Camp chaos, p.15
Camp Chaos, page 15
part #1 of The Unit Series
“Sure thing.”
“And Mike? I’m wondering if you could make something for me. Not on the company dime.”
“All depends. Whatcha want?”
“A dress.”
Mike was taken a bit aback. “For real?”
“Yeah, for real. I’ve got this haircut,” she began, ruffling her hair with a hand, “that makes me look like a guy, I’m dressed in duty clothes that also make me look like a guy, and I work with a bunch of guys. But I’m not a guy. I’d like something I can dress up in and feel like a woman every so often.”
Mike smiled at her. “Believe it or not, we can do that on the company dime.”
“No shit?”
“No shit. You being the only woman on the team, it’s almost guaranteed that at some point they’re going to want you to infiltrate. So, I make all kinds of clothing. I can make you a dress that’ll get every guy on the team running to their quarters so they can jack off.”
She laughed, blushing a bit. “You know, Mike, sometimes I can’t believe some of the,” clearing her throat, “candid talk that goes on around here.”
He shrugged. “We work together, we eat together, and the only people with whom we can share anything about what we do are the people who are right down with us here underground. We trust each other with a trust that’s absolute. Talking about anything and everything just goes along with all that. You’ll get used to it. And then you’ll start doing it yourself, although you’re pretty good at it already.”
She smiled. “That’s more a defense mechanism than anything else. When you choose a career that has you working with mostly men, you’ve got to let them know that they don’t need to pussy foot around you.”
“See? Right there you just told me something I’ll bet you never told one of your Bureau buddies.”
She smiled and cocked her head in a way that said, Gee, I guess you’re right.
“Come on back here to my cutting room so I can find a nice fabric and color for you.”
When Hank walked into the cutting room, it was like entering an entirely different world. As she expected, most of the area was devoted to duty uniforms, with bolts of camouflage material, spools of web strap, and other items for their construction. But along another wall were bolts of material for street clothing: everything from suit-weight wools to satins and silk chiffons.
“I’m thinking satin,” Mike began. “Maybe a wine, or a burgundy…” He looked through the bolts of cloth that were neatly stacked in cubby holes along one wall. “Or this,” he said, a satisfied look on his face. “This will be perfect with your hair and your skin color. Silky satin charmeuse in solid lipstick red.” He pulled the bolt down. Coming over to her, he draped it over her shoulder and let it cascade down her body. “Yes,” he sighed out. “That’s going to be perfect for you, and you’re going to absolutely love it. It flows, it’s absolutely luxurious, and the feel of it on your skin will make you want to screw the shit out of someone. And with the dress I’ve got in mind for you, I hope that will be me.” She turned bright red. “It’ll even go with your color when you blush like that.”
“You’re not going to let me give you an idea of what I’d like?”
“No, no, honey. My fantasies have already started. You just leave this one to me. I’ve got all your measurements, but I’ll need you back here every so often so I can fit the dress just right. I’ll have it showing off everything you’ve got. This fabric even makes some delicious undies, which I will do. You’ll never want to take them off. They’ll give you a constant orgasm. Trust me. Can you walk in stiletto heels?”
Hank was starting to get an idea of just what kind of fantasies Mike was talking about. “Sure can.”
“Excellent. I’ll make you a nice pair of heels to go with it. Now get out of here, because I can’t function with a hard-on and it’s giving me one just thinking about this dress.”
Hank walked into the cafeteria. Six heads turned in her direction. “Where you been, Hank? We were starting to think about checking the infirmary,” Spud said.
“Ha, ha, ha. I was tied up with Mike in quartermaster. Getting the rest of my duty gear.”
“She probably got excited about the vest,” Crow said. “I know I did. I wonder how many people out there realize that there are sheets of graphene big enough to make a piece of clothing from?”
“Just about everything I’ve encountered so far has me fucking amazed.” She took a generous amount of everything being offered for lunch and sat down.
“Watching you eat has me fucking amazed,” Cloud said.
“But before we let you eat, show me how to change a map scale from statute to nautical miles,” Crow said.
She tapped out commands on her watch and showed it to him.
“Good. And why would you want to do that?” he added.
“Because you airheads in the birds don’t know how to bring up the statute scale on the GPS installed in the cockpit.” She gave him a shitty grin and dug into her food, accompanied by the laughter of the rest of the team.
“You know, you guys need to start putting me in the rotation for cooking detail.”
“You’re supposed to be recuperating,” Turtle said.
“Doc Rich approved some tai chi. I figure if I can do tai chi, I should be able to slice an onion, but I’ll clear it with her first.”
“Fair enough,” Crow said. “The rotation is simple. We just go by our residence number, so you’ll be cooking the meal after when Spud cooks.”
“Great.” She did a little calculation on her fingers. “That will give me a little time to get together what I need. I gather I just give a grocery list to Mike?”
“Yup. What are you planning on making?” Edge asked.
“If I got my calculations right, that has me cooking tomorrow’s dinner. I’m thinking enchiladas.” She started setting out an imaginary meal in front of her. “Red and green. Cheese, chicken, and beef. Chips and salsa, refried beans and rice, and a little different than what you’d get in your typical Mexican restaurant, a nice salad on the side. Empanadas for dessert. Pineapple, apple, and cherry.”
“Sounds yummy. So, clear it with her then,” Turtle said.
She stood up as if to walk to Doc Rich’s office, then hung her head back. “Doh!” Remembering that all she needed to do was use the bum ticker’s comm link, she said, “Medical 2.”
“Hank, what do you need?”
“Medical 2, I’d like to know if I’m cleared for kitchen duty.”
“Hank, just remember – no heavy lifting. If you feel any discomfort, get someone to help you.”
She sat back down. The rest of the team was grinning at her. “We’ve all done it,” Spud said.
She picked up her coffee cup and drank down half of it.
“Tell me,” Edge said, “how do you manage to hold steady when you drink so much coffee?”
“It doesn’t seem to have any effect on me other than keeping me from getting drowsy and giving me enough of a kick in the ass to get awake. I actually think I shoot better when I’ve got a little caffeine in my system. Helps me focus better.”
“Isn’t that somewhat contrary to what they say coffee does?”
“Actually, I did a little reading on this, because I also wanted to know why coffee didn’t seem to affect my shooting. And it turns out that for some people it affects them, and for others it doesn’t. Seems I’m one of the others.” Her earpiece came to life. “Hank to the armory.”
“They want me in the armory,” she said. “Later.”
“She left food on her plate,” Voice noted.
“Yeah, but we all know what’s in the armory,” Turtle said.
“Guns,” the others said in unison.
Entering the armory, she found Mike struggling to get a pallet jack through a passageway under the landing of the entrance staircase and into the armory. “Thank God we’ve got a freight elevator. At least we didn’t have to carry these things down the friggin’ staircase,” he muttered. The pallet was loaded with four large, wooden crates. Sitting atop them was another smaller crate and four smaller, cardboard boxes.
“Hank, meet your beneficiary, Dave Garino.”
“Thanks for whatever this stuff is,” Dave said, holding out a clipboard. “Sign here.”
Hank hesitated. “What do I sign? I can’t sign ‘Katheryn Hanko.’ And I’m betting ‘Hank’ isn’t going to be acceptable, either.”
“Oh yeah – no one told you about how to do that, huh?” Mike said. “Here’s what you do. Think of a couple of words. Anything. Maybe something like ‘Cucumber pickles.’ Then write it really squiggly, or with the letters all overlapping. Helps to try and write it as fast as you can. The idea is to make it completely illegible.”
“Ok.” She thought a bit, then scribbled something down onto the bill of lading.
Mike took a look. The signature looked mostly like a series of vertical lines ending with a line trailing off to the right. “I think I can make out maybe an ‘H’ and an ‘a’ in that. What were you thinking of?”
“’Hank’s a hottie,” she said.
“No ego in you, is there?” he said, grinning.
“You’re the who’s making me a dress that will get the guys all jacking off,” she grinned back at him.
“Good point! What’s packed in here? Gotta be more than your guns.”
“These four,” she said, indicating the large crates, “are for sure my guns. This smaller one has got to be the case for my collection. The flat cardboard box is the five pieces of artwork I asked for, two of the others are for my mineral collection and my father’s wood carvings, and this one,” she said, indicating the last box, “has got to be my blankie.” She peeled the strip of sealing tape off the box and pulled out her down comforter. “I’ll sleep much better now that I’ve got my blankie. And the nice thing is that the beds in the residences are queen size, and so is this.”
Mike looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll get you figured out just about the time I retire, Hank. Every other word is ‘fuck,’ but you’ve got to have your blankie.” He pulled down the cardboard box and handed it to her. “Do you want to drop those off at your quarters, or should we dig into these crates first?”
“My fucking guns are in these crates,” she said. “What the hell do you think I want to do first?”
“Alright, already! Let me go grab a crowbar.”
“The fuck you will! You put one fucking scratch on one of my guns and I’ll come in here and stab you when you least expect it.” She took a look at the top of the crate nearest to her. “Besides, they put the lids on with screws.”
“Electric screwdriver it is. And you don’t want to kill me until the dress is done, so I’ll have plenty of time to get out of town.”
Coming back with the screwdriver, Hank held out her hand and demanded, “Give it here.”
“Fine by me! If you’re going to take the lids off, I don’t have to make myself a bullet-proof vest.”
She pulled the screws from the crate’s lid and carefully opened it. “My babies.” The guns were all packed in protective sleeves and nestled in racks that were constructed to keep them from contacting each other during shipping. She took them out one by one. “My Colt LE. Only one with an ACOG. Then this one has to be the Match Grade. This one’s a lever gun.” She set it butt down on her shoe without taking it from its sleeve. “Gotta be the Marlin 336XLR. Nice 30-30.”
“You can tell just by feeling them which ones they are?”
“With very few exceptions,” she replied.
Luigi came through the door from the gunsmith shop. “Someone told me we got a bunch-a guns just got here.”
“My babies,” Hank said again.
“You maybe need some help gettin’ them out?”
“I think first I need to know where they’re going to go.”
He looked at the four crates. “All guns?”
The look she gave him had ‘what the hell do you think’ written all over it.
Luigi laughed. “I knew your collection had to be pretty big. I got a place all cleared out for ‘em, Sweetheart. You let me an’ Mike get these put away.”
“I want to...”
“You don’t wanna do anythin’ but sit on this crate once we get it empty. You’re not supposed to be liftin’ guns right now, remember?”
In her enthusiasm, she had completely forgotten about the restrictions on lifting. Can’t screw up the surgery. “You’re right, Luigi. I should just sit here like your good wife and watch you be manly for me.”
“That’s my girl.”
She watched as each gun was brought from a crate and each crate emptied, until she saw a case that piqued her interest. “Bring that one here.”
“You got a special pistol in this one?” Luigi asked.
“A very special pistol,” Hank said. She opened the box slowly. “Ah, my precious! I saved up a lot of pennies for you.”
Luigi took a look. “Oh, Sweetheart. Right there you got one of the finest pistols ever.”
“I know. I’ve never even taken a shot with it. It’s a collector.”
“Yeah, well you hold onto that Hammerli. I never seen that 125th anniversary gun before. Heard about it, never seen it. Can I touch?”
“For you, Luigi? Have at it.”
He went over to his workbench and slipped on a cotton glove, came over, and just touched the gun without taking it from its box. “Thank you, Sweetheart. I just know touchin’ that gun’s gonna give me good luck for the rest of my life.”
“Somewhere in the last two crates I’ve got a 215 as well. I hunted all over for a 208, but anyone who has one doesn’t want to part with it. I got this one just because it was so pricey. I paid $3500 for it.”
“You’re shitting me. You paid $3500 for a pistol that shoots .22 long rifle?” Mike asked incredulously.
Hank and Luigi just looked at him, scowling.
Mike decided the best course of action would be to continue helping to empty the crate. “I’ve got another case says Hammerli on it,” he said.
“Pass it over,” Hank told him. She opened up the pistol case. “This is the one I shoot all the time for precision pistol. I got it from a guy who was in the Army Marksmanship Unit. Sad case. He was an older guy, but still had a great eye. Until he was diagnosed with macular degeneration. He eventually went blind. He sold it to me when he was still competing. Said he wanted it to go to someone who would appreciate it.” She thought a moment. “I wonder if Doc Rich would let me shoot it?”
“Thought she didn’t want you lifting with your arm yet,” Mike said.
“She doesn’t want me lifting with this one,” Hank said, waggling her left hand. “But for precision pistol, you stick your non-shooting hand, which for me is the left one, into your pocket and you shoot one-handed.” She thought a second more, then said, “Medical 2, could I ask you to come to the armory?”
“Hank, answer is no. No shooting.”
“Medical 2, could I please ask you to just come to the armory?”
Doc Rich considered a moment. She can be insistent, and I can be insistent. Maybe I can be more insistent doing it in person. “Hank, on my way.”
When Doc Rich arrived, she took one look at the crates and asked, “Who’s emptying these?”
Hank took two fingers and pointed at Mike and Luigi.
Doc Rich turned to them. “She’s not lying,” Mike said. She turned to Hank. “Hank, I’m going to be very emphatic on the ‘no’ front.”
“Just hear me out, Doc Rich.”
“Ok, make your case. But just be prepared to hear ‘no’.”
“This gun is used for a specific sport,” Hank said, standing. “You shoot it like this.” She stuck her left hand in the left pocket of her cammie pants and held out her right hand as if holding the pistol. “It’s not all that heavy, and it shoots .22s. Very little recoil. And see? My left arm is actually supported while shooting.” She looked at Doc Rich, her eyes pleading.
Doc Rich decided compromise would be best. “You can shoot tomorrow. But only that gun.”
In spite of the spontaneity of it, Hank made sure the fist pump was done with the right arm, not the left.
“I think I’ll let you guys get the rest of the guns put away. Luigi won’t let you ding one, Mike, so I can leave them in your capable hands.”
“And that sounds good to me as well,” Doc Rich said, turning to leave.
Using the bum ticker comm link, she asked, “Spud, if you’re not busy could you come to the armory?”
“Hank, on my way.”
“Mike, do you have another pallet jack?”
“Sure thing, Hank. I gather you want this other stuff in your quarters?”
“I’ll get Spud to help me with them. Got a hammer and tacks or some of that removable putty they use for hanging stuff on walls?”
“I’ll grab some removable hooks and bring them with me when I grab the pallet jack.”
“What do you need, Hank?” Spud asked, coming through the door.
“I’ve got a few things here that I requested for my quarters. Think you can help me get them there and put away?”
“Sure thing.”
Mike arrived back with a second pallet jack, and Spud commenced to load the things for her quarters onto it. She followed him down the hall and to her quarters.
“The big one is going to go there,” she said, pointing. “Be careful opening the crate. It’s got a glass case in it with glass shelves.”
“Sure thing. Don’t bust the case.” Looking at it, he said, “Good thing I grabbed this on the way to the armory,” he added, yanking a screwdriver from his pocket.
She sat watching as he removed the screws from the crate, back to her. Her little voices started talking to each other. Nice butt. Why is it women always have to check out a guy’s butt? You know why. A nice butt means good muscles for – Stop that! She shook herself. I shouldn’t be looking at his butt in the first place.
“Looks like they got everything in here packed so an elephant stomping on it wouldn’t break it,” Spud said.
She got up and peered into the crate. Every shelf had been packed inside cardboard sleeves lined with Styrofoam sheets. “Some assembly required,” she said. “Do you have time?”
