Chapter Two

"It appears you are exactly who my team has been waiting for, Petty Officer Ellis," Colonel Brigham said with a brief smile, which I guessed was very seldom seen on his stern face. He called Sergeant Richter into the office.

"Sergeant, show Petty Officer Ellis to the nearest ladies' room. I'm sure she'd appreciate the chance to freshen up after her long trip. Then take her to the break room. I'm equally certain she'd appreciate it if you could find her some food as well. Bring her to the situation room when I call."

Richter showed me to the head and then pointed down the hallway.

"The break room is the third door on the left. I'll wait for you there."

I did appreciate the chance to piss, wash my face, and touch up my makeup. I even managed to twist my hair into something that resembled a regulation bun and less like a hacked-up furball left on the carpet by a cat. In the break room, Richter went through the refrigerator. Condiments and... He opened a plastic lid, sniffed at the contents, and threw it in the trash.

"Looks like it's the vending machine, Ellis. Any preference?"

"Anything that has lots of chocolate and sugar but no peanuts," I replied, sitting tiredly on yet another uncomfortable plastic chair. "I've had nothing but peanuts, crackers, and water on the MAC flights. Right now, I'd consider cold MREs as fine dining."

"Been there, done that a time or two," Richter chuckled as he fed coins into a machine. He didn't pepper me with questions, just watched in amusement as I crammed chocolate into my mouth.

After two chocolate bars and a gulped-down soda, followed by a long burp, I followed Colonel Brigham into a room where a woman sat at a small desk with only a keyboard and monitor in front of her. A long table occupied the center of the room, where men were already seated. The room buzzed with soft conversations and energy. The sugar and caffeine had revived me enough that I studied the seven men at the table with clear eyes.

These men were all in clean but obviously well-used ACUs. One wore the insignia of an army captain. Six wore rate insignia from E-5 to E-8. All the men at the table were in peak physical condition. Though seated, they radiated the unmistakable air of men who would rather be moving. Tier One operators always seemed to want to be moving, exercising or fighting, regardless of service. I felt the eyes of all the men in the room focus on me as I followed Colonel Brigham to the front and leaned my case against the wall.

Having been with SEALs for months, it was strange to see a team that was clean-shaven and in uniform. SEAL teams are often about, 'We go in. We blend in.' Which means civilian clothes, scruffy beards, and no high-and-tight military haircuts.

I guessed this Ranger team was more about, 'We go in. We kick the shit out of our target. We leave.'

My uniform immediately identified my service. My iconic Dress Blue 'Crackerjacks' is completely unlike anything worn by other services. I loved it! I thought the neckerchief looked sporty and the white 'Dixie Cup' cover could be tilted to a rakish angle over one eyebrow. I doubted many naval uniforms were seen in this room. Even rarer to see a woman wearing one.

I didn't shrink from the attention the men were giving me. I was used to men looking. I'm taller than most of the models who strut their stuff on fashion catwalks in their undies. When shopping, I rarely find clothes on racks that fit my slender measurements and extra height. I treat jeans that fit my small waist, tight ass, and long legs as if they're made of gold. Uniforms I find at the PX are never long enough in the sleeves and legs. I have all my uniforms hand-tailored at a boutique on Rodeo Drive that had been recommended to me by a friend of a friend.

Though the regulation jumper is supposed to fall in a straight line from my armpits to my hips, I can never seem to make the seamstresses understand that regulations mean something in the military. They hate straight lines that hide feminine curves. No matter what I say, they keep adding tucks to the sides of the jumpers of my Dress Blues and Whites. As a result, all my jumpers subtly show the curve of my waist without completely tossing uniform regulations into the trash. The jumper I was wearing didn't emphasize my breasts, but by some sewing magic, it also didn't hide that they were larger than average.

"Damn! I knew I should've joined the Navy," came a muted comment from one of the seated men as I took my place behind and to the left of Colonel Brigham. He rapped his knuckles on the table to claim the attention of his men.

"Gentlemen, you are formally advised to get your affairs in order. You are being tasked with a mission. You are not to travel more than an hour away from the base..." Colonel Brigham stopped and waved an impatient hand. "I'm certain you know the rest."

Brigham signaled the woman at the desk, and a map of Afghanistan and the other 'Stan' countries that bordered it to the north appeared on the large screen behind me. I moved out of the way to a chorus of groans from the men.

'Dammit! Back to the Sandbox.' 'Here we go again!' 'I hoped I'd seen the last of that shit country!'

"Ten days ago, three U.S. citizens attached to an NGO (Non-Government Organization) aid mission in Tajikistan were abducted," Brigham continued after the men had settled down. "It's been learned that they were subsequently smuggled into Afghanistan. During talks with officials from the NGO, the kidnappers demanded the release of fifteen Gitmo prisoners. Talks are continuing. Maybe the negotiators can talk the kidnappers into accepting more money instead.

"Needless to say, the prisoner's release via diplomacy is slim if the captors continue to demand prisoners released from Gitmo. A decision has been made, and our involvement has been green-lighted to find, secure and bring them back home!

"Intelligence assets have reported that sometime in the near future, the three abductees will be transported to this compound," Brigham nodded at the woman, and another picture appeared. It was the same one I'd seen in Colonel Brigham's office, but the compound inside the wall was magnified with almost all of the surrounding terrain cut off.

"Our source says that the prisoners will be sent here because of its proximity to the border, which will facilitate the return of the prisoners to Tajikistan if/when an agreement is reached."

Three light vehicles -LVs- that looked like pickup trucks with undetermined weapons mounted on the rear were inside the walls and parked beside the building. The trucks gave an indication of the size of the building and the entire compound. Moderately large. Definitely capable of holding three captives and upwards of thirty targets. Brigham let the men seated at the table have a few moments to study the image before continuing.

"No one expects Tajikistan to invade or launch a raid into Afghanistan to regain control of the prisoners. Several high-ranking officials in their government are pissed," Brigham emphasized the word. "Pissed that aid people were kidnapped on their soil and then taken to another country.

"While Tajikistan isn't all that friendly to the United States, neither are they all that unfriendly. Unofficially, their government has suggested that as long as the U.S. keeps a low profile, officials will turn a blind eye to us staging a rescue from their territory."

Brigham let this information settle.

"The good news is that the compound is in the middle of nowhere, so civilian involvement will be minimal."

"Now the bad news. Tajikistan will let us stage from their country, but has refused to let us return. They believe that would advertise their involvement too much. Other extraction plans are being reviewed.

"So exfil to the north is out. To the west are miles and miles of Afghanistan. To the south is more Afghanistan and then Pakistan. A trek likely to be unhealthy. To the east is India. Of course, there's the little problem that the Pakistan/Indian border in this region is as touchy as the border between North and South Korea. It's an area where everyone is liable to shoot first and ask zero questions later."

"The target site is a walled compound that can hold a large number of hostiles. Expect to be significantly outnumbered.

"Hell, Colonel. When do we get to the hard part?" That was Sergeant Hayes. I pegged him as the joker in the group.

"But gentlemen, we do have an ace in our hand. We have someone who has intimate knowledge of the area. Petty Officer Ellis," Brigham turned to look at me. "Would you like to take over the briefing and fill us in on what you bring to the team?"

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Colonel," I replied and stepped forward to the edge of the desk. I assumed a relaxed parade rest stance with my hands clasped behind me. Now the expressions on the men's faces held less appreciation for how I looked and more anticipation for what I could bring to their team.

"Gentlemen, I'm coming at this cold," I began, giving the team my best smile. Shifting my gaze along the table, I read name tags while trying to remember faces.

"Until two days ago, I was in the middle of the Indian Ocean just minding my own business. Up until two minutes ago, I was as clueless as you were about this operation. But what I bring to your team is my personal knowledge of this area because I've been there. I was boots-on-the-ground for almost two weeks observing this compound only a few months ago."

That caused the men to sit up straighter and pay closer attention. They knew that the more knowledge they had of the target and what they might encounter, the more the odds shifted in their favor of coming home alive.

"Why I was there isn't really important, but I can tell you how to approach unseen to within forty meters of the wall," I tapped the screen. "Right here. I know where sentries are stationed and the times they are changed. I can also draw you a map of the compound's interior with my best guess of where the captives will be kept. After that, it's up to you."

When I concluded, there was a collective look of WTFs from around the table. Captain Howard found his voice first.

"Petty Officer Ellis, you were on the ground for two weeks? Okay, I'll trust that you know the area and can get us to the target without being seen. That by itself is a huge help! But how the hell do you know the layout of the building's interior?"

"I was bored, so I went inside, Sir," I answered with a small shoulder shrug as if it should have been obvious. A couple of those around the table stifled a laugh. I broadened my smile, flashing my best 'Blonde Airhead' look. One I'd practiced in front of a mirror to disarm high school boyfriends.

"Well, I was also pretty hungry, too. I was only supposed to be there for two or three days until... Well, never mind... Anyway, my mission kept getting extended because of... Reasons...

"After a week, my food and water had run out. I was extremely thirsty and very hungry. The only place to get more food and water was from the compound. I had to weigh the risk of being caught versus leaving before completing my mission. So, I went off script. I snuck inside and stole the food and water I needed."

I kept my tone light as if raiding a guarded compound was something I did every day. Every man was sitting up straighter; their eyes focused intently on me. Knowing the interior layout of a building they were to assault was something they rarely had.

I could tell them where the doors were and which way they opened. Were the doors locked? Were they substantial? Would explosives be required to breach? The location of rooms, their size, and what's inside. What to expect to see around each corner.

This type of information would let them knock together a mockup and practice who went where and who covered what hallway once they breached. They'd move more quickly because they'd know where to go. Every man at the table realized how far this ratcheted up the odds for their success.

"How the hell did you, a female who looks... Look, no offense, but you look more like a member of the Swedish Volleyball Team than an Afghan woman... How the hell did you infiltrate a walled enemy camp undiscovered?" First Sergeant Mickal asked, only half believing me.

"Being a female is actually why I was able to get in and out of the compound, First Sergeant. If a man the sentry didn't recognize had entered, he would've been instantly on alert. But I moved and looked like just another camp woman.

"In case my extraction plan got FUBAR'ed (Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition), I'd brought traditional robes that a woman from that area would wear and brown contact lenses to hide my blue eyes so I could blend into a crowd until a new extraction plan could be made."

I turned and tapped the screen, still showing the compound.

"I watched these people for two weeks. They are not soldiers. They're thugs. Their security is a joke! All I had to do was hide my blond hair and most of my face under a hijab and a niqab. The hardest part of my Infil was climbing the back wall in the long robes I wore. The sentry at the front gate was asleep. I ignored him and walked through the front door as if I belonged there. I did a little recon, collected some food and water, and left."

The men looked at me as if I'd told them I'd flown to the moon.

"So you just walked into an armed camp for food and then just... Left," Sergeant Aniston asked.

"And water... Don't forget the water. I was very thirsty, Sergeant. If I wanted to continue my mission, I needed what they had. As you can see, I'm slender," I grinned, intensifying my 'Blonde Airhead' look. "I don't have the fat reserves to live on that you men have."

The men were still shaking their heads in disbelief when one threw up his arms.

"That's... Holy shit! You're either the craziest person I've ever met or the luckiest not to be challenged."

"Oh, I was challenged," I replied. "I went in after midnight, hoping that no one would be awake. There was only one guy who was on guard. He was dozing in a chair in the front room. If the rusty door hinges hadn't made so much noise when I entered, I doubt he would have woken up.

"He was a teenager. The beard he was trying to grow was still just splotches of fuzz on his face. I guess he'd drawn the night watch because he was low on the totem pole. Pretty sure we can all relate to drawing crap duty hours when we were early in our own careers," I added to nods of remembrance.

"Anyway, as I entered through the door, I bent over to disguise my height and kept my head down while bowing and groveling like any good, subservient camp woman. I mumbled something about getting water in what I hoped would pass as the local dialect. I'm not fluent in Dari, but luckily, I didn't need to speak much," I laughed. "Like every guy I ever dated in high school, he was more interested in grabbing my boobs through my robe than in talking to me."

That caused several of the guys to laugh.

"I didn't mind the groping," I sighed. "I've dated high school boys."

The men laughed harder.

"He had the beard, and I was only a camp woman, which in their culture is just another way to say whore. So I waited for him to stop, but when he pulled me to a dark corner, bent me over, and tried to raise my skirt, I knocked him out," I admitted with a small smile.

"I made it look like a lucky elbow to the side of his head. While he was stunned, I half-helped, half-dragged him to sit back at the table while mumbling what I hoped would be taken as an apology. Then I left to continue my recon and collect supplies.

"I wasn't worried he'd raise an alert if he regained his wits before I left because then he'd have to admit that a camp woman had knocked him out. That would be something that would make him the butt of jokes from his older comrades for years."

There was more and louder collective laughter.

"Anyway, I collected the food and water I needed while he was clearing his head. The kid didn't even try to stop me when I walked out with sacks of food slung over one shoulder and water jugs in my other hand. He had this dazed look on his face that reminded me of some of the jerks I've dated."

The laughter grew in volume as I shook my head at how easily men accepted my lies. Yes, I'd gone grocery shopping inside the compound and... Yes, I'd left with food and water with no one suspicious that they were under surveillance by me... But everything else was a lie...

**********

'Well, here goes nothing...' I thought and pushed: then cursed the creaky sound of rusty door hinges. It was like something from the soundtrack of a bad haunted house movie. I forced myself not to pause. Hesitation would make me look guilty. I entered and closed the door, making the hinges creak in reverse. 'Jesus! Would it have killed someone to oil the damned things?'

Walking in what I hoped was a proper, humble shuffle, I didn't look directly at the figure stirring behind the small table. Hunched over, I moved toward the hallway on the other side of the room. I was halfway there before a young voice commanded me to stop. I'm not fluent in Dari, but the tone was unmistakable: I stopped. In a voice raw from thirst, I mumbled that men wanted water.

The kid nodded, assuming that men at one of the sentry posts had sent me. But he was curious. Maybe I looked different, smelled different. Maybe I didn't grovel enough. All I could do was stand motionless and put a hand through the slit in my robe.

My palm found the hilt of the small knife I had strapped to my waist. If I had to... The kid would die, hopefully before raising an alarm. I would probably have time to collect supplies, but then I'd have to run like hell because my mission would be over as soon as his body was discovered.

But I needn't have worried. Instead of wariness, the kid radiated something I recognized from boys I'd dated. He was horny. My surmise was validated as hands closed on my hips and waist. The kid gave a satisfied growl of approval as his hands traced my slender hips and small waist before moving to my breasts. I'd left my western bra behind, binding my breasts with strips of cloth in the local fashion. It was a matter of mere moments before my breasts were freed from their bindings.

There was a sigh of satisfaction behind me as fingers measured, weighed, and gripped my large 34DD tits through my robe. Men like big tits, but teenagers practically worship them. The hands that groped me did so hesitantly at first, then with more force. Fingers gripped my tits so hard I couldn't stop a whimper of pain. Maybe the kid thought the small sound was a sign I liked what he was doing. Maybe he knew I was feeling real pain and simply didn't care what a camp whore felt. Fingers dug deeper into my ample tits.

I remained still, enduring as I thought any good camp woman should. I learned too late that I thought wrong. I should have protested and pulled away. If I had, the kid would have believed I was claimed by another guard. If I'd acted as if I were a claimed woman belonging to one guard for his exclusive use, the kid probably would have stopped rather than risk the wrath of an older guard.

To the kid, my quiet, unmoving acceptance meant there was no man I could complain to. That none of the guards had claimed me as their property, reserved for their sole use. My quiet acceptance as my tits were gripped and played with, branded me as a community property whore, and that meant anyone could use me. I was pulled backwards against the kid, trapped between arms whose muscles weren't fully developed.

Young hands moved over the front of my robe, tracing my flat stomach from my breasts to my mound. The kid was getting more excited, rubbing his hard cock against my ass. I'd bent my knees and spread my legs to disguise my height, but the kid took my spread legs as an invitation. One hand moved up to continue to massage my tits while the other pushed between my thighs.

The hijab and niqab had succeeded in keeping my identity secret so far, and I was no longer worried that an alarm would be raised. Instead, I began to wonder just how long this kid would continue to play with my tits and pussy. I should have known better. Teen boys never get tired of playing with tits and pussy.

I stood still, ready to endure as the front hem of my robe was lifted. I was wearing panties, but the kid didn't find the thin material an obstacle as his hand pushed under the elastic to move between nylon and skin. I couldn't help the sound of my further discomfort when hard fingers roughly pressed into my sensitive clit. I bit the inside of my lip to help me keep my mouth closed, and the sound of my cries was quiet. But I couldn't stop the movements of my hips as I tried to squirm away from the rough fingering of my most delicate area.

The kid must've interpreted the movements of my ass against his cock as my wanting more. Fingers pressed deeper and harder between my pussy lips. Rough fingers moved in my slit, rasping over my clit. I couldn't help the gasp and groan of my discomfort. A hand released my tits to clamp over my mouth and nose. I couldn't breathe as the kid, from what I could translate, whispered, "Shhh, you wake other men, they use you, too."

A very good incentive for me to grit my teeth and endure as I continued to be roughly fingered. Thankfully, fingers left my clit and moved to explore my pussy hole. It wasn't comfortable having my pussy stretched and penetrated, but it was better than the painful shocks that ran through me like electricity, having my clit crushed. I still thought that maybe I'd be released. That turned into a vain hope as my arms were pinned to my side and I was marched across the room.

I was bent over the table. A hand on my back pinned me against the top of the table while the other hand began pulling up the back of my robe. The hand still on my back held the material of my robe up and out of the way as my panties were pushed down until they fell to pool around my ankles. The kid used his knees to force my legs open. He was young, but his movements were sure. I wasn't the first female he'd bent over this table.

There was no doubt what was going to happen next. I was just seconds away from being fucked on this table unless I did something. Options ran through my mind. None of them were good!

I could kill him. Even if I did that quietly, my mission was over.

I could fight back and maybe knock him out before his cries alerted others, and maybe he'd be too embarrassed to make a big deal out of it when he woke up: If he woke up before being discovered.

I was looking at a choice of mission definitely blown and a whole lot of maybes and ifs...

Or... Or...

I had to decide quickly because, with a growled command I translated as, 'Stay like this,' the kid removed his hand from my back so he could free his cock with both hands.

I needed to move now or...

I heard the sound of a zipper and the soft shush of pants sliding to the floor. Knees pushed my legs wider... A hand guided the tip of a cock between the lips of my pussy. The tip moved over my clit, then reversed. Sliding... Searching for... Finding... I felt penetration.

My indecision had made my decision for me. I put my head on my arms and closed my eyes. One and then two inches pushed inside me. More tried to follow, but I was dry. The kid pushed harder, and my pussy stretched painfully. I bit down on the web of flesh between my thumb and forefinger. Except for a soft whimper, I remained silent.

I felt movement. The pain eased as the cock inside me withdrew, then pushed again, this time going deeper. The pain returned in the kid's haste to bury his cock fully in me. Thankfully, my pussy was coating the shaft with its wetness. It didn't take long before the kid's shaft was lubricated and sliding more easily inside me. The cock in my pussy began moving faster.

'He's young. He wouldn't last long,' I thought in an effort to find something positive about what was happening. 'This will be over soon.'

I pressed the side of my face against the wood tabletop. Stretching my arms out, I grasped the edge of the table. This will be over soon...

Deep, rasping grunts came faster behind and above me as hands gripped my hips tighter, pulling my ass backwards to meet hips thrusting forwards... I felt and heard every dull, meaty sound as flesh pounded against flesh... The creaks and squeaks of the table under me as I was moved on top of it by increasingly frantic thrusts... Soft, panting exhalations of breath forced from my chest by hard sex.

The quietest thing in the room was me, the woman being fucked.

My time bent over the table only seemed to last for hours. I doubt I was fucked longer than two or three minutes before the kid lost control. One moment I was being fucked, the next moment there were short, hard thrusts and grinding motions against my ass as, with a long, drawn-out groan, the kid left his cum deep.

The aftermath lasted almost as long as the sex. I remained motionless on the table as the cock inside me continued to move slowly. I didn't lift my head. I didn't move. I just waited as the kid moved his cock inside me for more long minutes for the feel-good feelings before finally pulling out with a satisfied sigh. He said something I didn't understand as he wiped off the wetness on his cock onto my thighs. When he delivered a sharp, stinging slap to my bared ass, I took that as a sign he was done with me.

I saw cum drip onto the wooden boards of the floor as I straightened up before I let my robe down. Like most teenage boys, he'd had a lot of cum in his balls to leave inside me. My panties were on the floor a few feet away. I picked them up and put them in a pocket. I wasn't going to put them on yet. I wasn't going to soil them with his cum. I'd rather let his cum dribble down my thighs or drip onto the floor.

Cum continued to drip several times from my pussy as I began moving towards the doorway leading further into the building. I still groveled as a good camp whore should, but my acting wasn't necessary. I was allowed to pass as I moved through the entrance to the hallway beyond. I was invisible to the kid now that he was satisfied.

In that respect, he was definitely like a couple of boyfriends I'd dated late in tenth grade...

I was in. I'd been groped, fingered, bent over a table, and fucked, but I was in. The wetness on my thighs... The small, wet pools of cum I'd left on the floor behind me... I regarded them as the coins I'd paid as my entrance fee.

The hall stretched the length of the building. A few smaller halls went right and left. Uncertain where the kitchen was, I took the time to go down each. One short hall had small rooms. Snores sounded behind several doors. One room had its door open; inside, a man and a woman slept on a mattress.

Single rooms, probably for men who had claimed their own, personal use whore. Larger communal rooms were for both sexes to sleep. One door was the furthest from the others. Probably the bedroom of whoever passed as the officer in command of these thugs. Some rooms were used as storage. One room had a radio.

I found the kitchen and pantry. I drank from the first water container I found. Water never tasted so good. I'd never been so dehydrated. I continued to drink one small mouthful at a time as I investigated.

In the pantry, I didn't bother trying to read labels. I grabbed whatever cans were nearest. I put the cans as quietly as I could into a large sack I'd found. My need to hurry warred with my need for everything I could steal. A full gallon plastic water container went on top of the cans. I knew that water was more important than its weight in food.

I found a smaller sack. I knew I was pressing my luck, but I took the time to fill it and placed another gallon of water inside it, too. I wanted to take more, but feared the weight might tear the crudely woven sack. I slung the sacks over my shoulder. I hooked the fingers of my free hand through the handles of two more plastic gallon water jugs and made my way back to the front door.

The kid was nodding off, almost asleep again already. 'Yeah, he definitely reminds me of some boys I dated...' He barely raised his head as I slipped out the door. The sentry at the gate was still sleeping. I walked around the corner and breathed out a sigh as I moved out of sight and into the shadows of the night. If I forgot the fucking, then mission successful!

Once I was safely in the gully that had sheltered me on my approach. I stopped long enough to strip off my robe and place it in my sack. I didn't notice at the time, but my panties must have dropped from the small pocket in the robe there. I didn't miss them until I was back in my hide.

I could move faster naked than in those enfolding robes. I retraced my approach route. Since I was now familiar with the trail, I covered ground quickly. I hadn't eaten in over two days. I drank water to deaden hunger pains. I couldn't stop long enough to eat. I had to push myself. I'd gone inside the compound around 0100 hours. I hadn't counted on having to allocate time for a horny teen that smelled like a goat to get his jollies. The sun was a finger's width above the horizon already as I crossed the road on my trek south. I quickened my steps. The last kilometer of the trail was the hardest, laden as I was. But I wasn't leaving anything behind. I'd paid for this shit!

Even having to go slowly near the enemy outpost closest to my hide, I was back at my hide by 1000 hours. The ground sheet I'd draped over my rifle and weighed down with rocks was undisturbed. Uncovering the rifle, I examined the compound through the scope. Everyone in sight moved slowly. No one seemed alarmed.

Sentries at the other OPs (Observation Posts) looked lethargic from the heat instead of alert. Everything seemed just as it had been for the last week, and luckily, my target hadn't arrived while I was gone.

I'd done it! I'd scouted a circuitous route to the compound, infiltrated, and collected enough supplies to last for a week, even two weeks if I was frugal. And no one seemed to have even noticed. Well, no one except for one satisfied kid whose cum had already flaked off my thighs and pussy lips.

I remained alert for any change in behavior from the people in the compound as I opened a can with my knife. WTF! Cabbage? Who the fuck cans cabbage? It tasted delicious. Hunger really is the best sauce!

**********

Nowhere was there a mention that I'd fucked my way into the compound in the AAR (After Action Report) I submitted once I was back at Diego Garcia. The lies I submitted passed without comment. My debrief officer said I was very lucky the guard hadn't raised an alarm after I elbowed him in the head, but I had acted out of necessity to gather supplies so I could continue my mission. After submitting my report, I'd put in for leave to visit my mom and sister.

While on leave, I visited the doctor who'd given me my immunization shots when I started First Grade. Years later, he'd also given me my first pelvic exam. He knew me, and since the Great Pregnancy Scare when I was 17, I knew he wouldn't ask questions. There were also no questions about why I didn't go to a NAVY clinic for a free exam, just agreement to submit samples to labs under an alias he'd probably used many times for other women.

I was finally able to relax and put everything in the past once all the tests for STDs came back negative. I hadn't caught some weird disease from a kid who fucked camp whores and maybe goats.

I celebrated with my sister. We drove to a town far, far away where no one knew us and got shit-faced drunk. We danced on the bar. We danced on tables. We danced on the laps of many male patrons. We danced inside the bar and fucked in the parking lot...

Mom would've disowned us!

**********

Questions came fast after I finished my report until Colonel Brigham stepped forward.

"Alright. Alright, settle down. I think we can all agree that we have an invaluable source of intel in Petty Officer Ellis, thanks to her, umm, rather unique recon style. We not only have her knowledge of the terrain, her knowledge of the routine of the garrison, we have her knowledge of the interior of the building," Colonel Brigham said in a dry voice to bring the meeting back to order. He asked for the next photo to be displayed on the wide screen.

"Excuse me, Sir. If I may...," I interrupted respectfully and pointed to the rolled-up map in his hand. The same one from his office. "I believe that map you showed me earlier will work better than any satellite overview on the screen."

He handed me the map, and I moved halfway down the table to stand at the table's side. The men jockeyed for better positions as I unrolled the large map. The compound was smaller, but a greater area of the surrounding terrain was shown.

"These are only my initial thoughts," I began, then stopped to ask the room. "Is there a marker that will write on this lamination?"

The woman at the desk handed me one. I drew a circle at the southern edge of the map with an arrow pointing past the edge.

"Down here, past where I've drawn the circle, is the best IP (Insertion Point) for us. From the IP to the compound is about twenty-seven kilometers. I know it's a bit far away, but it's still the best place for an LZ (Landing Zone) if it's decided we want a stealth assault. There's enough flat ground for two helicopters to land at the same time, which, believe me, is very rare to find in a landscape that is mostly ridges going up and down. Now..." I drew three X's on the map and labeled them OP-1, OP-2, and OP-3.

"When I was here, there were three guard posts, one each at a point this road enters the compound's valley. To the east and west... And here in the south, where the valley we'll land in opens into the clearing where the compound is.

"Each guard post always had two men who changed every twelve hours at dusk and dawn. Day or night, their tactical awareness was for shit. All the men at all the guard posts were either sleeping or goofing off at all hours. No crew served weapons, only what they carried. After midnight, they were all asleep and didn't wake up until the dawn changeover.

"Over here, about thirty-five kilometers away," I drew a triangle at the northeast corner of the map with an arrow pointing north. "That is where the Border Post is. I never saw it. There were regular deliveries from the compound by one or two LVs in the mornings and evenings. From the amount of water and food loaded on the trucks, I estimated ten or twelve men permanently stationed there. But personnel rotated duty between the compound and the Border Post.

"These two," I drew dotted lines from the two X's on the road I'd labeled OP-1 and OP-2 to the compound and wrote 1,215m on one line and 1,250m on the other. "They are around twelve hundred meters from the compound. This one to the south, OP-3, the nearest one to our LZ. It's 1,440 meters from the compound gate."

"Those are damn precise ranges," one man muttered.

"I was bored," I responded with a broad smile and a small shrug. "I had a lot of time on my hands. I've always been good at trigonometry. I couldn't move much during the day, so I exercised my brain by doing the math in my head. You know, A squared plus B squared equals C squared... Or is that algebra?"

'Trig... Algebra... No, it's trigonometry... I was thinking physics...' the muted argument ran around the table until Captain Howard rapped on the table for silence and pulled everyone's attention back to the map.

"Frankly," I continued. "There are only two reasons for this compound to be manned. It has the only source of water for miles around, and because, for some unknown reason, somebody wants a border crossing staffed on a road that's barely better than a goat track.

"After watching this place, I concluded that some Afghan drug lord uses the road to smuggle opium. Don't take that as gospel. But in my opinion, the men I saw acted and moved more like thugs than like soldiers.

"If we stage out of Tajikistan as I did," I continued, tracing a route with my finger far off the edge of the map. "The helicopters will come from the north and should circle the compound to the east to approach our LZ from the south. For miles and miles out to the east and south, there is nothing but that one Border Post and unoccupied mountains. I was actually helicoptered in along this route at dawn so the pilots could find a good LZ and I'd have plenty of daylight to scout for a good place for my hide. We didn't even see a goatherder.

"There's really no reason we can't be inserted during the day, too," I asserted, looking at Captain Howard. "If there is anyone out there, they'll just assume our helicopters are some of theirs."

Captain Howard looked doubtful. Flying in daylight over hostile territory for a stealthy insertion wasn't in SF playbooks.

"It's just a suggestion," I continued. "But after our local pilot got drunk and damaged our helicopter, my original extraction plan was screwed. I had to walk west to a moderately sized shithole to buy food and water while new parts were acquired.

"While I waited, I noticed that with all the equipment we abandoned in-country during the pullout, no one even looks up anymore when they hear a helicopter. They know it might look American, but it isn't.

"Really? The people are more concerned with what's on the ground than in the air. Out in the boonies, two-bit warlords are fighting each other over who controls tiny villages like drug gangs fighting over street corners in Detroit.

"It's unorthodox, Colonel," Captain Howard considered. "But if we can insert during daylight, it would certainly simplify things."

"It will also allow you to get past the worst spots on the trail while you can see," I added as I traced my finger across the table towards the map. "Because... From the LZ, we follow the valley towards the compound about twenty-five kilometers. About three kilometers south of OP-3, I'll show you a place you can exit to the west.

"I discovered this exit while searching for the best place for my hide. The rest I traveled using GPS while circumventing the OP-1 on my way to infiltrate the compound. It's not much of a trail, and the first part is the roughest. Traveling the first two or three kilometers in daylight is what I recommend. You'll have to hug rock very closely in places..."

"Rough for her to do, I bet," someone whispered.

"Ouch! A zinger from the cheap seats about my big boobs," I laughed, and the men joined in.

"That's enough of that," Colonel Brigham sternly admonished the group. "One more sexist remark and I'll order mandatory Harassment Classes for everyone."

Double Ouch! No one wants to endure those. Me included.

"Colonel, may I speak freely?" I continued when he nodded. "Look, guys, you're not the first team of Special Forces I've been introduced to, and, by far... You're not the best looking."

The muted laughter showed that my jab landed exactly as I'd hoped. I'd shown that I could give as well as take. I continued to meet their gaze directly, then turned to Colonel Brigham.

"Colonel, with respect, this won't be my first rodeo with testosterone-fueled idiots who never grew up after high school," I turned back to face the men. "Team communication suffers when men feel they have to censor what they say around me.

"Everyone past the age of eighteen should know the difference between harmless sexual banter and sexual harassment. If you don't know, I'm certain that First Sergeant Mickal will be happy to find imaginative and probably painful ways to educate you. So bring it. Don't hold back. It won't be anything I haven't heard before.

"In fact, let's get it all out in the open so we can move on and concentrate on the mission. I have big, Double-D boobs that are absolutely Spec... Tac... U... Lar!"

I finished slowly in a soft, sultry tone while leaning over the table and slowly rocking my shoulders.

"Oh, God! Make her stop! She's killing me," Sergeant Morris cried out, laughing.

"I'm six feet tall. I'm 34-23-35, and I've been told I'm pretty..."

"You're fucking gorgeous," came a soft voice from the crowd.

"Thank you. Thank you," I did a mock curtsy to acknowledge the compliment. "So, now that I've answered the immediate questions that all immature thirteen-year-old BOYS want to know, how about we act like adults and get back to the mission before Colonel Brigham puts us all on report."

The mood lightened considerably. To a chorus of last laughs, soft agreements, and head nods, I continued and traced out on the map the route I'd traveled.

"The trail will bend north. Using GPS and Land Navigation, you'll want to reach the road here," I tapped the map. "OP-1 will be about two kilometers to the east. At this point, you'll be out of sight. You cross the road, taking time to sweep away your boot prints, and you'll be back in the bush..."

There were snorting chuckles from some.

"Oh, my God! You guys are even more immature than the Marine Scout/Snipers I trained with," I hurried to speak up before Colonel Brigham could. Then I grinned. "Besides, maybe I could have said back on the landing strip..."

More laughter interrupted me, the loudest yet.

"And no, you'll never find out. SO," I called out loudly and clapped my hands to bring the children to order before Colonel Brigham did. After my speech, he seemed willing to let me handle the team my way, but there are limits. In the silence that followed, I continued to trace a line that went north, then bent towards the east.

"So you are now north of the road with all boot prints erased. When you reach here, stop. The border is patrolled at irregular times during the day. You'll need to travel the next leg in the dark, but the route is easy to navigate; you just follow the top of the ridge. About here, you should see a gully or wash or whatever they call it. It will offer you a protected route all the way to the compound.

"So, Day-1, we get inserted. Night-1, you reach the gully and follow it to the compound. You have a decision to make. Depending on when you reach the compound... When to go... Now? Dawn? Hunker down in the gully and wait out a day? Early the next night? That's not going to be my decision.

"Okay. The wall around the compound is mud brick, old and weathered. It's only six to eight feet tall. In some spots, it's as low as only five feet. Even in a long robe, I didn't have too much trouble getting over the wall, so I doubt you will. Hell, a good kick by a big guy like Svenson would probably put a hole in it.

"There are improvised wooden towers barely taller than the walls at each corner in the back where you will be, here and here. Small platforms. Only one sentry can stand up there. There is another sentry tower at the front next to the gate. The towers in the back were never occupied. There was a sentry posted on the front tower during the night. But most of the time, he'd find a comfortable position and go to sleep.

"The sentry at the front gate does not have your insertion point in his line of sight. There were no roving patrols anywhere in the compound or in the valley while I was there. There's a generator here," I drew a G at one side of the building. "It supplies electricity to the compound. It's loud, so it was turned off every night when they slept. I didn't see any backup batteries for the radio.

"There are no cell towers out here, and when I was there, I didn't see a satellite dish. So, Internet and cell phone reception are nil. There were no batteries for the radio. Damage the generator, and they can neither send nor receive.

"I doubt hand radios can reach the Border Post through this mountainous terrain. But I have no idea what radios, if any, the LVs might have.

"The generator is only turned back on in the morning to power the stove and microwave to prepare tea and breakfast. There were only candles when I went in. And that, my dear audience," I finished with another mock curtsy. "That is how you get to within spitting distance of your target completely unseen."

"Damn, that's one of the best briefs I've ever had," First Sergeant Mickal observed. "Ellis, I want you to do advance recon on all my future targets! Also, I want the most detailed map of the interior you can draw ASAP."

"Petty Officer Ellis," Captain Howard spoke up. "I noticed that right up to where we go west from the gully our LZ was in, it's 'us' and 'we'. After that it's 'you'... Where will you be while we continue to the wall of the enclosure?"

"Colonel," I addressed Brigham. "Has it been decided if I'll be with the team?"

"To be decided," Brigham declared. "But with the knowledge you bring to the team, my recommendation will be yes."

"Yes, Sir. If I'm inserted with the team, then I'll be right here, Captain," I marked a spot close to the X that marked the southern guard post I'd labeled OP-3, but closer to the compound. "Before you cross the road to the east of OP-1, I'll be in the same little, ol' hidey-hole I used before. I'll be on Overwatch twenty meters above the plain where the compound sits. I'll have a panoramic view of everything in the valley from OP-1 to OP-2.

"If anything moves anywhere in this valley, you'll know about it. Before you reach the compound's rear wall, you'll have a count of the number of men I've seen. How many men are in the OPs. Are they alert or just going through the motions. Are they still doing guard shift changes at dawn and dusk... "

"That's damn close to OP-3," a black sergeant with the unlikely name of Svenson on his ACUs interrupted to observe. "You'll have an enemy close behind you, cutting off your exfil route if you need to bug out."

"True," I agreed. "But when a time is decided that you're going in, then before kickoff, I'll neutralize the sentries behind me. These men never do comm checks. No one will know OP-3 is down. So, my exfil route is open, and I'm back on Overwatch. I'll even be able to watch you climb the wall," I continued. "With Baby and me watching over you, I'll drop hostiles quietly from a distance if you call the shot."

"Baby?" One of the men laughed; most joined in. Aniston didn't laugh, just suddenly stared at me intently.

I ignored him, though I cursed my big mouth and stupid habit of making flippant remarks. Nothing for it... In for a penny in for a pound...

Collecting the case I'd leaned against the wall, I put it on the table. Placing my thumbs on two smooth spots, I held them there until the sound of something unlatching came from inside the case.

"Gentlemen, I'm sure you've all seen a Barrett .50 caliber rifle. Maybe even sent some rounds down range. The .50 comes in several minor variations. Baby only comes in one model because there is only one," I said as I opened the latches on the outside of the case. I turned the case to face the other side of the table. "Gentlemen, I give you Baby, the Barrett .55 caliber."

I opened the case with the flourish of a magician, though I refrained from saying Taa-Daah. No barrel was attached to the rifle stock, which made the case almost the same length as a normal luggage case. The rifle stock, telescopic sight, three barrels, and five empty magazines were nestled snugly in separate cutout spaces in the foam interior.

Every man tried to move closer for a better look. Except Sergeant Aniston, who pointed a finger at me.

"It's you! You're Barbie!"

"I'm never going to get away from that call sign," I sighed softly.

"What the hell are you talking about, Aniston?"

"A couple of weeks ago, my buddy and I went drinking, and he had a bit too much. He started telling me this unbelievable story. His group got pinned down in a really ugly situation during a negotiation in Yemen. Turns out the hostiles had no intention to negotiate. They just saw this as a way to isolate and kill a group of Americans," Aniston was tripping over his words in his haste to tell his story.

"My buddy and his team were pinned down with hostiles crawling closer. My friend said he was certain they wouldn't be able to hold out long enough for the relief force to reach them and then... He said a hostile about to fire an RPG was just flung backwards as if hit, 'by the Fist of God'. His words, not mine. He said he began to hear the sound of a heavy caliber rifle in the distance, and hostiles just started dropping. First, the ones with the RPGs and then the ones trying to work their way around his team's flanks.

"Everyone was wondering what was going on when there was a female voice on their comms telling them that the path to their left was open. The unit commander demanded to know who was on their comms, and the only answer was, 'This is Barbie. Now get your head out of your ass and start shifting left!'

Just then, another hostile rising with an RPG got hammered down, 'I can't keep the way open all day, Lieutenant Davis! Shift left now!'

"My buddy said they had nothing to lose, so they did, and every time a hostile rose to contest their move, he got hammered. My buddy's unit shifted to a better position and, with help from the sniper, held out until relief came. He told me that at some point Barbie's comm must've jammed open and he swore that he heard a soft voice, like she was talking to herself, 'Talk to me, Baby. That's it... Good, Baby... Ohh, now that was a nice shot, Baby...'

"When the relief force arrived, the comm went quiet, and Barbie had disappeared. No more comm traffic. No answer to demands that she identify herself. The team was flown to Riyadh and home, and no one had any idea who the mystery sniper was. There were no records anywhere that another friendly was even in the area other than my buddy's unit. I thought he was drunk and making things up about Barbie looking out for his unit. Until... Well, how many females are there with a huge fucking rifle named Baby?"

Sergeant Aniston stopped, and everyone looked at the large rifle in the case.

"Getting hit with a .55 caliber," Svenson mused, nodding his head slowly. "Sure as shit that would qualify as getting hit with the Fist of God."

"Barbie?!?" Sargeant Hayes strained to say from a mouth twisted in a futile attempt not to laugh. "Your call sign is... Barbie?"

I remembered that mission. The group sent to negotiate had been kept small on instructions by the other side. Someone decided the whole thing stank like shit on toast and reached out to the nearest unit. I'd been flown in from Diego Garcia when Commander McCain had been asked if there was someone he could send in on Overwatch in case things went south.

McCain knew I was the best shot and had experience as Overwatch. I'd been sent in a day before the meeting to find a good hide. I had my own exfil route to a ship offshore and had only communicated with the group via comms when the situation went FUBAR. This was the first time I'd heard that my comm had been activated by mistake.

The mood of the room shifted from serious to mirth in an instant, with more than one man clamping a hand over his mouth to muffle snickers before giving up and laughing. I sighed in defeat and held my hands up, making Bring-It-On motions.

"C'mon... Yuck it up all you want. I'm tall, blonde, and slender with big boobs. I got tagged with Barbie during my Freshman year of high school, and it's followed me ever since. So, just get it all out of your systems," I challenged.

There followed a litany of 'Sniper Barbie' and 'Accessories include stiletto combat boots' and 'Pink rifle optional' along with other comments in the same vein. Through it all, I simply stood with a patient smile on my face until Colonel Brigham rapped on the table to bring everyone back to reality.

Sergeant Rodriguez had been the only one to maintain his concentration throughout the ridicule. He'd kept his eyes on my Barrett .55. I tagged him as the best shot in the unit and the go-to guy when a long shot was required. His head moved as if to memorize each feature of my rifle from different angles. But he inspected with eyes only. He respected the code that you don't touch another shooter's weapon without permission. He raised his eyes to meet mine.

"Your rifle is... It's beautiful," he told me with wonder instead of mirth at my call sign. "Where? How?"

Eager to change the subject away from my call sign, I smiled and ran my hand lightly over Baby.

"Four years ago, DARPA was assigned to develop a better sniper rifle. Every wannabe shooter and arms company submitted rifles and modifications for consideration. Three years ago, someone decided that if I could handle a new, experimental rifle, then even a big, strong man could, and I was assigned to the team as one of the shooters.

"For weeks, I shot rifles of various calibers in all kinds of terrain and conditions from the Arctic to the swamps of Louisiana to the desert sands of New Mexico. The .80 caliber one idiot submitted almost broke my collarbone. Bigger is not always better," I laughed as did the team. "Every rifle was graded by weight, accuracy, size, length, ease of cleaning, and practicality in the field.

"One of DARPA's innovators decided to tackle the .50. He experimented with composite materials to reduce weight. But the most innovative change he made was to the barrel. He went over as many AARs as he could to count shots in every engagement.

"In 95% of engagements, shooters fired under twenty shots; most were well under twenty. Very few shooters shot over thirty rounds. He decided that a shooter in any engagement shouldn't take more than 35 shots. If more shots were required, then the situation had gone tits-up, and the shooter should have bugged out long before that 35th shot.

"He lengthened the barrel for greater accuracy, but instead of a solid steel rifled barrel like in your rifles, he substituted a sleeve of light composite material over a thin, rifled core of a very, very hard metal. The caliber is greater, but the barrel is the same diameter as a .50, and much lighter.

"I can get 35 shots from each of these barrels with a high confidence of hitting. After that, I can change barrels in under three minutes or decide to get the hell out'a Dodge."

I placed a .50 caliber and a .55 caliber round on the table. On paper, the difference seemed small. Seeing them side-by-side, the difference was not small.

The heavier .55 is less affected by wind so for its weight, nothing beats Baby for long range accuracy.

"I don't want to get into the more technical details and waste Colone Brigham's time. We'll have plenty of time later for questions."

"Not much more for now. Ellis, get me that drawing of the compound ASAP," Brigham said. "Everyone else... Get ready, stay ready."

Brigham started to turn away, stopped, and turned back.

"Captain Howard, reserve the range for... Say, 1300 hours tomorrow. Let's see if Petty Officer Ellis is as good as her advertisement."