Captain Bitch
Tank's long ago broken heart is mended.
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Prologue
Stephanie leaned back onto Ranger's chest. He inhaled her body scent and the shampoo scent in her long curly hair. With his arms wrapped around her shoulders he whispered, "Are you cold?"
"No, I'm fine."
They sat in a grassy meadow outside Ranger's mountain cabin. The day's colors were begging for one last notice before the night overtook them. Yellow and white wildflowers intermingled with the grasses. Light reflected off the pinkish evening primroses causing them to twinkle in the waning light. Crimson red, pink, golds, and purple colored the sky above. The mountains were cloaked in deep shadows.
Warm winds blew up from the valley below, encouraging the tall Ponderosa pines to sway and sing their haunting hymns. Temperatures would drop soon, but right now everything was perfect.
Stephanie heard the rustle on the cabin's porch. She glanced up and saw Tank settle into a rough, wooden chair. The wood squeaked under his massively muscled, 6'6" frame. A beer bottle in his hand was still dripping moisture. Leaning back, he placed his left foot onto the porch rail while his eyes were distant, as if his mind was seeing something far away.
Stephanie whispered in Ranger's ear, "Was Tank ever in love?"
Ranger glanced up at Tank and then nodded, "Yes, and I don't mean that time with Lula."
"Can you talk about it?"
"She was more like a ghost. Brief appearance, he fell totally for her and then she was gone. He didn't even get her name."
"That wasn't love, it was infatuation at most."
"I don't know. It was the way I felt the day you walked into the diner years ago. I think I knew even then, you were the one for me. But I was too wrapped up in myself, my missions and starting Rangeman to think about commitments and relationships."
"You think Tank had such a moment but lost it?"
"The way he moped around it sure seemed like love. Every so often I see him look like he does now, staring off into space. I once asked him where his thoughts were. He said, "With her."
"Is that why he doesn't date or have a girlfriend?"
"Lula was OK for a while; it was sex and fun, but without love."
"He's got such a kind soul, but he rarely laughs. Has he always been that way?"
"No, in basic training he was good-humored, always joking with others. I thought it was our time in combat that turned him, but now think it goes back to one afternoon, years ago."
"Broken heart?"
"Lost love, broken heart, I'm not sure there's a name that would apply."
They sat and watched the sky darken. Ranger's cell phone hummed indicating a text, "El Cam 0900, Silvio." Ranger typed an acknowledgment and once again wrapped his arms around Stephanie.
Philippines Years Before Captain Bitch POV
The Hummer rumbled down the two-lane road. Most streets in Maulong, Catbalogan City, Samar Island were one lane with no sidewalks. This was as close to a boulevard as one would find in this Philippine town. The camp was new and right now held troops from the Philippine Army, US Army and Australian Special Forces.
"Captain Christo-whatever, what the hell are our guys doing in an Aussie bar?" Rodriguez asked as he adjusted his MP helmet.
"The name is Christofondodoulous, Sergeant Rodriguez," I shot back. "Just take a big breath and go 'Christo-fondo-doulous."
He tried again, "Christo-fondo-dolos."
"Better stick to Captain VC," I chuckled.
"Yes, ma'am. That I can do. Thank you."
"Now what was your question, Sergeant?"
"What the hell are our guys doing in an Aussie bar?"
"Probably drunk and looking for trouble," Sergeant Ron Peterson answered as he swung the big HumVee around the tight corner.
I sat in the back, remaining quiet. I was here to observe only, having been assigned here three weeks ago. The men were wary of the new female MP Officer. We were rare.
As we pulled in near the bar, we noted the other vehicles. "Looks like the Aussie MPs are here already."
"This is going to be a fuck-up for sure." Then remembering me in the back seat, Rodriguez uttered, "Sorry, ma'am."
"It's OK, Sergeant. I've heard and said worse. I'm here to observe, not judge your language or pronunciation skills."
Guarding the front door were two Aussie MPs. We nodded to one another. This was nothing new: young men, egos, and alcohol. Once inside the establishment, we noted the bar ran along the left wall. The Filipino man behind it was anxious to end this standoff so he could go back to selling beer. Four other Aussie MPs had their marines confined to the rear of the bar away from our dumb shits. Six US Army soldiers were clustered around two tables on the right side not far from the front door. Their body language ranged from nearly passed-out drunk to tightly coiled, looking for a fight.
Silvio Rodriguez uttered, "Shit, they are Rangers."
Peterson was already calling for back up. I wished we had a battalion to call in, but US Army presence in this part of the Philippines was "under the radar." It meant we really weren't there, just training at the Philippine military base. In reality, we had forces being trained to jump to hotspots throughout Southeast Asia.
Silvio nodded to the Aussie MPs in the back of the room. It was a silent acknowledgment and thanks for isolating our wayward ones. Turning to our men, Sergeant Rodriguez began, "Men, this is an Australian bar. You are out of bounds. You will have to leave immediately."
"We haven't finished our beers," one remarked.
"Chug it men, and let's go. Now," Sergeant Ron Peterson answered.
As the Sergeants continued to engage the six, I was sizing up each Ranger. Elite soldiers all, but I decided only two were exceptionally dangerous. Sergeant Pierre Sherman was a well-known hand-to-hand combat specialist. I had watched his training and was impressed with his strength and skills. He also moved well for such a large man.
He in turn was watching me. A 6'2" tall, biracial, female MP Captain is an oddity. Perhaps to him, I was the Army version of a pink elephant in an alcohol-fueled nightmare.
The other soldier was the lieutenant who should have known better than to bring his men into this bar. His dark, Latino looks gave him an edgy appearance, but it was his eyes that I most watched. He knew he was the best soldier here, maybe better than Sherman. I couldn't read his name ribbon. It didn't matter.
Peterson and Rodriguez had several more interactions with the squad when the blond on the left, stood up and said, "Maybe the bitch in the back would like to order us to leave."
I stepped forward, "That's Captain Bitch to you."
Chapter 1 Jornada del Muerto Captain Bitch POV
My trip began in darkness across the southern portion of the Jornada del Muerto, journey of the dead man. One hundred miles of barren, waterless southern New Mexico plain caught between two mountain ranges. The Spanish explorers and immigrants from Mexico used this route rather than staying close the mighty river as it turned west to pass through the mountains. The river route was too narrow and dangerous for wagons and livestock. While a safer route from the terrain, the immigrants were in constant danger from Apache raiding parties. Two hundred and fifty years the future immigrants using the passage still faced dangers from the Apache, this time led by Geronimo.
Today, I was not recreating the immigrants' journey north along the Jornada to the northern cities of Socorro, Albuquerque or even Santa Fe. Rather, I was driving northeast over a smaller mountain range and into the Tularosa Basin. To the east, beyond the vast basin. stood the Sacramento Mountains with 11,981' Sierra Blanca as the crowning glory. The high-powered German sports car hummed through the scrubby landscape. For centuries the Tularosa Basin was rich in grasses reaching five feet in height and artesian wells abounded as the basin had no natural water outlet. But cattlemen moved into the region in 1880s, and for the next sixty years, overgrazed the basin, destroying the top soil, depleting the water table to where the basin is now barren gypsum flats and wind-blown dunes with the spindly, small-leafed creosote bush as the major plant. The pungent, creosote scent was carried on the cool, predawn air.
The eastern sky was lightening; the sunrise would be breathtaking. Gradually, the dark sky became gold with blazing red clouds above the still dark mountains. Various reds and pinks reflected off the pure-white, gypsum sands to the west. The color show gave way to the blue morning sky. By late afternoon, the temperatures would be brutal, but now they were cool.
Entering Alamogordo was a return to man's domain. Gradually, the creosote bushes were scraped away and mobile homes were placed in the middle of the barren lots. No trees, no lawns, no other shrubs, nothing but bare dirt. If the residents were asked why they preferred the barren look, most would say something about keeping rattlesnakes away or they didn't have enough water in their cisterns or wells for superfluous landscaping.
Closer to town, leafy trees, shrubs and an occasional, frost-hardy, palm tree appeared, but even the country club golf course was not lush. It was just large enough and green enough to be considered a golf course. Mostly moderate to a few upscale homes crowded around the course so the residents could see the course's green grass and trees instead of colored gravel, cactus and yuccas that made up their home landscapes.
The town did not have high-rises except for the soaring Air and Space Museum. Most homes were one and two story, built when Alamogordo was a railroad town carrying lumber cut from the Sacramento Mountains. Today, the town of 32,000 relies on the US Government for support. Holloman Air Force Base and White Sands Missile Range are nearby. Twice a year, a tiny section of the White Sands Missile Range is open to the public, allowing visitors to stand on the Trinity Site where the first atomic bomb was tested. West of town is the White Sands National Monument with its 275 aces of pure-white, gypsum dunes for tourists, photographers, and movie companies to romp about.
Today's trip was not work related, vacation or to play tourist. Indeed, it was truly personal time that if fully investigated might get me in trouble with my employer, the US Army.
The rendezvous would be in a restaurant on the main street. The early morning breakfast rush was over. This was the second wave for ranchers who had put in several hours work, late rising tourists, and retirees. After they were fed, the mid-morning coffee break people would arrive before the lunch crowd began. The parking lot at El Camino was always full. I was fortunate to find street-side parking not far away.
I exited the small car and extended my tall frame to its full height while inhaling the aromas from the restaurant. My stomach rumbled in anticipation of another El Camino meal. By far the most popular breakfast item was Huevos Rancheros, eggs over a tortilla smothered in red or green chile sauce, sometimes both and called Christmas. Papas, chunks of fried potatoes, were served on the side, but the bacon aroma for full American breakfasts also filled the air.
When I opened the restaurant door, a slender Hispanic woman with an instant, welcoming smile exclaimed, "Colonel" as she hugged me. "It is always a pleasure to see you. We have your favorite. It has become popular as a breakfast item. We called it the "Colonel's Special."
This made me smile, "I am honored, Maria, but after all I've eaten many gallons of it over the years."
"Yes, but you started us serving it for breakfast," she laughed. "It's hard enough to sell vegetables, but who knew people would eat them for breakfast?" Her laughter and enthusiasm filled the entire restaurant. Often, El Camino's was casually referred to as Maria's Place for her hospitality.
Before Maria led me to a table, I stopped her. "Maria, I'm here to talk to the gentlemen in the back. Hopefully, they will invite me to join them. But first I need to freshen up."
"Of course, you know the way."
Instead of walking directly to the restrooms, I angled into the restaurant's center then towards the back wall. I had already scanned the room and continued scanning thanks to years of Army training. I did not stare at my target, but others stared at me. A 6'2" woman is indeed an oddity except on the basketball court. The man I needed to talk to sat at a table for six, but only five were present. A napkin and coffee cup indicated a sixth was probably in the restroom.
My objective sat with his back against the wall. He watched me approach. His eyes betrayed he thought he knew me from somewhere but couldn't put a face, name, and location together. I was not in uniform. It had been years since he had seen me through an alcohol haze. I had seen him several times since, but I was disguised. Time and experiences had added wrinkles around his dangerous eyes and his body was more muscular. His dark hair was longer now, hardly a military cut.
As I stepped to the table, he stood up out of courtesy, curiosity and military training. I stood straight and in my best commanding voice said, "Mr. Carlos Manoso?"
"Yes, ma'am."
The other three men at the table also stood, either out of good manners or military training. I knew the man at the far end was former Army. I had been briefed who else to expect. The blond with green eyes was Manoso's cousin through the maternal line. The darker-skinned man with closely shorn hair was also former military. The lone woman looked around and eventually stood, though uncertain why. Her hair was not neat like the gentlemen but rather a riotous tumble of brown curls to her shoulders. Her eyes were an amazing deep blue.
"Years ago in Billabong bar in the Philippines, you and your team knew me as Captain Bitch. Today, you may address me as Colonel Bitch" and I extended my hand to him.
Manoso's face was controlled but a variety of expressions washed through his eyes: surprise, remembrance, embarrassment, curiosity and respect. His eyes bore into me as he extended his hand, "Ma'am, I'm a bit vague on the particulars that day due to the fact you knocked my block off."
"Yes, you and your team were out of bounds, rowdy, disrespectful, and very well lubricated. One in particular was also crude and vulgar, Simpson," I said as I shook his hand. My hand was as large as his but his contained strength surpassing mine.
"Yes, ma'am," Manoso said.
"Gentlemen, I have a message for you from Silvio Rodriguez."
The name Silvio brought them into rapt attention. Silvio is Rangeman's main cybersecurity guru. Though he works out of Rangeman Miami, he oversees the digital operations in the four Rangeman cities. Last evening he texted Manoso, "Breakfast 0900 at El Cam." No doubt, Manoso expected Silvio to enter the restaurant, not someone from his Army past.
"Before I relay the message, I need to visit the facilities, down some coffee and eat. Gentlemen, orders from Silvio: Go dark, security shutdown. Now, excuse me, gentlemen, ma'am, and please be seated."
I watched as the men and lone woman lowered themselves into their chairs except for the gentleman at the end. He remained standing, staring at me not really sure what he was seeing. He was a big man or slightly taller than me. His blond hair was buzzed short, light blue eyes, with chest, shoulder and neck development better suited to an NFL lineman. When I last saw him, he was less massive; time has made him intimidating.
Everyone at the table looked at Manoso who nodded assent, "Follow the Colonel's orders." One by one, each withdrew their cell phones, turned them off and removed the SIM cards.
As I entered the restroom door, I glanced back and saw the big blond at the end of the table look at Ranger and cock an eyebrow as if to ask, 'Is it her?' Ranger nodded. The man pursed his lips together, and blew softly as he finally sat.
Lester Santos had spotted the tall, athletic woman as she entered the restaurant front door. She was unlike anything he had ever seen before. She was tall, probably over six feet, broad shouldered, tiny waist with a fine bust line in between. Her trousers were tight enough to show off her strong gluts and thighs. Her skin color was mocha, her hair short on the sides and wavy on the top. After talking to the hostess, she began walking with grace and authority towards their table. Her deep brown eyes scanned the room constantly. Immediately, Lester flashed on 'Amazon Warrior'. He could easily picture her in a very tight corset, knee-high boots, headband, with a sword in one hand and shield in another. He was getting a little tingly down below.
She had stopped next to Ranger and in a voice well suited to command, spoke firmly, "Mr. Carlos Manoso?"
She continued in a full voice, "Years ago in Billabong bar in the Philippines, you and your team knew me as Captain Bitch. Today, you may address me as Colonel Bitch."
Lester was shocked. Colonel? Perhaps he should have stayed in service if this was what command officers looked like now. Then again, now that he was out of service, he could make a play for her and not be brought up on charges of fraternization.
Lester was only half listening as she instructed everyone to go dark, security shutdown. Instead, he was more interested in getting a view of her backside as she walked towards the ladies' restroom. As beautiful as the front was, the back was even better. She could kick his ass any time.
Ranger watched his cousin lust after the Colonel. "Stow it Santos, she's already spoken for," he growled.
Lester's head swung around, "No! Who?"
Ranger shook his head. His cousin's libido was constantly in overdrive. Glancing at Bobby, he saw a similar lust. Perhaps he ought to order two pitchers of ice water and drench his two men. Life was going to get interesting in a moment anyway; he didn't need horny Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum complicating matters.
Ranger saw Tank leave the restroom and make his way back to the table.
"Tank, we have orders from Silvio; total shutdown," Ranger spoke.
"He called?" rumbled the deep bass voice as he lowered himself onto the chair.
"No, he sent a messenger and you are not going to believe who," Ranger replied.
Maria's daughter Juanita stopped by the table to refill coffee cups. "Will the Colonel be joining you?" she asked.
Ranger nodded yes. Tank overheard the question and was wondering what colonel Silvio would send. Silvio had been out of the Army for several years now. What contacts had he maintained?
Juanita apologized, "I am sorry I'm out of extra tables. Can you rearrange your seating?" She looked at the oversized men and wondered how the new addition could fit in.
Ranger nodded, "We'll manage."
As Stephanie finished snapping her cell phone back together, she whispered, "Who is this Colonel?"
Ranger looked at her and winked and quietly whispered, "Remember our discussion in the meadow last night?" Her eyes grew wide, she remembered.
Then in a louder voice so everyone at the table could hear, "After Ranger training, we were in the Philippines. A group of us went out drinking and causing trouble. We eventually ended up at an out-of-bounds Australian bar. The bartender and patrons tried to throw us out, we resisted. MPs were called. After that, it got ugly."
"And you got your block knocked off?"
"All of us did. By then, we were pretty shit-faced. We were young and thought ourselves invincible Rangers. Quickly and painfully, we learned how wrong we were, especially me," Ranger shook his head not wanting to relive the embarrassment.
"The Aussies did you in?" Lester asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
"No, just one person." Ranger noticed the Colonel had exited the restroom and talked with Juanita before slowly walking towards their table. Tank's back was to the approaching officer plus his mind was back in the Philippines. "Tank, do you remember Captain Bitch?" Ranger asked as he noted the officer neared.
The big man shot Ranger a look and muttered, "You know damn well I do."
"She's been promoted. Let me introduce you to Colonel Bitch."
Pierre suddenly swung around, jumped up and stared. For a moment he lost control of his face. He was confused. He didn't know if he should salute her, kiss her, be angry, or thankful. Instead, he just stared into her eyes and she stared back. He had waited years for this moment, even prayed for it. Slowly, she raised her hand and traced his jaw, "I hope there was no lasting damage."