Chapter 4

The ground heaved beneath me; aerial bombardment. Voices were calling my name. The unit was moving out, I thought I heard the helicopters' beating the air. I was under my camouflage ghillie. Something was wrong, I couldn't get up, was the ghillie snagged? The unit leader kept calling. They would leave me behind if I didn't get moving. I tried to scream but I couldn't breathe.

The enemy would soon be here, I had to get away! Someone grabbed me and I tried lashed out but my left arm wouldn't move. Who was holding me down? My right fist found something solid. "Major, wake up! "Damnit Major Pappas, wake up! Frosyni!"

I was covered in sweat, my body screaming in pain. My eyes focused on a large well-muscled dark man in loose pants but no shirt. Friend or foe? I watched him carefully. Where was I: Caribbean, Central or South America, maybe Africa?

He talked to me, but I couldn't understand him. He ran his massive hand over my right shoulder and arm. I stiffened. Don't touch me! I tried to hit him but he held my arm down.

I stared at him. Who was he? I started to shiver then gag. Suddenly I was carried to a toilet where all hell broke loose. My chest was screaming or maybe that was me. I may have blacked out because I was later aware of being wiped down with a warm cloth.

After a while I was back in a bed but still shivering. The shirtless man crawled into bed with me and wrapped his body around mine. All I could mumble was, "I love you daddy." I felt him gasp before I fell asleep.

"Major...Frosyni..."

"No," I think I mumbled.

"Efrosyni, wake up."

When I awoke, two men and a woman were at my bedside. One man was shirtless; the other was dressed in what appeared to be blacks BDUs. The woman was in some weird tribal outfit with what appeared to be kittens on the fabric. I whispered to the one dressed in black, "Sir, why is the corpsman out of uniform?" Everyone looked troubled.

"What do you remember, Major?"

"Major? I'm not a major, sir."

"Who you are?"

"Sir, Cadet Pappas, sir."

"She needs to be in hospital." Bobby said.

"What's wrong?" The shirtless man asked.

Could be a delayed brain bleed, stroke or drug poisoning.

A week later I was back in the familiar house, Tank's house. There may have been a brain bleed, the results were inconclusive. For certain I was very reactive to one of the meds and was slowly being poisoned. Tank laid the food tray across my lap, tea and toast. I still wasn't up for much food. He turned to leave, "I'll be back."

"Yes, Arnold" I replied in a lowered voice with an Austrian accent.

He turned and was concerned I was hallucinating again, then flashed a million dollar smile. "I'm glad you are back."

"I'm very happy to be back up here," I said tapping my head. "And happy back here," I said as my right arm swept generally around my bedroom. We had been through a lot together these past 2 or 3 weeks and we were getting very comfortable with one another.

"Sergeant …." I said as he was exiting the door.

"Yes ma'am?" he said automatically.

I smiled, "Thank you." I suspected he had been a sergeant; he had that aura of control and command. Pity he wasn't still in service, I wouldn't mind having him on my staff. I stopped for a moment. Was this another drug reaction or was I finding him….what? Friendly, personable, interesting, capable?

The nurse, Charlotte, came for a few hours each morning to tend to my physical needs; the burns were healing the broken bones still presented mobility problems. Stephanie came in the early afternoon to keep an eye on me and prepare a light meal. I quickly learned she was not a cook.

"You don't like fried chicken?" she gasped. She had stopped at some drive- thru called Cluck in a Bucket on her way to Tank's house.

"The nurse and doctor said light meal. Fried chicken and potato salad are not a light meal," I said.

"Should I have gotten nuggets instead?"

I wanted to shake my head in amazement; she really knows nothing about preparing food. "Nothing greasy, please," I said. "A simple sandwich is fine."

"I wasn't sure there was peanut butter and olives in Tank's kitchen."

I shuddered to think what she'd do with peanut butter and olives. "I imagine Tank or Charlotte left sliced meat in the deli drawer or a red and white soup can in the pantry," I replied.

Stephanie moved on, "Major, we really need to address you hair. Ella's niece is a hair dresser and is coming over. She will figure out what to do."

"Thank goodness, I'm offending myself," I uttered. Nurse Charlotte had used the dry shampoo on my hair as water on the burned area was still painful, but the hair wasn't clean or had the burned sections been removed.

The niece and Ella arrived and immediately the question was "where" to wash. Due to the neck and face burns and the awkward arm, the shower was out. The broken ribs ruled out bending over a sink. Tank's kitchen had a very long counter on one side of the sink. I would stretch out on the counter. I giggled, I never giggle; I've been out of uniform for too long.

"What's funny?" Stephanie asked.

I'm glad Tank isn't here. Don't want him to think I am a Sushi model.

Ella and her niece laughed, Stephanie looked confused.

"Women food models who lay naked on a buffet table as Sushi is served off their body," I explained.

"They what?" She gasped.

"The practice is called Nyotaimori, dates back to the time of the Samurai."

"How do people? You know….."

I wasn't sure of the 'how' part of her question, so answered, "With chopsticks."

"No, no, the food, how is it served- on plates?"

"Depends on where it is …" I answered.

"Do certain parts of the body require plates and others don't?" She was very uncomfortable with the whole idea.

I glanced at Ella. She had a very bemused expression. She was enjoying Stephanie's discomfort. My mind ran with various answers, but decided to show I was an officer and a lady-sometimes. "It varies with the country and sanitation rules, but plates are generally not used, they are too slippery. Traditionally the food is served from the skin or maybe artfully arranged banana leaves. In countries with more strict sanitary rules, clear plastic covers the body."

"Like Saran wrap?"

"No, something a little thicker is used in commercial restaurants, though Saran would work for private parties where the health department wouldn't show up."

"Have you….?"

"No. To keep the skin cool, it is iced down often. I do not tolerate ice or snow on my skin. Second, the women have to be geisha-like; petite and flat.

"I would think you'd make a nice long buffet table." She smirked.

I deserved the smirk, "If the woman is too muscled, curvy, or fat the food falls off."

Everyone laughed, especially Stephanie as apparently she was mentally picturing someone.

"Maybe they need men on the table," Nita offered.

For the briefest moment I thought of a company of shirtless Delta Force guys at Bragg; that would have made quite a buffet. "It's done."

I noticed Stephanie and Ella exchanged glances. Wonder what they were thinking?

Once off the counter, I was sitting in a dining room chair and Nita began combing and cutting my hair. Stephanie and Ella watched. "I'm also glad Tank isn't here," Stephanie murmured. "He wanted to know if there was any way to keep the long hair."

"Me too" I replied.

"About half of your hair was burned. Along the right side you have only an inch left that is salvageable. Women pay big bucks for a punk long and short cut, but I don't think it would meet Army regulations," Nita said.

Nita carefully worked around the burned area. When complete all three, Stephanie, Ella, and Nita stood back and smiled, "It's cute."

"I don't do cute," was my terse reply. "Speaking of which, isn't it time I have real clothes? The long silk gowns make me look like a dark skin Jean Harlow. I don't want to be exciting Tank."

Stephanie leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms. "Actually we think the clothes are a good idea. We have been worried about Tank ever since he and Lula split up months ago. Now with Ranger away, Tank is in command. He's been sullen. You've bright light back into his eyes."

"What ranger, whose command and me," I sputtered "I think we need to start at the beginning." Was I having a drug reaction relapse?

I paid Nita generously for my hair wash and cut, "Sounds like you did an excellent job, thank you. Maybe a nice hair style will give me courage to look in the mirror."

Nita and Ella left. Stephanie found sliced turkey in the refrigerator deli drawer and made sandwiches. "What no olives?" I teased.

"You like olives?"

"Stephanie, I'm half Greek, I love olives."

She jumped up and came back with a dish with several dozen olives. "I guess I share these with you," she smiled.

As we ate I learned about the security company called Rangeman, founder Ricardo Carlos Manoso and the employees Stephanie calls the Merry Men.

"So Carlos Manoso, nick name Ranger, is at another business location," I stated.

"At least that is what he told me, but it's been too long now. He might have been called to his government job."

"He's a federal employee with a private business on the side?"

"No, he does Army business."

"Then he's a contractor?" I asked.

"No, he's a soldier, they call him back for special jobs," she explained.

"Ah, he's IRR," I said though this felt different.

'I don't know what that is" she mumbled.

Didn't I have this talk with Tank or somebody? For some reason mercenary stuck in my mind.

"Doesn't matter," I quickly changed the topic. "Rangeman has a concierge doctor, Bobby Brown who prefers to be called a medic from his Army days."

Stephanie shook her head yes. "I've never thought of Bobby as a concierge doctor. To me he is a former Special Forces Ranger medic tending the guys, doing security work, or even going on missions with Ranger."

Was Rangeman a disguise for a team of mercenaries? I didn't know.

"Ranger, Bobby, Tank, Hal and Lester have served together in the Army and later in their government work. Hal was the first to leave their contract jobs, then, Tank and Bobby. Lester hasn't been called away for a year now. Maybe he is finished too. Only Ranger remains."

"Are most Rangeman employees military?" I asked.

"Most but not all," she replied. "My boyfriend, a cop, thinks Rangeman employees are from the Jersey State Penal System."

"Are there some?"

"I suspect a few might, but Ranger saw something in them and gave them a new start, structure in their life. I think Hector might be one, but I'm not certain."

"And your position with Rangeman?"

"Ah, that's complicated."

We then moved on to Stephanie's life. It sounded like she has been conflicted over her two relationships, one with the police detective and the other with Ranger. Recently she had made a decision and was waiting for something, she didn't say what. Her mother sounded like a typical middle class woman who sought only a husband and family and was now pushing the same on her daughters. One was married to a less than stellar attorney and Stephanie was being nudged back to the altar by her mother.

She worked as a bond apprehension agent with Lula. This was the second time she mentioned the name. When bond apprehension didn't pay her bills, she worked at Rangeman as a search coordinator.

"So Tank and Lula are no longer together?" I asked.

"Lula was hot to marry Tank but Tank wasn't. As far as I know, Tank has never had a true girl friend or love in his life, outside of his cats. This is why you being here is such a novelty for us observers."

"Nothing has happened. He's been a perfect gentleman, but I will admit, the night I had that drug reaction, he crawled in bed to keep me warm and he was very comfortable. I haven't had a man in my bed before and it felt nice."

"You haven't had a man in your bed?" Stephanie asked astonished.

"Nope, never. No wait, my father would hold me if I had a nightmare or I was ill. Maybe that's why Tank felt so good. He felt like my father."

"Seriously, you've never, you know, had sex with a man?'' Her eyes were wide in disbelief.

"I've never had a sexual relationship or any relationship with a man or woman. I'm celibate."

Stephanie's eyes nearly fell out of her head. "Why, are you also a nun? Can nuns be soldiers?"

I still hurt too much to laugh so I had to hold my breath. Finally I inhaled slowly, "I'm hardly a nun," I replied.

Stephanie thought for a while, "I can't understand, if you are not a nun, why are you willingly celibate? It's not natural."

I've killed, Stephanie. I've killed quite a few people. I was a sniper for a while. I've worked this out with psychiatrists, now it is between the Lord and me. I don't need to complicate my life with relationships or even casual sex without marriage."

She remained quiet. Was she embarrassed after what she told me about her life?

"Stephanie, I am not judging you and your relationships," I said.

I continued, "My military life is a very structured life. If I were to start with sex outside of marriage, I suspect I would find it very…..distracting. Lives depend on me being able to do my job well. To maintain a high level I have to stay focused on my work and continually train and upgrade my skills."

"What do you mean train and upgrade your skills?" Her eyes showed she was thinking about something else. Had she heard this before?

"I need to be my best physically and mentally. I am exceptionally strong for a woman because I work at it. I'm not into body building for competition, I need the extra fat for endurance, but I need a body that works like a machine, a strong agile machine.

I'm also a computer specialist. I must remain on the cutting edge if not be the one creating the edge. All this takes time at the expense of a social life.

Finally, I need a spiritual life. Without it, my life has little value. Most people try to make sense by materialistic pleasures; new cars, electronics, for example. Or they fall to sensual or addictive pleasures; sex, food, drugs, alcohol, or constantly monitoring their cell phones. If you don't believe the last one, take a cell phone away from someone and watch them dissolve. We see it constantly in basic training. Anyway, all are poor substitutes for a spiritual life. My spiritual work-outs are just as intense as time spent in field training or working out."

"Do you eat bark and berries?" she asked with a gleam in her eye.

I gave her my stone face. Where did that question come from?

"Ranger has a disciplined diet."

I smiled. "Yes, Steph, to keep sharp one has to eat sharp. The exception is out in the field, then bark and berries would be preferred to some of the prepacked garbage we get."

"Is that why you turned down the friend chicken?"

"Generally I pop off the coating, but right now the residual oil is still upsetting to my stomach. The meds did a number on it as well as my brain."