Author's note: This story does not have as much sex as my other stories do. My usual modus operandi is to get to the action quick, and include a lot of dirty details. This one is longer, and more detailed, about my second deployment to Iraq in the late 2000's and my return home. Like several of my stories, it is based on true events. If you are looking for a lurid tale that gets to the action quick, you may want to look elsewhere. This story was actually like a catharsis for me because I've never written about my experiences overseas. It is a long read, and I hope you enjoy!
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It's 2 in the morning...
GONG! GONG! GONG! INCOMING! INCOMING! INCOMING!
GONG! GONG! GONG! INCOMING! INCOMING! INCOMING!
The base klaxon was going off.
Three months into my deployment, I now instinctively roll off my twin bed, grab my helmet, and roll back under the bed.
This is Balad Air Base, Iraq in the late 2000's. Known to my Army comrades as Life Support Area (LSA) Anaconda. Known to all as 'Mortaritaville', a play on Jimmy Buffett's famous song because it is also a favorite target for insurgents to launch rockets and mortars at (usually with little to no damage or casualties). Balad is home to about 28,000 US service members of all branches.
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTT!
The C-RAM (Counter Rocket, Artillery, Mortar) just went off. It ALWAYS startles me. It is so loud, and the bullets fly so fast you cannot hear the individual shots. The C-RAM is basically a land-based Phalanx system you see on US Navy ships. It is an automated 20mm gatling gun designed to shoot down cruise missiles fired at ships but now adapted to shoot down rockets and mortars. To get a good idea of what it does, kindly look up online.
Balad is so big that the klaxon only goes off if the mortars or rockets are predicted to land in your 'sector' of the base. This is also known as 'indirect fire", or IDF for short.
WHOOMP! WHOOMP! A two second delay...WHOOMP!
Three rounds impacted nearby, but far enough away to sound like a deep 'whoomp' instead of an explosion.
My 'hooch', or quarters, is a small white trailer with sandbags around it, and concrete T-barriers, but no protection on the roof. So, I stayed under the bed as I grabbed my LMR (Land Mobile Radio) and changed the channel to the Security Forces channel. They are always the first responders to the impact sites. I figured the six inches of mattress might provide some protection from shrapnel if my roof got hit.
At the time, I was in charge of about 300 US Air Force personnel conducting 24-hour ops. I had folks working at both ends of the airfield and also living in two different areas, so I wanted to know if the rounds impacted near my troops, either at work or in their hooches. They were my responsibility, and I had to know if they were OK.
The radio crackled to life with Security Forces reporting in. Fortunately, the rounds had impacted between the runways and did not cause any damage or casualties. Apparently, the C-RAM had intercepted four other rounds.
Rubbing my eyes and taking my helmet off, I thought to myself, "This shit is really getting old."
The insurgents had been more active than usual the last few nights, usually launching rockets at us between one and three in the morning. Intel tells us that what they usually do is stick some metal tubes in a ditch pointed roughly in our direction, then use a dryer timer to set them off, long after they had left the area.
The Army had counter-fire teams with their own mortars to send 120mm of hate back at the insurgents as soon as the radar had pinpointed the point of origin (POO in military speak).
By now, I was pretty used to the IDF. It almost always happened at night. I guess you just realize that the chances of you personally getting hit is really small, and if it does, it is just your time to go.
I climbed back in bed to try to get a couple more hours of sleep. Even the roar of F-16s taking off in the background was not enough to keep me awake. In fact, if you ask any veteran of Iraq or Afghanistan, the two most striking things when you return home are all the vibrant colors (the desert obviously tends to always be shades of brown) and then the quietness, especially at night. Generators providing power, vehicles moving, aircraft taking off...all contributes to 24 hours noise. So, I had learned to sleep with a lot of noise in the background.
"Three months down, three to go." I thought to myself after I woke up.
Halfway done. I really felt for my Army brothers and sisters who were on 15-month deployments. At least ours were 'just' six months.
This was my fifth deployment to the 'sand box'. I had been to Kuwait, Afghanistan and Iraq before. But this one was the hardest because it was the first I had done after having kids. I'd left Erica home with our 15 month old boy and I cried as I stood by his crib stroking his soft brown hair at four in the morning the day of the deployment, knowing at that age he could never understand daddy going away for several months. To make matters more stressful, Erica told me she was pregnant about a month before I deployed. It was incredibly hard to balance my feelings of duty as a husband and father and my duties as a US military officer.
Erica and I kept in touch through emails and the occasional phone call. This was before Wi-Fi at the bases and smart phones had just begun making their appearance. So, no Skype, no WhatsApp, no Facetime. Just old-fashioned phones, email and snail mail.
I remember with humor now being in what passed for my office talking to Erica on the phone when the klaxon went off. I stayed on the phone and put my hand over the receiver as I got under my desk. Erica prattled along telling me how my son was doing, and the goings-on at home, ignorant of the rounds impacting near me. I did not want her to worry. I remember calmly telling her that everything was fine there. It wasn't a lie. If you don't get hit, you're fine.
As our fifteen-minute morale call was wrapping up (we got two, 15 minute 'morale' calls per week), Erica told me that she had a special 'care' package heading my way. I asked eagerly what it was, but she just replied, "It's a special surprise."
"Love you."
"Love you too. Only three more months to go."
We said our good-byes.
About ten days later, Erica's package arrived (it takes about that long to get packages from the States to the AOR). In it was the standard stuff...Pringles, beef jerky, a DVD and other 'tastes of home'. However, at the bottom of the package, was a sealed manila envelope. It was labeled 'For Your Eyes Only'.
"Hmmm." Curious, opening the envelope.
Inside was a letter and a pair of her lacey white thongs.
I read the letter, which smelled of her perfume.
"Hey babes,
I miss you so much! I can't wait until we are together again! Let me tell you about the thong.
See, I was really missing you so I decided to take a shower and get all clean. After my shower, I got out and put the thong on and laid in bed. I began thinking about us being together again and I started touching my body. I began by taking some sweet-smelling lotion and rubbing it over my breasts. You remember them, right? 😊 My nipples were so hard for your touch.
I teased myself by rolling them between my fingers and pinching them. I then moved my hands farther down, rubbing more lotion over my tummy until I reached my thong (my tummy is really starting to show pretty good now, too!). I rubbed my hands over the front of my thong, and I began to feel the familiar wetness of my love for you building in me.
I took more lotion and moved my slender fingers under my thong and began tracing the outline of my pussy lips. Then I took two fingers and slid them inside me, feeling my heat and wetness. I slid my fingers inside my pussy for a while until I could not stand it any longer! I grabbed your pillow and put it between my legs. I humped against it until I rolled on top of it and pushed against your pillow between the bed and my pussy. I rubbed against it until I came...HARD! After I finished, I made sure to rub my thong between my pussy lips really good. I wanted it to smell like me when you got it. I hope you like!! I love you and miss you soooo much!!"
Putting down the letter, I took up her thong and looked at it, certainly aroused by her story of touching herself and making her cum, thinking of me. I could see the gusset of her thong was a darker shade of white, no doubt from her now dried wetness. I brought the thong up to my nose and it smelled of her lotion, and faintly of her pussy. I guess after ten days of transit, some of the scent had dissipated. But it was still very erotic to have something so intimate from her.
I masturbated that night, thinking of Erica, what we would do to each other when I got back, and holding her thong in my 'unoccupied' hand.