, and I'll have you on the cleanup by yourself being supervised by PFC Johnson, do we understand each other?"

I nodded and answered with a brisk "yes, sir!" PFC Johnson was the First Sergeant's fuck-up of a Clerk Typist.

"And put away that beret," he added, "you've gotten permanently assigned to me, you'll be getting that third rocker next month, congratulations, Master Sergeant," he nodded, "that's all."

"Yes, sir," I saluted and turned to go. I should have been elated at hearing that my promotion was coming down, but I wasn't.

"Goddam, don't sound so enthusiastic, Sergeant."

"Thank you, sir," I stepped through the door and threw my beret on my head for maybe the last time.

Tomorrow or the next day I'd go buy a regulation ball cap, today I was still the Special Forces Super Trooper.

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I went through the motions of the inspection, ragging one for a ragged corner, another for dust on the boots under his bunk, another for not having shaved close enough. Sergeant Blakely was close on my heels, my notebook in his hand, a check mark for acceptable, writing the deficiencies of those that weren't. It was 1500 hours by the time I finished. I gave Sergeant Blakely the honor of passing the word.

He opened with -- being as it's Wednesday, he didn't even smile as he told them to go to church, the Baptist Church was open and the Chaplain was holding Wednesday evening services, and to go and thank God for his grace.

"There will be no training tomorrow or Friday," they began to look at each other, "y'all done good tonight, you will be dismissed until muster formation and PT on Monday morning, have a good long week-end."

There was a collective scream of relief as shirt tails came out of fatigue pants and people started to mill around happily.

"Did anybody tell you that you were dismissed yet?" Sergeant Blakely's foghorn voice cut through the bedlam and everybody froze.

I slapped Sergeant Blakely on the shoulder and stepped forward, "those of you who aren't already, are dismissed," and I spun on my heel and walked out.

"Buy you a beer Putter?" I offered Sergeant Blakely. He looked at me blankly, I'd never called him by his nick- name before.

"Sure, Sarge, let me call the wife and let her know."

"Yeah," I agreed, "one beer, tell her, and I'll send you home sober."

He grinned heading for the phone in the Orderly Room. I followed him in and told Top that I'd sent them home for the week-end, to call me if they got in trouble -- call me, I repeated, don't call the CO, don't call the MP's, don't call anybody else, call me, okay? He shrugged and said "okay, you de man."

They were my troops, if I didn't look after them, nobody else would.

"NCO club or the EM club?" Blakely came up to me as I signed the first sergeant's duty log. I had two people on it and I figured on pulling their duty for them.

"I can do one of those days," he pointed glancing over the list.

"Nah, you got a wife at home, and I really ain't got nothing better to do, man," I tossed the list on PFC Johnson's desk giving him a baleful look that left him squirming and red.

"See that I'm called a couple of hours before their duty and go scratch their names off the roster outside right now."

"Yessir -- I mean, yes Sergeant."

He shoved his chair back, one of the legs caught on a crack or something and he rolled with it, coming up on all fours and scrambling onto his feet. He gave me a quick embarrassed look as I stared through him, lost in my own thoughts. I followed him automatically with my eyes, still distracted.

"NCO club then," Blakely said walking to the door.

"Yeah, sounds good," I sighed and followed him out.

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Jackson came in for a quick beer and joined us. We talked for a while. Blakely finished his beer and was about to order another until I made a throat-slitting gesture to the waitress -- cut him off. She nodded and told him she could get him a coke but no more beer. I told him that I had told his wife through him that we'd only have one beer, so now he could drink coke or go home to his wife, and my suggestion was that he go home and try to make another baby with her. He grinned and slapped me on the shoulder, standing as the waitress brought me a coke.

"You're serious," he shook his head.

"As a heart-attack," I nodded, "I got few words to exchange with Sergeant Jackson, or I'd leave, too."

"Okay, Garcia — "

"Master Sergeant Garcia to you, Staff Sergeant Blakely," I grinned, "got the good word earlier and I couldn't keep it in any longer."

"Well, this calls for a beer," he started to sit.

"No," I stopped him, "not yet. Go home to your wife. There'll be plenty of beer when they get pinned. I'll let you wet one side and Jackson can wet the other side, but not today, I don't drink when I feel like getting drunk, I do too many stupid things when I do," I scratched my chin, "besides, I've got Muelle's duty tonigh and -- keep my promotionit to yourself for now, I mean it's no great big secret, but I'd rather not let some people know, okay?"

"Yes, sir, Master Sergeant Garcia," he gave me a "bird" salute.

"Fuck you, you sonuvabitch," I laughed as he left.

"Damn, brotha," Jackson grinned, "means I'm gonna really be outranked by my brother-in-law, "he grinned looking sideways at me.

"Oh, fuck,"I stood up and started to walk away.

"So you agree with me then," he called out, "and you don't think she's worth fighting for, huh, bro?"

I stopped and turned, staring at him.

"Fuck you," I answered tiredly.

"Is that all you know what to say?" he challenged, "get your ass back here if you think she's worth it or get the hell gone if you think she just a fat-assed . . ."

I strode back to him my fists clenching hard. At the last minute, I just stood there irresolutely trying to decide how to kill him so that he'd suffer the most pain. I finally just dropped down into the chair I'd just vacated and dropped my head into my hands.

"I need you to take Gina to the airport for me tomorrow," he grinned, "if you're half the man I think you are, you'll figure out what to do from there."

I jerked my head up, "she won't come out when she sees my car," I spoke morosely.

"Nah, you're taking my car, keep it overnight, I'm going into the hospital a day early, Doc said he already had my bed ready. The surgery will be the first one of the day Friday. Gina will have her ticket," he looked at me for a few seconds, "Jalisa's hoping she won't use it, I paid for it and if Gina doesn't use it we return it for a refund. Do me a favor, brotha, take her off my hands."