There is something about the military. I can tell you, you become family. Maybe even more than family. Once you've sweated, bled, cried and triumphed with a person, you know them. There doesn't have to be secrets anymore. You share everything. Pain. Sorrow. Success. And failure. By God you all share in the failure!
Like I said, you share everything, so it wasn't surprising when my fire team partner Corporal Oakley showed me pictures of his Girl. Since forever grunts have stared cracked, bent, faded pictures of that special Gal. She is the reason he fights, what is waiting for him back home, his whole world. It is a scene that has played out for as long as there have been soldiers I'd guess.
Oakley's girl was a medic in the army. He'd met her on a course a few years back. Like I said, you get to know people deep down in the army.
She was a few years older than him, and you never met a guy more proud of his girl! He showed me the usual couple's vacation shots, at first.
You had to give it to the guy; he was punching above his weight! Don't get me wrong he wasn't an ugly dude or anything, but she was pretty hot! I think he said she was from some Mediterranean country originally. She had olive skin and full lips. She may have been 10 years older than Oakley, but damn she was pretty, fit, and she knew how to dress.
As the weeks went on the training got tough. Long days without sleep, slogging through the bush at night, digging in the dirt during the day. People broke down. You would see someone stumble under their load, and steady them. I caught Oakley one day when he was carrying a water jerry. They weigh fifty pounds on top of what we already carry. Oakley was a tough little guy, but we were all exhausted. I helped him up and tossed the heavy can on my other shoulder. Oakley 's red rimmed eyes looked gratefully up at me. He gave a quick nod and we marched on. At the next way-point I gathered in our section and got everyone to drink their canteens down. Then I divied out the water to everyone as much as I could. When we marched again, Oakley had the can back, significantly lighter. You might not understand, but Oakley was grateful. He had to carry his part, and he had to keep going. If I did it for him, it would have looked bad.
That's how course is. You learn to look out for Buddy. He looks out for you. Me? I am lucky. I am a farm kid. I grew up tall and strong hauling bales and milking cows. It seems like a cliché I know, but farm kids really do make good soldiers. We're used to hardship and early hours. At 6' 4" and 220 pounds I stood out like a sore thumb in the army, but I got things done, and I guess the Officers liked that.
We got to our position a few hours before sunset. Oakley and I gladly dropped our heavy packs in some cover and waited until the LT showed us where our trench would be. I took first shift on the shovel, partly to give my fire team partner a rest, and partly because no one can dig like I can!
As I carved out what would be our home for the next few hours or days, Oakley was in the prone position scanning the horizon through the scope of his LMG. As soldiers do, we got to chatting quietly, partly to make sure that the exhausted Oakley stayed awake on his watch. He got to talking about his girl. He talked about how they met, and about traveling to Europe together. He talked about the way her hair smelled, and the color of her skin.
"Alright, Buddy," I teased him, "time to take a turn on the shovel here before you end up humping a gopher hole, thinking about Catalina so much."
Oakley eased up from behind the rifle and dug out his cell phone. He pulled it from a plastic bag and unlocked it. He browsed for a minute and then tossed me his phone.
Taking up the shovel he told me, "I ain't kidding man, she is the hottest! Check out our trip to Cuba!"
I got down behind the LMG and started dividing my time between scanning the horizon and scrolling through Oakley's vacation snaps. There were the white sandy beaches, and the beautiful hotel. There were pictures of fancy dinners and selfies of the two of them with their heads together. I chuckled at Oakley's scruffy excuse for an off-duty beard.
Oakley was looking over my shoulder. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he said as he went back to digging.
The pictures started to be beach shots. Catalina in cut offs and a large sun hat. Then one of her peeling the shorts down to reveal a bikini underneath! Oakley was right. She was a very hot lady! The next few were various poses in the bikini. In one she was walking seductively into the ocean, throwing a sultry look over her shoulder. The next she was coming up out of the surface, water dripping from her long dark hair. The suit had gone somewhat transparent, and I thought I could make out thick, dark nipples pressing against her tiny top!
Buddy's girl or no, this long in the field I was getting pretty hard already. I was glad that I was lying on my belly, so Oakley couldn't see my obvious reaction to his photos. I shifted uncomfortably and looked back to the horizon, trying to calm myself.
It wasn't much use and pretty soon I went back to scrolling through the pictures on his phone. After more very exciting pictures from the beach, there was a picture inside the room in their hotel. Catalina had a fluffy white towel wrapped around her, and was looking seductively at the camera. I slid my finger across the screen for the next image. It was Catalina, holding the towel behind her in outstretched arms. She was gloriously nude! Her skin showed no tan lines, and her breasts were full and round, with chocolate kiss nipples. Her narrow waist was accentuated by her hips being cocked to one side playfully. She had only a narrow strip of pubic hair, and I could see the full lips of her vagina, pouting deliciously underneath. She had a beautiful smile that showed white teeth as she posed.
I stared longer than I should have before I tore my eyes from the image and called out in a shaky voice, "I think there are more pictures here than you intended to show me, Oaks"
He laughed, "Oh you finally found those did you? Didn't I tell you she was hot?"
I agreed whole heartedly, but I managed a weak protest, "Yeah, but I shouldn't be looking at these."
"Relax buddy, she knew I was taking these pictures on course," he laughed. "She told me to go ahead and show the boys if I wanted,"
"Holy!" I exclaimed, "You're kidding?"
"Nope," Oakley shot me his best shit eating grin. "Keep scrolling!"
Maybe I shouldn't have, but I couldn't resist. There were dozens of shots. Oakley's girl pretty much posed for an entire spread. There were shots of her squeezing her breasts, and shots of her bent over the bed. In each photo her expressions just oozed sensuality, and sex. There were glamour poses and hard, raunchy images. In one series she was leaning back with her legs spread wide. Her pussy gaped open. She slid her fingers inside herself, and showed off delicate spans of wetness between her fingers.
I could feel my hard cock leaking my excitement into my underwear as I scrolled through the images. I got to one image only to see Catalina's full Spanish lips wrapped around a pale white cock that had to belong to Oakley. That's when I heard an ominous whistle in the distance.
Oakley heard it too. He called out "Arty, Arty, Arty!" and dropped into our nearly completed trench. I scooped up his phone and the machine gun and dove into the trench next to him. It was a simulated artillery round going off a several hundred meters from our position! An arty-sim is a quarter stick of dynamite and some pyrotechnics. It makes a lot of noise and a bright flash of light. Even a simulated artillery round can be dangerous if you are too close. The drill is the same either way: get into cover!
We heard a series of arty-sims going off in the distance and had to keep our heads down.
"Somebody is sure getting pounded hard," I muttered into the tight confines of the unfinished trench.
"They sure are-" Oakley started, "Oh my God dude! Are you sprung?!"
I looked down, and probably less than a foot from Oakley's face was my fucking woody pressing against the thin material of my uniform! There was even an obvious wet spot where I had leaked right through.
For a moment we looked at my hard-on pitching this huge tent, and then we looked at each other. In unison we burst out laughing! Like I said, there is no privacy, and no need for privacy, when you've been in the field long enough. Everyone gets it.
As our laughing subsided into chuckles we could hear machine gun fire starting up closer to our position. We were back to business, checking our ammo belts and preparing for an attack. Right on time, it began to rain.
That was the beginning of a thirty hour battle. There was smoke and tear gas to contend with, the directing staff yelling everywhere. Thunder flashes and arty-sims went off every few moments. Under cover of blank machine gun fire we dragged 'wounded' to casualty collection points during the night. Through it all Corporal Oakley and I were side by side.
Back at barracks, after a scalding hot shower and a good twelve hours of rack time Oakley and I were looking at two crisp, white, weekend leave passes. If you've never gotten one, I can tell you that those passes look like pressed heaven on Earth after a few weeks on an army base.
"Well, I guess I'll go to town, and grab a hotel," I told Oakley. I was half the country away from the farm.
"Like Hell, Corporal," Oakley demanded in his best imitation of our Sergeant, "It is only a two hour bus ride to my place, and you are coming."
I made a weak protest about him getting time to himself with Catalina, but we both knew I would be glad to have company, so far from home.
In no time we were on a bus, arm in arm laughing. Oakley had snuck a bottle of gin on the bus and we were taking subtle nips from it, enjoying freedom!
