Please note, all the names are fake because I didn't want to put anybody in a bad position, and this, this is a story of that ageless concept.
*
It was a beautiful drop. We were no Golden Knights, so as rank amateurs we felt pretty proud at having managed to put together a six-man star. Actually, five men and one woman, but that woman might just as well have been another man. I looked up as the UH-I we'd managed to secure for the day, flew overhead with another load of jumpers. It was a good thing that we were military because as civilians we'd never have been able to afford this kind of ride. Anyway, back to our star -- we'd closed it in under forty seconds, leaving us a whole ten seconds to fly it, break apart and dump parachutes to land safely. We were by no means National Competition quality, I mean, we still had to cut it down by twenty seconds to even be considered as a competitive team, but -- Damn, it felt good!
On the walk back to the assembly area, I collected Joyce and Spiller and we gabbed about how we'd come in and what we each thought we should be doing to close faster, and cut our times down. Closer to the assembly area, I spotted a few new parachutes, the popular model was the Para-Commander. Squares, the ram-airs were just beginning to gain a recognition and I noticed that one of the new parachutes was a Square. I dropped my Para-Commander, my "PC," in a clear spot, stripped off my jumpsuit and walked over to have a look at, and maybe, try to borrow it for a quick drop. I'd never jumped with one and I really wanted to try it out.
My eyes were too full of parachute to notice the good-looking chubby brunette seated on the parachute harness. The equipment, as it turned out, belonged to a good friend of mine named William Jackson. Jackson had more money than brains, I used to say. His parents back home in Biloxi owned a real estate business and whatever he wanted they got for him. He and I talked parachutes, characteristics and performance of the ram-air compared to the Para-Commander. Because he was a friend, I mentioned that I'd like to try and fly it, one of these days. He hinted that he might let me use it next weekend since he was having some surgery on his knee the Friday before. I told him that I'd certainly love the opportunity. I finally noticed the pretty lady sitting on his parachute harness maintaining back pressure for him to properly pack the parachute.
The brunette was very good-looking and my type of woman. She had a nice-sized rack, somewhere in the larger 40's and probably double-D's, beautifully rounded side and wide-hipped and black, probably Jackson's girlfriend, I thought. I smiled at her and said hi, she smiled and said hi back. Jackson looked around and told her to tighten it back a little more. She pushed her heels into the ground and pushed back, adding pressure to the lines. He looked at me and back at her and said for me to keep my hands to myself whenever I was around his sister. I chuckled and stood, I had "the Duty" that night and had to report in by 1700 which was about an hour away.
"Hello, Jackson's sister," I smiled at her again, "my name is Martìn Garcìa, but I'll let you call me Marti."
"Gina," she smiled as Jackson shook his head, "short for Regina Jackson."
"Well, Miss Gina," I smiled, "are you staying with your brother?" I shoved my arms into the sleeves of the shirt I'd been carrying, "breaking starch" as I talked and adjusted the SDNCO brassard on my sleeve.
"Yes," she smiled up at me, "yes I am," she kept smiling and looking up at me sideways, "are you always so "on" with people?" she suddenly asked.
"Okay, Gina," Jackson spoke up, "I'm done here, get off so I can stow the lines."
"Yes, SIR," she laughed at him, "yes, I am," she answered me.
I reached down and helped her up onto her feet. She was very pretty, she was short and, like I said my style of woman, short and adorably plumpish, not fat, far from it, just small and nicely rounded. "Good," I grinned holding my ground and standing less than a hand's width from her heavy tits.
"Answer her, Garcìa," Jackson called without turning, "are you always so "on," huh?" he threw the bagged parachute into the back-pack.
"I'll answer for him," Jackson grinned cruelly, hoping to destroy my chances with his sister, "in one word, yes. When it comes to women, he's always "on," so watch him carefully."
"May I call you?" I ignored Jackson, "I've got the "dirty duty" tonight, but I'm off after my night's duty and I'd like to call and see if we can't go have lunch or something."
"Hmm," she teased, "what do you say William, should I talk to this man?" she continued to smile, so I knew what the answer was going to be regardless of what "William" said. I smiled right back at her as I pulled my beret on my head.
"No!" he called vehemently, "not just no, but HELL NO!" he quickly slipped the locking pins home and stowed the pilot chute that was the rip-cord, something that was beginning to gain favor with skydivers, "that goddamn sneaky pete'll have your drawers hanging from his belt before you even realize he's trying to get what's in 'em!"
"Okay," she smiled, "call me around ten-ish, I like shrimp, okay?"
"I don't know why I even bother," Jackson muttered turning away.
I gave her the three-fingered boy scout salute.
"Are you really a Green Beret?"
"Special Forces," I responded automatically, "Green Berets are head-gear, and yes, I'm a certified, card-carrying Special Forces trooper, and I can even show you my Special Forces coin."
"Okay, Mr. Card--Carrying Special Forces trooper," Jackson stood up, towering over me, "enough's enough, don't you have to leave about now?"
"Tomorrow," Gina laughed, "okay?"
"Absolutely," I grinned and checked my watch. I had fifteen minutes to make my fifteen minute briefing before assuming the responsibility for the battalion.
Jackson stood there glowering fiercely. I thumped him in the belly and turned to walk to my car, smiling at Gina as I did.
"Yowp!" Jackson grunted, bending a little.
I could hear Gina, "aw, William, I'm old enough to take care of myself," and she giggled.
The duty was pretty routine, I issued travel orders to several soldiers departing on leaves, supervised the clean -up crew, fellow soldiers performing penance under Article 15's, made my entries in the log, and was chewing out a pissed-off junior NCO who didn't believe that he had to physically handle a mop on the cleanup crew because he "was an NCO." I was informing him, in rather crude terms, the error in his line of thinking, that he was on punishment cleanup duty which meant that he had no rank in this situation. I was in the middle of my tirade and just hitting my stride when Jackson's voice sounded behind me.
"At ease, Sergeant," he bawled out in his deep bass voice, "we have a lady on the post."
"To your duty," I interrupted myself. The buck sergeant gave me a dirty look, but he was a professional and took his mop.
"Sergeant Jackson," I roared, turning to him, fully prepared to lay in on him as well, but there was Gina looking wide-eyed at me. She did have a lovely pair of hazel eyes. Suddenly she smiled, dazzling me with it's brilliance.
"Isn't what you told him a physical impossibility," she began to laugh as she recalled what I'd been suggesting to the young sergeant.
I didn't even blink, "he's a professional, and if I require it of him, he'll get it done," at that Jackson roared in laughter, Gina joined him, and I soon joined in, seeing the absurdity of my last statement.
She walked up to me and slipped an arm around my waist, wiping the tears of laughter off her face with the other. Jackson's laughter stopped as soon as he saw my arm drape around her shoulders.
"Oh, go do your paperwork," she waved him off, "I'll wait for you right here with Marti while you do it, you don't need my distractions,"
"I don't know why I even bother," Jackson muttered as he strode away.
I stepped into the Battalion Commander's office and borrowed his well cushioned office chair, and set it beside mine. She thanked me and I told her that she was very welcome. I quickly made the required notations in the duty log and picked up the phone, entered the Brigade net, and waited to report to the Brigade Duty Officer.
"Third Battalion, Negative SitRep," I stated when my turn came, listening to him say, "roger, roger, Third Battalion Negative SitRep, over."
"Third Battalion, off the net, out," I hung up.
"Ooh, military talk," she grinned.
"Absolutely," I smiled at her, "nothing but military talk on a military installation," she laughed again.
"I've got to make an inspection round of the building," I stood up after making the required notations, "walk with me?" I held out a hand to her.
"Ooh, yes," she smiled suspecting what I felt like doing, were I given half a chance.
I usually started in the basement and worked my way up, get a view of the "lake" by the Rod and Gun Club, but I thought it over and started the tour upstairs. I checked the various areas that a good fire-watch was required to check, checking the various coffee pots to make sure they were unplugged, no classified documents were out in the open, and the clean-up crews were doing their jobs properly. I kept up a steady conversation, finding out a lot more about her than she probably wanted to say. She was 26 had a 12 year old girl and a 10 year old boy. It had taken her to the age of 17 before she "learned her lesson." The girl's name was Natasha and the boy's name was Joshua. It kind of surprised me that she had a 12 year old, she must have been around 14 when she had her. It didn't stop anything, I figured that at least she knew what was what and wouldn't be surprised by "things." So we went on. I checked the areas the cleaning crew had finished, that way once they were done, all I'd have to check were the downstairs areas.
My last check on our impromptu tour was in the basement, making sure that the electric switching for the furnace and air conditioning were functional. There was also a stack of mattresses down there, along with bedding and cots. In case of necessity or national or natural emergencies, the staff had something to sleep on.
Gina prodded the mattresses as I looked over the switches and inspected the rest of the basement. I switched off the flashlight, an L shaped military light, as I turned. She lay back on the stacked mattresses, her sandals off and a knee bent as she lay there. Her skirt had slid down the upraised knee, showing what looked like a pair of black panties underneath.
