Beach Head paced in front of the greenshirts. Duke had told him to hold off on running them until he arrived. Beach Head was not at all happy about doing so. Duke was taking forever to show up. The greenshirts could have already done their stretches and be on the tower. Beach Head was beyond irate. His mood was only going to get worse.
His internal ranting was interrupter as Duke and Falcon walked up to the group. The addition of the lady's man did not please Beach Head. He had no use for Falcon. "Bout damn time! What's so all fired important that I had to stall trainin'? And what's he doin' here?" He pointed to Falcon, not at all happy.
Duke smirked. "Hawk wants them to go through a little extra training. New course is being built..."
"Extra!" Beach Head did not like the implication that his training was not enough.
Duke nodded and looked at his watch. "Be here any moment now."
"What will be?"
As if on cue, a jeep came into view, coming their way. They watched as Shipwreck drove up with a female passenger. Duke, like the gentleman he was, beat his brother to the door and offered a hand to the woman. She looked at his hand then his face then his hand again. She ignored the hand and stepped from the jeep of her own accord. Shipwreck laughed.
"Can it, Barnacle Breath." She turned and glared at him. He just grinned back. "Damn salty dog," she muttered as she walked forward and looked at the greenshirts before turning to Duke.
"Hey! Not my fault he mistaken you for a lady." He raised his hands in defense as she narrowed her eyes at him. She snorted finally and gave her attention to Duke. "Reportin' for duty." She did not salute or give him a sir.
Duke hid a grin. Beach Head was in for it. He looked at the Ranger. "Beach Head, meet Jezebel."
Beach eyed the five foot five woman before him. Her hair was deep chocolate and apparently long if the bun at the base of her skull meant anything. She wore camouflage fatigue pants, a black tank top, dog tags, and army boots. She looked like a miniature female Slaughter minus the hat. She even had the sun glasses, which she removed to eye him. Her hands were encase in quarter finger gloves as well. He assessed her then grunted in greeting.
"A real charmer," she said, smiling. Her accent had a hillbilly twang that made his ears perk up.
"Not paid to be charmin'. Now, if you are finished, I mean to get started," he said to Duke. He turned to the greenshirts. "Stand tall you yahoos! Straight line! We've been through this before! Wipe off that grin, Falcon, or you'll be joinin' 'em! I don't give a shit if that beret's gold and yer wearin' a star." He glared at the man.
Jezebel watched Beach Head work, smirking. She like his style. He would do everything in his power to make the greenshirts fail in an attempt to make them better soldiers. She could respect him for that, but he would have to do a lot to get her total respect. Duke's hand on her shoulder cut into her observations. "He's a hardass, but he's good at his job."
"So I see. That's alright. I'm a hardass, too. Think I'll observe for a while fore I decide how ta help." She whistled and a large dog jumped out of the back of the jeep.
"Aw hell! Not another damn flea bag!" Beach Head complained.
"Killer ain't just a flea bag," she defended. To emphasize that point, it seemed, Killer stood up and put his front paws on Beach Head's shoulders. Beach Head found himself eye to eye with the Irish Wolfhound/Great Dane mix. The damn thing was taller than him.
"Get this mutt off me!" He yelled. He glared from the master to the dog and back again. She merely moved her hand, like she had to get him to stand though they had missed it, and Killer dropped back to the ground and moved to her side and sat. She patted his head, which was equal to her bossom. Beach Head growled deep in his throat. The day was going to be very long, as were the ones to follow. He could just feel it.
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By lunch that first day, Beach Head was very surly. More so than normal. The new drill instructor had not said a word to him that day after he met her dog. He was not at all impressed with her. In fact, over the following two and a half weeks, his opinion never changed. She rarely spoke, and when she did they normally ended up fighting if it was a lengthy conversation. (More than one or two sentences.) The fights always dwindled into pointless debates over stupid little things. Frankly, most of the time they wanted to kill one another. The two and a half weeks passed quickly for those betting on when Jezebel and Beach Head were going to kill one another. The pot was getting mighty steep. Even Shipwreck and Flint were in higher graces, it seemed, than the fiery little woman. From the way she talked clear down to how she tied her boots, Beach Head bitched about it all. She did nothing right and her dog was a menace to all life. Beach Head loved nothing better than to give her hell.
Jezebel, for her part, took it all in stride. Flint told her she held up under Beach Head better than most would. She just shrugged it off, doing her best to not let the 'dumbass, southern tight wad' to get in the way of her job. She was also biding her time. During biding her time, after about a week, something about Beach Head slowly started to change in her eyes. He was just as annoying as normal, but he was also intriguing, intimidating to the others... almost attractive.
Little did anyone know that Jezebel would be a saint in his eyes after he met another new Joe... Reaper.
His internal ranting was interrupter as Duke and Falcon walked up to the group. The addition of the lady's man did not please Beach Head. He had no use for Falcon. "Bout damn time! What's so all fired important that I had to stall trainin'? And what's he doin' here?" He pointed to Falcon, not at all happy.
Duke smirked. "Hawk wants them to go through a little extra training. New course is being built..."
"Extra!" Beach Head did not like the implication that his training was not enough.
Duke nodded and looked at his watch. "Be here any moment now."
"What will be?"
As if on cue, a jeep came into view, coming their way. They watched as Shipwreck drove up with a female passenger. Duke, like the gentleman he was, beat his brother to the door and offered a hand to the woman. She looked at his hand then his face then his hand again. She ignored the hand and stepped from the jeep of her own accord. Shipwreck laughed.
"Can it, Barnacle Breath." She turned and glared at him. He just grinned back. "Damn salty dog," she muttered as she walked forward and looked at the greenshirts before turning to Duke.
"Hey! Not my fault he mistaken you for a lady." He raised his hands in defense as she narrowed her eyes at him. She snorted finally and gave her attention to Duke. "Reportin' for duty." She did not salute or give him a sir.
Duke hid a grin. Beach Head was in for it. He looked at the Ranger. "Beach Head, meet Jezebel."
Beach eyed the five foot five woman before him. Her hair was deep chocolate and apparently long if the bun at the base of her skull meant anything. She wore camouflage fatigue pants, a black tank top, dog tags, and army boots. She looked like a miniature female Slaughter minus the hat. She even had the sun glasses, which she removed to eye him. Her hands were encase in quarter finger gloves as well. He assessed her then grunted in greeting.
"A real charmer," she said, smiling. Her accent had a hillbilly twang that made his ears perk up.
"Not paid to be charmin'. Now, if you are finished, I mean to get started," he said to Duke. He turned to the greenshirts. "Stand tall you yahoos! Straight line! We've been through this before! Wipe off that grin, Falcon, or you'll be joinin' 'em! I don't give a shit if that beret's gold and yer wearin' a star." He glared at the man.
Jezebel watched Beach Head work, smirking. She like his style. He would do everything in his power to make the greenshirts fail in an attempt to make them better soldiers. She could respect him for that, but he would have to do a lot to get her total respect. Duke's hand on her shoulder cut into her observations. "He's a hardass, but he's good at his job."
"So I see. That's alright. I'm a hardass, too. Think I'll observe for a while fore I decide how ta help." She whistled and a large dog jumped out of the back of the jeep.
"Aw hell! Not another damn flea bag!" Beach Head complained.
"Killer ain't just a flea bag," she defended. To emphasize that point, it seemed, Killer stood up and put his front paws on Beach Head's shoulders. Beach Head found himself eye to eye with the Irish Wolfhound/Great Dane mix. The damn thing was taller than him.
"Get this mutt off me!" He yelled. He glared from the master to the dog and back again. She merely moved her hand, like she had to get him to stand though they had missed it, and Killer dropped back to the ground and moved to her side and sat. She patted his head, which was equal to her bossom. Beach Head growled deep in his throat. The day was going to be very long, as were the ones to follow. He could just feel it.
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By lunch that first day, Beach Head was very surly. More so than normal. The new drill instructor had not said a word to him that day after he met her dog. He was not at all impressed with her. In fact, over the following two and a half weeks, his opinion never changed. She rarely spoke, and when she did they normally ended up fighting if it was a lengthy conversation. (More than one or two sentences.) The fights always dwindled into pointless debates over stupid little things. Frankly, most of the time they wanted to kill one another. The two and a half weeks passed quickly for those betting on when Jezebel and Beach Head were going to kill one another. The pot was getting mighty steep. Even Shipwreck and Flint were in higher graces, it seemed, than the fiery little woman. From the way she talked clear down to how she tied her boots, Beach Head bitched about it all. She did nothing right and her dog was a menace to all life. Beach Head loved nothing better than to give her hell.
Jezebel, for her part, took it all in stride. Flint told her she held up under Beach Head better than most would. She just shrugged it off, doing her best to not let the 'dumbass, southern tight wad' to get in the way of her job. She was also biding her time. During biding her time, after about a week, something about Beach Head slowly started to change in her eyes. He was just as annoying as normal, but he was also intriguing, intimidating to the others... almost attractive.
Little did anyone know that Jezebel would be a saint in his eyes after he met another new Joe... Reaper.