There's a Girl on Base

Location: Al-Tanf American Military Base (Douma District) located west of Al-Tanf border and in the Syrian desert.
Time: June 2017 - 11 AM.
[They're all shirtless because it's so hot, but have their pant cammies on, probably they are desert cammies]
Marine Legend for Current Marine Ranks in Thread

• PFC - Private First Class (Lowest Rank) E-2
  
• Lance Corporal - Second Lowest Rank E-3
  
• Corporal - Third lowest rank E-4
  
• Sergeant -Highest Rank E-5
  

DAY 2

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I attended the morning brief but I couldn't remember a thing our Commanding Officer had said. My eyes followed the red pin that was stuck on our operation board indicating the position of the enemy had moved a couple of inches from where it was the previous day, but the rest of the information wasn't traveling into my brain this time around. I didn't want to be here. 96 hours ago I was in fucking Oahu. Was I on Parameter today? I didn't want to ask to clarify or give away that I hadn't been listening. All I had to do was hurry up and wait...It's going to be over faster than it started. I'm here now. Remember Dad's motto - More pain, more respect. I'm fucking Recon. I never missed a shot. I've fucking bled for this. I'm stronger this time. It's not going to be like last time.

No one is going to die this time...

Good morning Sergeant Stein! Hey! Private First Class (PFC) Panzer waved at me. I realized then that I'd been staring at the open space ahead of me the entire time. We were at the "Chow Hall" underneath a tent that had no walls. I stared at the beads of sweat lining his upper lip, this day was hotter than the last and drier too. Every Marine was either shirtless or suicidal. I guess I was both. Hey Sergeant Stein, you're not going to believe this. Panzer sits down opposite of me with his MRE (Meals Ready to Eat) in front of him. He was a short guy, about 5'1, we constantly bag on him about it, asking him if he lost his parents? He's from upstate New York, with a thick accent, extending vowels where they weren't needed. I think he's Irish and Puerto Rican or some shit, had dusty brown hair and looked like a mouse because his features were too big for his tiny ass head.

The things I do for the U.S of Fucking A. Yeah? I asked, forcing down a piece of whatever the fuck was in this MRE that didn't seem edible. I coughed, reaching for my canteen. There's a girl on base. Panzer says, eyes wide like fireworks on the Fourth of Ju-ly. Just one He clarifies moments after. So far He nods like an excited puppy who was about to get a snack. I didn't believe it at first, Sergeant Stein. I thought for sure we weren't going to see another female until about another year almost, but just like that He snaps his fingers as Mackenzie sits beside him. Mackenzie was a black Lance Corporal, they were both my subordinates, he was a Jamaican from Miami, Florida. He's only been in for two years and this was his first deployment just like Panzer. Although, Panzer was fresh out of Boot Camp. Mackenzie moved to Brooklyn before joining, it reminded me of Ethan. Rock, paper, scissor to decide who gets to fuck her first. Panzer says already having his hand in position for a rock, paper, scissor showdown. First? Ohhh, you're talking about that Female marine we saw earlier? Mackenzie asks us both.

Female marines don't usually deploy. She had to be here to write or some shit, maybe she's writing a book about Combat. I remained silent for a moment, before speaking Why would you want to fuck a female Marine anyway, PFC? I rose a brow, taking another chug of water but never losing eye contact with him. I just wanted to fuck with him, see how fast he'd conform. He was a shy kid, unusual for a New Yorker, but he had taken a liking towards me. Looked up to me, was my guess. You're right, Sergeant Stein. I'm fucking gay. He bites on his lower lip to withhold from laughing, which looked swollen by the way, with how fucking big his lips were. Not me, Sergeant. Since the day I was born I like-e the ladieees. You can ask my mom. Mackenzie says proudly, he had sunglasses on that he never takes off, and his accent was so thick you wouldn't believe he finished school in Miami. He said Miami was full of Jamaicans, I wouldn't know, I've never been there. I was born in Florida, and have gone past Miami and down to Key West, but I never actually stopped longer than to get gas. The thing is, she had a big ass Sergeant. Panzer puts his two hands in front of him and squeezes some invisible ass cheeks. So big it turned ol' dude straight, deadass. Mackenzie slaps the PFC's chest and starts cracking up. I couldn't help but crack a little smile too.

There was one thing that had been on my mind since my eyes had opened and the sun had kissed my skin, and that was one a’ them cool sweet teas from the corner store mama loved so much. Granted she always liked hers with half a pint ‘vodka. The ol’ woman had a thirst for liquor that made a marine look positively kempt. Not that they needed any help in that department. William, my dear, sweet husband looked cleaner than a whistle but there was some grime built up in his corners if y’looked for it. Bless his soul he was nothing but clean paper with rough edges and I loved him for it. There was nothing better than a vacant man ready for a woman to fill his pages and I certainly had signed my name on his.The poor baby could barely stomach our goodbye, you’d think he was in mournin’ from the way those puppy dog eyes saw me off. But I left my perfume on his pillow and a few scandalous photographs in his nightstand. You couldn’t be too careful, he was a marine after all. Nearly twelve years my senior but don’t think that ol’ dog didn’t still have the stamina of a horse. Unfortunately he wasn’t hung like one but nobody’s perfect.

Memories of summers in the Louisiana heat, sippin’ sweet tea as my mama preached to me the dangers of a promiscuous woman may not have been the sweetest of memories but they certainly had gotten me through this transition. Nothin’ else had prepared me for the heat wave, but that likely had more to do with me bein’ less inclined to heed a warnin’ when it came from a condescendin’ man. I had sweat building up places a woman dare not speak in the presence of similarly uncivilized men. Not that I’d know how if I had to. Staff Sergeant Sir I’m afraid my kitty is wetter than the entire Louisiana Bayou and not in the fun way, sir. Well, I know exactly how that’d go down. Like a pack of wild dogs they’d congregate around their bones as though my only duty here was to lick them clean. And this wasn’t comin’ from any place except my own two eyes. Because baby every single man here had a bone to pick or an itch they expected me specifically to scratch. The only thing a woman like me could do was my job because I certainly couldn’t say a damn thing to any one of ‘em. I’d have to prove myself, work twice as hard and twice as long to get any crumb of respect ‘round here, despite the fact I had to pass the same damn tests these fools did and earned my place here like every single one a’ them. That didn’t matter. As far as most of them were concerned I was either an abomination or a walkin’ ass and pair a' titties, and nothin’ in between.

Oh Indie baby, don’t do it. You’d think I’d know better by now. My own temper was the only thing that ever got in the way of a perfectly fine misogynistic morning. Maybe it was the heat, maybe I was just damn tired, but one of the gentlemen was in the throes of what I’d call a juvenile seizure. The poor dear probably didn’t even realize I was behind him as he rounded his silly little hands around an imaginary ass and gave it a firm squeeze as though he’d know what to do with a derriere like mine anyway. I cleared my throat and he spun around as white as a sheet. I smiled sweetly, tilted my head and batted my eyelashes like the dumb fem bot they clearly thought I was, Would you like me to put y’eyeballs back in your head for ya’ baby? I just assume claw them out instead.

It was as if the Douma district couldn't get any hotter, because sitting with these two junior marines was killing all my fucking brain cells. As fucked up as this sounds, The Private and Lance Corporal might not make it back to home base and an enemy insurgent wouldn't be the reason. There was something about being at war off of American soil that made me feel like a sitting duck. There were no safe zones in Syria, no matter how much the Government lied to you back home, we truly were sitting ducks. Our base could be infiltrated any minute now and here I was munching on bean MRE and chatting with these two fucks. Big ass, big meloooons. Panzer says gripping the invisible titties and doing a little dance. A female marine cleared her throat from behind him, everything went silent. Panzer looked as though he was about to piss his fucking pants. This had to be her. Girl equals Marine. Girl equals Female. Female Marine. Fuck she was nothing special, probably just another barrack's bunny coming to fuck us all if the war didn't get to us first.

Um...No, Sir. Panzer straightens up, growing just a half a feet tall. He had to be the shortest guy on base. I mean, fuck...shoot, I meant. No, M'AM, no. He shut his eyes tightly from what I would assume was embarrassment. No I can't get it right. I mean't yes, I'm sorry. He says grabbing her hands to beg for forgiveness. That's when Sergeant Stein woke up, what the fuck was he doing? Private get your hands off the Marine. I ordered firmly. Roger, Sergeant Stein. Sorry. He stayed quiet. Taking a sip from my water, I looked at the female marine and said, Sit. I shook my head, Not next to him. I looked by Mackenzie - The space where I assumed she was headed, and patted the spot on the table next to me. Mackenzie looked as though he was about to shit bricks too. What the fuck did he think I was going to do to her? No one spoke, probably wondering what I'd do next...I just stared at her, how the fuck did she get here? Why are you here? I asked what we were all thinking. How a female marine ended up in Syria? Who the fuck did she piss off and more importantly why?

If my time in Afghan taught me anything it was to pay special attention to detail. Sometimes the smallest of details could mean the difference between life and death. I knew it was the Master Guns before he even appeared beside me. It was almost as if his steps were carefully calculated, methodic. Panzer and Mackenzie stood up and raised their hand to their brow. In that moment I wanted to face palm myself so fucking bad. You fucking idiots, you don't salute in combat zones. Never. This is never fucking done, well not never, as they just proved me wrong. What I mean is, most of the marine corps reg clauses say precisely - except under combat conditions. I couldn't hold it against them, not reading the fine print. I was born to be a devil dog, my grandfather taught me everything I had to know, and thus mistakes like this one were avoided.

Now 'ima tell ya something, Alexander. Don't you go saluting no senior officers in combat...A good buddy o' mine got our master sarge shot dead in the eye that way...Fucker saluted the man damn near in Utah beach. We practically got our asses kicked in France, but that was...well, yea' that was a wasteful death. And well'uh, it's safe to say his discharge wa'nt so honorable. Bert's voice echoed colliding with the deep voice of Master Guns. At ease, Marines! He shouts. I glanced up at him and said, Good morning Master Gunnery Sergeant Hancock Cory Dean Hancock, there were stories about him circulating around the base, people called him all types of nicknames, the white devil, the white death, the white wolf. The marines sat back down, all the while Hancock kept his gaze locked on the female marine. The one everyone seemed to be so fucking interested in, even the master guns. Corporal Lemaire, I'd like to see you in my office. I bet you fucking would, word on the street was that he had a thing for black girls and this one was one of the prettier-looking ones. Had she been the special delivery Hancock was waiting for?

I watched as they walked away, feeling slightly uneasy about the entire thing. Her being here in general was wrong. Female marines don't usually see combat. What the fuck are they supposed to do when it's their time of the month? There are days we're out there and we don't fucking sleep, we can't even shit in peace. The one thing I was interested in was finding out what the fuck she did to end up here, in desert terrain.

The sandbox was no place for a woman.

Most of these men didn’t have enough sense to pour piss out ‘a boot. It was like bein’ ‘round a pack a’ dogs. Easy enough to train if you’ got the patience baby. And I most certainly did. You could thank my mama for that blessin’. She ‘done spent her whole life waitin’ and never once complained. Waitin’ for child support from daddy that never came. Waitin’ for love from men that only ever came with conditions. Waitin’ for Jesus himself to descend from the heavens and cast her ‘demons’ out. As though JC had nothin’ better to do than visit Bernadette Boozin’ Benoit in person just to hoover her demons out ‘her sunday skirt like they were nothin’ but dust bunnies. Please. But I digress, it was that virtue passed on from my mama, and her mama, and her mamas mama- That for me now, was payin’ off in spades. I stood silent, watchin’ the babblin’ buffoon try to find a word that wasn’t too big for his even bigger mouth. My expression stayed as straight as a marine on his weddin’ night. But hell if I didn’t have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughin’. You couldn’t fault him for bein’ dumb for the same reason you couldn’t fault a skunk for stinkin’. He was just usin’ the tools God gave him, even if his toolbox was short a few.

The corner of my mouth just barely began to show signs of smilin’ when a Sergeant Stein was addressed. Now bein’ a woman in a place like this was hard enough, but bein’ 5’4’’ next to Sergeant Tree only made me want to stand that much taller. Unfortunately good posture meant nothin’ as long as I carried somethin’ different between my legs. As far as most of them were concerned that meant I was either desirable or defective and like a true pair of double d’s there wasn’t much room for anything in between. And I wasn’t no fool, most ‘these marines had a poker face that could win ‘em the world series, but all that pent up emotion had to go somewhere. The truth was always in their eyes.

You don’t have to tell me twice. I thought as I took a seat beside Stein, keepin’ my posture tall without tryin’ too hard. Something about this felt wrong, the definition of satan in a sunday hat. He was the first to ask. You might think that was a damn lie, but it wasn’t. Most marines didn’t give a hoot about why I was here, because, to be completely honest, most marines thought they already had the answer. As most men often do. At least they were consistent baby. I was clearly here to serve not only my country, but them as well. In whatever predictable or vile ways they wanted, of course.

My mouth opened to answer, with words I hadn’t even yet found. Well I never… I hadn’t quite caught my senses when my rear end was saved by the devil himself…