The Bunker, Ch 15 - Training, Day 5 (Patreon)

All characters engaged in sexual activity are 18 years old or older.

******

Everything looks different at night.  It’s worse for folks with weak or mediocre night vision.  Even for those of us with strong night vision … everything looks different.  We can just see more of the details.

Sounds are amplified too.  A rat or possum shuffling through the grass or under a bush can sound like something much larger.  Combine that with the unnerving darkness to which humans are ill-adapted, and you have the origins of many of our ancient frights.

Lightning was again tasked with assaulting a position held by Thunder.  Given the constraints of night combat, there were only two night missions planned.  Each section would defend once and attack once.  Thunder held a position in a steep ravine.  My orders were to advance from downhill, up the ravine.  I requested more latitude in my approach march but the training leadership shot that down.  In a real war scenario, I may have prevailed.  But training is somewhat canned and training planners fall deeply in love with their scenarios.

During map recon with my team leaders, we noted an interesting – or troubling – possibility.  Reading the contour lines, the ravine rose steadily from its mouth but eight hundred meters back the rate of climb dropped significantly.  That meant the land nearly leveled off.  Anyone approaching from downhill wouldn’t know what lay beyond that intervisibility line until they popped their head over the crest.

Mind you, my orders only required I assault uphill.  Nowhere did they specify I remain within the ravine.

The ravine was wide, the bottom forming a shallow basin.  The last six feet of the walls were awfully steep on some stretches, nearly walkable in others.  My battle plan accounted for the chance Kolson had learned his lesson earlier and set out flank security.  Bravo and Delta would advance by bounds along the ravine bottom.  Gonzalez and his guards would trail between them, remaining in their protection, and responsive to any casualties they encountered.  These two were still the most likely to experience WIA’s or KIA’s.  I think.

Charlie, led by Dawson, my marine ace in the hole, would advance along the ravine edge, bounding ahead of Bravo.  The QRF, consisting of me, Forrester, Hoskins, and Walters would advance along the opposite edge and bound ahead of Delta.  We took it slow.  In part because of necessity.  It was dark.  At the same time, we wanted to locate Thunder’s front line and flank security without getting spotted.  The OC’s issued each fireteam one rubber knife with a small reservoir of artificial blood.  I had Bravo and Delta give theirs up to Charlie and the QRF.  That placed two silent kill weapons in each team moving up on Thunder’s possible flank security.

Bravo and Delta had to move up through the ravine with its rougher terrain.  Charlie and my Q force had smoother terrain, but that left us more visible.  Our progress was incredibly slow and deliberate.  The tricky part came as we reached the change in slope.  Charlie and Q reached that position first of course, as we were the screen.  We each paused just below the intervisibility line.  Bravo and Delta crept as close to the IV line as they could within the ravine and held their positions as well.  I swear I could hear the men holding their breath.  Time for our flank units to poke our heads above the line.

I led the way on my side.  I’d bet good money Dawson did so on our left flank.  I rolled to my side, then scooted forward.  I let the side of my head breach the horizon line, screened by the grass.  I rose steadily until I could see across the expanse.  Twenty yards back, I could see three men arrayed behind a fallen tree.  I crawled back a few feet to the rest of Q force.  Walters crawled back from checking the ravine from the IV line.  I filled the men in on what I saw.

“Matches what I saw, sarge.”  Walters added.  “I spotted ten men arrayed in two vees, either side of the ravine, maybe ten meters back from the IV line.”

“So security is back from the main line, just enough to watch for flank attacks, and close enough to support the main line.  Okay, good work Walters.  Hang tight guys.”  I called on the section net.  Dawson replied with the same observations Walters and I had viewed.  Now, before heading out, I’d communicated four basic attack options to my fireteam leaders.  The second one was based on the premise that Kolson had learned his lesson about flank security and had taken the obvious terrain advantage of the bend in the terrain.  “Lightning, this is Six.  Activate Plan Bravo.”  At six second intervals, four pairs of double squawks on the radio answered.

I pointed, knife handed, out away from the ravine, then upslope.  My Q force used the IV line to swiftly move across the enemy’s likely line of sight until we were more than fifty yards out from the ravine.  Then we breached the break in the slope in a high crawl.  We kept up our movement until we were thirty yards back.  Now we would be approaching from slightly behind the flank security post.  All of us now moved on a line perpendicular to the ravine towards it.  I signaled a halt when we were fifteen yards out.  I pointed to Forrester and Walters.  I pointed towards the outpost, then drew my hand across my throat.  These two carried the fake knives for simulated quiet kills.

Part of me wanted to take part in the takedown, but those two had shown some skill at both stealth and CQB.  I watched as Mike curved around to approach the OP from along the ravine edge.  Walters approached from outside and behind.  He measured his pace to match Forrester’s longer arc.  Hoskins and I readied our weapons as the other two closed with the targets.

Suddenly, Walters and Forrester leapt up and towards the trio of Thunder soldiers from behind.  Each took out their first target with over hand strikes ‘into’ the chests of their ‘victims’.  The third was just turning towards Walters when Forrester got him in the back.

Hoskins and I jumped up and ran the short distance to the OP.  Charlie reported similar success over the section net.

“Nice work, boys” I said in a whisper to my two knife wielders.  Then I called for phase two setup over the radio.  That entailed Q force and Charlie taking positions along the ravine edge.  On my signal, both units would engage Thunder in the ravine below.  Only then would Bravo and Delta rise into view.  They would sweep across the objective and administer the death blow.

The plan worked perfectly.  Thunder was wiped out in less than a minute.  We took two KIA ourselves, though.  Honestly, in a real combat situation, that would earn the whole section medals.  I could be sickened at the thought, or I could accept the grim realities of warfare.  I chose the second.  It was a sobering thought though.

Both sections assembled on the edge of the road, about a klick away from the ravine mouth.  The AAR would be later, after the second mission was complete.  Two cattle cars pulled up as we made our way to the road.  Thunder loaded into one, Lightning took the other.  Our OC’s decided to give Lightning ‘something special’ for this last mission.  From the looks on their faces, I knew ‘special’ meant ‘difficult’, I just wasn’t sure how difficult.

******

“Well, this’ll be interesting.”  My section and I stood looking at an empty field, bound by a rock field on the left and a large copse of woods to the right.  Our instructions specified we were not to take positions in either the rocks or the trees.  Thunder would approach from our front.  “Alright, fan out, look for any depressions, folds, or crevices.  Step carefully so you don’t injure yourself.  We’ve got ten minutes until Thunder leaves their start line.  They have a fifteen to twenty minute march to get here.  Bravo sweep the sector from the rocks to thirty meters out.  Delta take from the trees to thirty meters out.  Charlie, you’ve got from mid-line of the field to Delta’s left bound, Alpha, midline to Bravo’s right bound.  Let’s find ourselves an advantage boys.”  The grass was knee high for most of the ground (assuming the ground was level) and neither side had NODs, so it wasn’t hopeless, but it was going to be … interesting.

In ten minutes, I had reports from each fireteam.  Delta found a small rise in their sector.  Charlie discovered a small roll in the terrain, deep enough for a man to lie in.  That depression was roughly linear, and across the expected line of march for Thunder.  Alpha and Bravo found no significant terrain features.  BY now, Thunder was moving in our direction.

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do:  Delta, take up an echelon right formation, anchored on the rise.  Your primary sector of fire is the tree line.  Charlie, take that trench you found, your sector is to our front.  Bravo, echelon left oriented on the rock field.  I’ll take the Q force and fill the gap between Charlie and Bravo.  Gonzalez, you and your guards take up position behind Charlie and maneuver as needed once the shooting starts.  Until then, stay flat, we don’t want them to see helmets bobbing in the middle of the field.  Nothing in the Op order restricted Thunder to the field, so they could come through the trees or rocks.  Stay alert boys. We’ve won more engagements than we’ve lost.  That’s due to teamwork and diligence.  Keep your eyes open, watch your buddy’s back and let’s finish this.”

The teams spread out to their designated areas and went about selecting individual positions.  I observed Bravo’s preparations before estimating the best position for Q to take.  I posted Forrester on my right, Hoskins to my left, with Walters beyond him.

Silence fell over the field.  We hadn’t been making much noise in the first place.  Sound carries well at night, no sense giving away too much.  All four teams found positions with minimal noise and then went utterly quiet.  Like an open grave, waiting for Thunder to walk in.

Twenty-five minutes later, Charlie called in, having spotted movement to their front.  I saw figures moving across our front shortly thereafter.

I called on the net, “All units, standby, do not engage until they close within fifty meters.”  The only response was three sets of double-clicks.  We all had Whisper mode selected on our volume knobs.  That allowed us to whisper softly into the mike, but be heard clearly on the other end.  Even so, avoiding making any sound was preferred.

A line of ten men advanced slowly towards Q and Charlie.  The way they walked, the way they turned their heads suggested they were searching, not seeing us.  Delta called in, saying they had possible movement in the trees.  The troops to our front closed to fifty meters.  Charlie and Q force opened fire.

The troops advancing in the open sprouted squealing MILES gear almost immediately.  Within seconds, the forward group was wiped out.

As soon as we fired, however, the tree line erupted in fire.  The other half of Thunder had come through the woods.  They targeted our muzzle flashes.  Which meant several misses.  Then Delta engaged, targeting Thunder’s muzzle flashes.  There was enough fire coming from the trees to account for the rest of Thunder, though.  There was no one coming through the rocks.  Charlie reported down to half effectives.  My Q force was intact, as was Bravo and Delta.  Though Delta might start losing some soon.

I popped the mic volume knob out of Whisper mode.  “Bravo, link up with Charlie, keep your heads down and your eyes towards the main line of advance.  Delta, hold position, Quebec is on the way.”

My men and I sprinted across the open ground leading to Delta.  The darkness kept us from view for a part of our dash.  Tunnel vision on the part of the attackers gave us a bit of extra protection.  As we took kneeling positions behind Delta, Hoskin’s Miles alarm went off.  Two men on Delta were also out of the fight.  Q opened up on the muzzle flash.  A moment later, we could hear the chirping of another MILES alarm.  Each time a rifle fired from within the woods, three or more responded from Delta and Q force’s position.  Eventually, the tree line was quiet.  Ten minutes later, as the light grew on the eastern horizon, the all-call came over the radio, telling both sections to rally near the road that Thunder had been delivered on.

The field was not terribly even – as evidenced by the folds and hillock Lightning used for cover and concealment.    Rather than form the men up, We let them filter back to the rally point on their own.  Thunder and Lightning mingled.  Voices remained soft in the grey-rose blush of early dawn as the men swapped stories and told jokes.  Occasionally, an NCO called out to a slow-moving cluster to pick up the pace.  We still covered the distance in less time than it had taken Thunder to advance in the opposite direction.  But we were expecting an AAR and breakfast, not moving to contact.

The first ones to arrive got first dibs on breakfast.  Oatmeal was popular.  Most picked up a chill during the overnight hours.  Coffee was very popular – nobody had slept since about this time yesterday.  That was by design though.  Kolson was the one to suggest it, but I heartily agreed that introducing these guys to twenty-four hour ops was a useful training aid.

Kolson and I went last in line, but called our team leaders over first.  While we got chow, the NCO’s herded the men into a rough semicircle.  As we took our seats, MSG Opler began his After Action Review.

“First off, I want to commend each of you for your diligence and hard work.  There was limited time for this training, and you all jumped in feet first to get as much out of it as you could.  Your teamwork is spot-on.  I also noticed some bonding between the sections.  You’ll be side-by-side in the defense, so that all works out to the good of all of us – your two sections, plus the people you’ll be defending.”

“I’ll be briefing your section chiefs on intake procedures for the Bunker once this review is over.  As I understand it, you have a shindig planned this evening.  It is well deserved.  They will disseminate the information at the party.”

“Now, to get on with it.  First mission, Lightning in the attack, Thunder in the defense – defending from behind the IV line was the smartest choice, but your OP’s should have been placed at the IV line, so they could see the approaching forces.  That was especially important since your opponents in this action have the ability to move as quiet as a damn snake.”

A few chuckles greeted his words, and a few looks towards Sgt Dawson, our individual movement expert.  That day training in movement techniques, everyone watched him instructing his section, so we all benefited from his skill.  Clearly, it paid off.

Opler went on to praise the two-prong approach Thunder used in their attack, and admonish Kolson the second section would have been better used coming through the rocks.  After a few more details on individual fireteam leader decisions during the night missions, Opler went into an overview of the Thursday missions.  We’d already discussed them once, immediately after each mission, but now was the time for a consolidated wrap-up.

The Sun was fully above the horizon as he brought up his ending flourish.   “SFC Kolson, matched against anyone else, you would have done far better.  I certainly suspect you are in good shape to hold off any un-trained militia types, if they even show their faces.  You had the misfortune of going against this guy,” he pointed at me, “who cut his baby teeth on strategy games.”

“Somehow, I’m not surprised.”  Kolson replied.

“Our FIST ell-tee was a big strategy game guy too.  Ansen and he played board games all the damn time.  Hell, one time the lieutenant brought a miniature chessboard to the hill during live fire.  That was the easiest game they played.”  He turned to me.

“By the way, last I heard, he’s now Colonel Manetti with the hundred and first.  He also switched to Infantry.  He’s been a battalion commander for a year and a half and a division staff officer for two years before that.  He was deep dipped for his star and a brigade command before the Rock was publicly acknowledged.  I haven’t gotten it confirmed if he’s in one of the bunkers or not.  All the usual NCO back channels are messed up with all the bunker restructuring.  I know he’s not in the West Coast Bunker with me, and he’s not in the Southern Bunker in Georgia.”

Then Opler turned back to the gathered men.  “Good work, and good luck.  Maybe we can catch each other for drinks in a decade or two.”  With that, he walked off to his truck, parked beside the chow hall truck.  The ‘mess specialists’ had just finished stowing their equipment.  He spoke with them briefly before they departed.

Kolson and I stood as Opler departed.  Kolson addressed the men.  “Alright, you heard the man.  Good work one and all.  I’m pleased with your performance.  None of us were perfect, but we all did well.  Take some time over the next two weeks to practice some of these skills so they stay fresh.  We’ll have more to share this evening regarding specifics.  Everybody report to the  base conference center, building 6045 on Sheridan Road at 1800 – that’s 6pm for you still-partly-civvies.  Bring the family.  We’ve been given some unit funds and used those to reserve the room and order in some catering.”

“Chow hall food?” someone asked.

“Hell, no.  I wouldn’t do that to your kids.  You, yes, but I’d never serve a child that slop.”  That was good for some chuckles all around.  “We catered in a local barbeque joint.  Man’s been smokin’ four kinds of meat for over a day.  Plenty of sides too.  We’ll have karaoke, free food, and the first two drinks are on the unit funds also.  Adult beverages, that is. Water, tea, and soft drinks are free.  You can buy additional alcohol, but the bartenders will cut you off if you go overboard.”

“Uh, Sarge, so, we getting gassed again?”  Forrester looked straight at me.

I laughed, shaking my head.  “NO, no gas this time.  Just enjoy yourselves.  Sing to your ladies, hang out with each other’s families, and have a good time before we all leave tomorrow.  We’ll share the intake procedures at the beginning and then we’ll all unwind from the week.”

“Any questions?”  Kolson asked.  No one responded.  “The first cattle car is going to Thunder’s assembly area, the second is going to Lightning’s.  Clear outta here, get a shower and some sleep.  Dismissed.”

The men quickly formed lines boarding the transports.  Kolson and I walked over to Opler.  The first thing he did was hand over two small boxes.  “In each box are twenty-two briefing booklets, freshly printed yesterday.  They finalized what they wanted last week, but only finished puttering on spelling and comma placement Wednesday.  The units that trained in prior weeks are getting their booklets mailed.  Walk your boys through a quick overview.  There’s a printed sheet on the top of each box.  Hand out the booklets, give them the verbal thumbnail, then enjoy your evening.”  He stuck his hand out towards Kolson.  “Good meeting you, sergeant, Safe travels.”  Kolson nodded and walked off.

Opler turned to me, with his hand extended.  I took it.  The rims of his eyes matched what I felt in my own.  “I was glad to see you on the training roster when I got it.  I had no expectation to see you again, and now …” his voice cracked.

“Me too, Opie.  I miss your ass more now than when I first got out.”  He chuckled when I used his old nickname.  “You gonna be alright sharin’ a bunker with all those West Coast weirdos?”

“I’ll be fine.  I know how to keep my head down.  You, on the other hand, Mr Crusader for Goodness and Justice, you need to pick your battles more judiciously.  You can’t win any battles if the assholes in power crucify you.  And if they do that, they will take your women for themselves and fuck the hell out of them.  Maybe even before they kill you.  Watch your ass dammit.  Take the time to make some allies.  Or at least identify the ones you already have.  Use teamwork as effectively as you have here, and back in the day.  Then you can make that just future a reality, instead of a dead dream.”

His words had a sobering impact.  They also pointed towards a window with the light shining in.  Someone was sending a warning.  I didn’t know who, but they were of a like mind.  I nodded.

“Alright, let’s get to the hill.  We got tanks to blow up.”

“Hoo-ahh,” I replied.

We climbed in his Humvee and he lit off like a shot.  We were already off on the small narrow blacktop barely wide enough to pass on.  About a quarter mile down the road, Opler turned off onto a tank trail as it cut across the road.  He barely slowed.  What followed next was forty minutes of kidney-bouncing, teeth-rattling suspension squealing ride whose two positive points were the rapidity with which we arrived at our destination, and the clear air we had because we stayed ahead of our dust cloud.  He finally slowed to climb up the hill for the OP.  That right after a ninety-degree a turn, so the dust cloud’s momentum carried it along past us, on our original heading.

As he parked, I took in the old familiar sights.  The troops moving about were about all that seemed familiar.  Not their faces, just their mannerisms.  All of the equipment was different.  Although, there were similarities.

Pointing to a tall, thick rod sitting vertically on top of a tripod, I asked “Is that the antenna?  No more OE254 and guy wires?”

Opler chuckled.  “It has a taller mast that requires guy wires, but the firing unit is only two miles away, so they went with the smaller configuration.”

“How can they call it an OP if there’s no danger of tripping over a guy wire when you get up to piss at oh dark thirty?”

“A kinder, gentler OP, ya old fart.”

Now I laughed with him.  A few NCO’s had walked our way, arriving just in time to hear Opler’s jibe.  Opler greeted them, shaking hands and introducing me.  A young buck sergeant showed me around one of the vehicles.  Eight-wheeled, a variant of the Stryker, it was a huge improvement over the old tracked 981 that constantly leaked oil and couldn’t exceed twenty miles an hour unless you were going downhill.  With a tail wind.

The laser designator was smaller and lighter too.  I was never on a COLT team, but I remember the huge backpack for the old G/VLLD.   This thing was lighter and smaller.   Which gave the guys a chance to carry more batteries or water.

“Alright, enough reminiscing, you’re here to call down fire and steel sergeant!”  Opler chided playfully.  Half the hill erupted in Hoo-ahs.

“Roger that, Master Sergeant.”  Someone handed me a map and a camp chair.  As I oriented myself, a PV2 walked up carrying a pair of binos.

“Thank you.”  I withheld reacting to one other change, as it wasn’t appropriate.  I knew they’d opened combat arms to women, but it was still a surprise to see one on the hill.  Boy, when times change …

I brought the binoculars up, scanning for a usable target.  I spent a minute switching between naked eye, binos and map, working out the coordinates.  I kept one eye on the adjust fire mission one of the others was conducting.  They were using a different target, so their ground bursts didn’t interfere with observing my target.  The entire time, I was vaguely aware the soldier who brought me the binos was still nearby, not quite hovering.  I turned to her.

“Need something?” I asked.

“Oh, no,” she smiled.  “Actually, that’s why I’m here. Sergeant Goller assigned me as your liaison.”

I leaned away with a funny look on my face and one eyebrow arched.  “I’ve never been high falutin’ enough to require a liaison.”

She gave a short laugh.  “Well, I just graduated AIT a few months ago, and rumor has it you were honor grad at your AIT and taught Master Sergeant Opler everything he knows.  Since there’s a chance some of our modern gear will not be reliable or available, I’m supposed to watch and learn how to get it done old school.”

“Does that mean I should bust out a protractor to figure these coordinates?”

“Only if you want to.  I have one in my FO bag if you’d like.”

“That’s alright, I may as well live up to the hype.  When can I call my first mission?”

“They’re ready for you now, sergeant.”

I walked to the back of the track.  Just as I was about to call to the specialist sitting in the RTO seat, Opler interrupted.

“Hold on a sec.  We have a little debate going on here about how rusty you may or may not have gotten,  I say you can still get a first round hit.  But Kewali here says you would need to use a successive bracket to have even a prayer of getting close.”

I screwed up my face in a tight smile, but said nothing.

“So, I’m betting a bottle of twelve-year old scotch you can call a fire for effect mission and nail it.  You do that, he owes me a bottle.  You fail, your next mission is adjust fire and if you are off on the fire for effect on that, I owe him a bottle.  If you nail the target by the time you call FFE, it’s a wash.”

“So you two get drunk, and I get laughed at.  I am back in the Army!”  That earned some laughter.  “I suppose I need to work up a second set of target coordinates before calling this mission, just to maintain the integrity of the challenge.”  Both nodded.  Well, I had a second one picked out.  I just hadn’t written down the coordinates.  That was resolved in a minute.  “Alright, here’s my coordinates for that cluster of three tanks towards the south of the impact area.  This second one is for the five ton about five clicks out, straight down the middle.”

The staff sergeant with the nametape ‘Goller’ looked at the coordinates and smirked at SSG Kewali.  I knew what that meant.  I’d already won.  Spend enough time on one base and you get to know the coordinates of the targets you call. But hey, let’s get this finished.

“Wellsy,” Goller hollered into the vehicle, “toss out the long-cabled mic.”

“You got it, chief,” replied the specialist.  Wellsy tossed the mic to Goller, who handed it over to me.

I took a deep breath.  Yes, I knew what I was doing.  Yes, I even reviewed procedures in a recent copy of the 6-30.  They were no different than what I’d learned – not for this mission anyway.  It had still been three decades since I’d called a mission.

“Saber Redleg, this is Grim Redleg, fire for effect, over.”

Fire for effect out.

“Grid five seven five, three five seven, over.”

“Grid five seven five, three five seven, out.”

“Three T-60’s in the open, DPICM over.”

“Three T-60’s in the open, out.”

After almost a minute’s wait the radio came alive again.

“Grim Redleg, this is Saber Redleg, target number alpha bravo four one eight three, time of flight one-seven seconds, HEPD over.”

“Target number alpha bravo four one eight three, time of flight one-seven seconds, HEPD out.”

That was the fire direction center’s way of saying the rounds would take seventeen seconds from firing the cannon to impact on the ground.  Also, I was getting basic HE rounds instead of the DPICM I asked for.  Not surprising, since this was just training.

“Shot, over”  FDC said.

“Shot, out.”  Here we go.  Then that old familiar ripping linen sound came arcing overhead.  Something stirred in my boxers.  Why the fuck did I leave this?

“Splash, over”

“Splash, out.”  I readied my binos.  I had the reticle pattern centered on the cluster of tanks.  The first round landed squarely at the center of my reticle.  In short order, five more rounds landed in and around the tanks.  One of the bursts had a brilliant red-orange core as it blossomed.  The hill broke out in cheers and congratulations.  That shell had to have directly struck a tank.  Steel on target.  I lowered my binos.

Somewhere off to my right someone shouted “Killer on the hill!”

“Damn, that felt good.”

“Ain’t you glad you didn’t use the GuardFIST?”  Opler queried.

“Oh, hell ya.”

Moving on to my next mission, I needed to practice adjusting and bracketing, too, just in case.  In the defense, I was going to have mortars, not Paladins.  The guys running the mortars would be militia as well, so some had experience, and others were learning, just as my men were.  By mutual acclimation, I changed the grid I’d planned to move it a hundred meters closer.  After all the adjustments were in, and a successful fire for effect, Goller added up the changes and deduced my original coordinates were within fifty meters of the target.  Upon that pronouncement, Kewali shook my hand and walked away.

Surrendering the mic so the others could get a few missions in,  I picked out two more targets.  Opler was running the recertification.  He declared if I could nail one more FFE and one hasty bracket (as opposed to the successive bracket I’d just done) That would be proof aplenty I still had the skills.  We stayed with the grid method of location.  It was the most adaptable, and frankly, the one I was most comfortable with anyway.

I nailed both missions.  I shook hands with Goller and the private that had watched my every move.  Then I followed Opler back to his Humvee.  The ride back to Lightning’s assembly area was quiet.  Ope got out and came around as I extracted my ruck from the truck.

“Remember what I said.  Watch your ass.”

“Master Sergeant, yes, Master Sergeant.”  I bellowed like a first week basic trainee.

He just narrowed his eyes.

“Say, that young FO you sicced on me …”

“Oh, yeah, good kid.  She’ll be in the West Coast bunker too.”

My raised eyebrow made him smile.

“No, no, not like that.  Her husband’s a medic here on base.  They were high school sweethearts.  Her best friend is the guy’s second partner.  Man, no way would I pick someone that young.”

“Oh, gee, thanks.  I’m – I was – a college professor remember?  Three of my partners are students.  A fourth is my daughter’s best friend who turned eighteen the Friday after the results were announced.”

“AHA! We found your perversion!  Four years together and everyone thought you were squeaking clean Mr Normal Guy in a platoon full of Ole Dirty Bastards.  Now we find out you’re a dirty old man.  Shit, back then your current partners' moms weren’t even legal.”

“Oh, thanks for that.  Fuck you.”

Opler threw his head back, laughing his ass off.  When the laugh track ended, he got real serious.  He hugged me tight, pounded my back twice as I replied in kind, then released me and walked away.  Exactly how I had done it when I ETS’d out, leaving PFC Opler with the knowledge and experience I had managed to pass on.  I watched his Humvee drive off as he had watched me drive away back then.  This time, it really would be the last time we saw each other.

Walking to my car, I slung the ruck over one shoulder.  Made it easier to toss in the back seat when I got there.  With the engine running and the sun close to noon, I pulled out, heading to my temporary home.  No, temporary housing.  My permanent home was in the hearts of twelve incredible women.

Walking in the door was a treat.  I’d only been gone 36 hours, but the ‘You’re home!’ ‘He’s home!’ declarations, the hugs, kisses, and the looks in their eyes were a warm tide of acceptance and love.  Leslie, Belinda, Melissa, and all five of the littles came bursting out the door as I exited my car.  Then we moved in a hugging, kissing scrum through the front door where my ten remaining partners gathered to greet me.  All of them held back and allowed Sarah first hug – and kiss.  A long, slow kiss that inspired some catcalls and giggles.  As we broke I noticed Belinda and Shaunice with wistful looks.  Honestly, I hope I’m setting a good example of what they should expect from a man.  I think I have been.  But I’ll never know until decades later.

After passing through the gauntlet of semi-restrained lovers, I declared my need for a shower and bed.  That was met with a chorus of agreements.

“Hey, if you think I’m bad after a thirty-six hour operation, wait until I come into the Bunker after three days to a week and a half in the field.  I swear, coming back to the b’s after a week of maneuver or on the hill, I’d walk out of the shower and my BDU’s were standing in my room greeting me.  They were practically a living thing of their own.”

That inspired a few cringy faces, especially from Sarah.

Trust Jessica to stick to the practical side though.  “Do these need any special handling like Monday’s wash?”

“No, just a case of funk.”

“Two cases.”  Sarah interjected.

I stuck out my tongue, then lunged to envelope her in a hug, my arms high to allow all the majesty of arm pit funk to reign in terror.  Sarah was simultaneously grossed out and receptive.  I kept it short, before making for the master bedroom with its shower.  It felt good to scrub a day and half’s worth of sweat and dust off.  Some areas I washed twice, just for certainty.  Grabbing the big, fluffy towel on the bathroom counter, I began to dry off.  Halfway through the drying process I remembered I hadn’t grabbed a towel.  One of my ladies must have noticed, corrected the oversight, and done it so silently I hadn’t picked up on their entry or exit.  Little things.  Little things matter so much.  Hanging the bath towel so it could dry, I slipped between the sheets and fell asleep in moments.

******

As I swam upward into consciousness, I became aware of softness.  Softness in my hand.  Softness against my pelvis.  Felt good.  Real good.  I flexed my hand on the softness it held.  Immediately, the softness against my pelvis pressed against me and wiggled.  A gentle, happy humming accompanied the motion.

Awareness grew.  My hand was cupping someone’s breast.  I nice, big, soft, juicy breast.  Now I began to deliberately massage the lovely part, my eyes still closed.  I felt hair on my face and noticed a familiar shampoo.  Of course, with twelve women in my family, several shared their shampoo.  That was fortunate, in that there were only six bottles of shampoo on the bathtub rim.  One of which was mine.  But that meant recognizing a particular scent only narrowed the lady to one of three or four.  Okay, in one case, two, but this wasn’t Sarah and Jessica’s strawberry shampoo.  Funny, since Leslie, whose nickname was strawberry, used … oh yeah, lilac.

My manipulation of her breast inspired my bed partner to coo and gasp, and then I knew.  My lovely little Ellie.  I felt protective of all my ladies, against others and myself, but that goes doubly so for Ellie.  She’d been so desperate when she came to me.  I’m not really sure if any of her motivation in our relationship has moved off of her initial desperation to avoid her brother’s poorly thought out intent.  She did seem to enjoy her turns at snuggling with me during movies, or just sitting and reading.  She always seemed to enjoy our bedtime interactions as well.  I’d taken her out for some quiet time, walking the grounds of the compound we were building.  She loved listening to the stream and watching for fish.  When she got a date night she was thrilled.  Still, the question remained in my head.

The discordant sensation I kept picking up on from between her plush ass cheeks finally resolved itself in my mind.  Ellie had a butt plug in.

“Oh, you little minx.”

Her laughter sounded like the tinkling of musical chimes.  For all the woe surrounding her arrival in my family, Ellie was the most innocent and pure woman I was responsibilities to.

“I talked with the others, and we thought this would be the perfect treat for our victorious hero.”

“You most certainly are a delicious treat, Eleanor.”

She giggled at the compliment, and then wiggled her plush ass, with the buttplug, against my leg.  Her clear emphasis was undeniable.  “I’d really like to do this, master.”  She cutely bit her lower lip.  Her eyes pleaded, even with the hint of fear behind them.

“Ellie, I care about you, if you need more time – ”

“Please, I want to do this.  I spent all yesterday preparing myself, and again this morning.  Please, allow me to give you the one place no one else has ever been.” 

Now her eyes picked up a tinge of desperation.  I took one slow, measured breath.

“Thank you, Eleanor.  It is a treasure each time you offer your body to me, but this is something special.”  I kissed the back of her neck.  I slid my lower hand beneath her torso, bringing it out past her ribs to grip her breast.  My upper hand wandered down her body slowly.  I traced random patterns with my fingertips as my hand meandered to her hip.  Then I moved across her torso, carefully.  My fingers entered the thicket of soft brown hair inhabiting her mons.  I gently swirled my fingers in those curls, giving them soft tugs.  Ellie’s soft breathing was interrupted by low, gentle moans.

My attention to her ear, neck, and back continued as my hand  demonstrated it’s appreciation for her stunning body.  My lips delivered soft, moist kisses. I pulled the tip of her ear into my mouth, nibbling and sucking on it.  My tongue traced the ridge of her helix.  I took her earlobe between my teeth as two fingers found their way into her saturated entrance.

She trembled in my arms.  Ellie always approached sex like a frightened lamb, even when she initiated the encounter.  I had not yet broached the idea of bondage play with her, but I suspected she would be enthusiastic about it.  As much as she shook in the early phases of foreplay, she revealed in the feel of my cock stroking in and out of her folds.  We hadn’t discussed it yet, but I think she wanted to go off her birth control as well.  But that was something for a different day.

My hands worked steadily to stimulate Ellie towards her peak.  Anal is more successful after the woman has had at least one climax.  It’s also best if the man has not yet cum that day.  I had a day and a half of buildup, so we were good there.

I pressed the base of my palm against her clit as my fingers strummed her g-spot.  With a rocking motion, I set about a coordinated attack on her pleasure centers.

Ellie’s body writhed under my ministrations. I used the upper part of the arm beneath her to lift Ellie’s head towards my lips.  “Eleanor. Do you know what I’m going to do with you once we’re in the bunker?”

“No, master.  What would you have me do?”  A fresh shiver ran down her body.  I could feel her nerves on the knife edge of ecstasy.

“I’m going to take away your pills, Ellie.  I’m going to pump your pussy full of my cum.  Your belly will swell with my baby in you –”

“AAAAAAAhhhhhhh oOOOooooooooo” Ellie convulsed in a long, shuddering orgasm that crashed through her body and brain.  I held her as the aftershocks ran through her.  As her breathing evened, she turned and kissed me passionately.  Then she pulled back.  “All of me.”  She delivered a second kiss. A kiss of trust.

I turned her over.  Positioning her face down, her knees to her chest in a near fetal position, I moved to kneel behind her.  This position would open her anal passage for the least amount of pain or difficulty.  Noticing the nightstand, I remembered the bottle of lube in the drawer and realized how essential it would be. I knee-walked over, grabbed it, then returned to my position behind the young, busty teen offering her ass to me.  I applied a liberal coating of lube to my cock, then sealed the bottle and set it down.  Placing my hand on the knob of the plug, I pulled firmly and gently outward, with a slight wiggling motion.  Ellie gasped quietly when the plug came out.

With the excess lube remaining on my hand, I added more lube to Ellie’s glistening anal ring.  As the gaping hole contracted, I placed my helmet head against her opening and pushed the tip of my cock inside.

Ellie gasped aloud.  Her hands clenched on the bed sheets.  I briefly paused, making sure she was still good for this.  She wiggled her butt back at me, so I drove forward.  It was our first time doing this.  Her first ever, and still one of the few times for me.  About a half inch at a time, my cock disappeared into her butt.  Once, I pulled back a quarter inch and added more lube.  In due time, my cock was fully sheathed in Ellie’s rear, her luxurious cheeks pressed against my pelvis.  The heat and grip were mind boggling.

“Oh, Ellie girl, you feel amazing.  You precious little heart.  Are you ok?”

“Yes.  Yes, I – I’m fine.  Keep going.  Fill me up with your cum.”  Her voice was shaky, but determined.

Carefully, I began pulling out.  Her anal ring squeezed my cock in new and highly stimulating ways.  The dry heat of her body wrapped my member in delight.  With only the head inside of her, I added more lube – taking care not to add too much, either.

My forward progress this time was a continuous, slow push until I once again had Ellie impaled on my cock.  Another slow in and out, this time at a faster pace.  I raised up, getting my body over hers and began stroking in and out of her, but no more than half length out.  She emitted small gasps and grunts as I pumped my meat in her.

After several strokes, I noticed extra friction and once again paused for lube.  That completed, the thrusting resumed, this time fully determined to complete the act.  I pummeled her ass with my pelvis.  Ellie grunted and groaned, twisting the bedsheets in her white-knuckled fists.  Then I exploded.  My brain simply washed out, a white screen instead of a BSOD.

More than a blink of time passed, though that was all it seemed to me.  My softening cock was still half in Ellie’s ass.  I quickly withdrew, then nudged Ellie’s hip, suggesting she fall to her side so I could lay in front of her, face to face.  That’s when a sick hand gripped my guts.

Eleanor, my sweet young partner was crying  Had been crying.

“Oh god, Eleanor, I’m so sorry.  I would have stopped.  Shit, I should have stopped.”  I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her to me, half afraid she would push me away.  I’d just fucked her ass and she was crying.  Stands to reason she did not want me close right now.

Except, she did.  Her gentle, delicate arms slipped around me, pulling our bodies together.  I stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.  “It’s okay, Ellie, we never have to do this again.  You didn’t have to this time, but we certainly never have to again.”

She stiffened in my arms.  “But the authorities – ”

“Can go fuck themselves.  In the ass if that’s what makes them excited.”  She first gasped in fear, and then giggled.  “Ellie, you are more important to me than any sexual act.  There are twelve of you.  Any particular act I want, I can find one of you that either enjoys it or is willing and able – without getting hurt.  You are under no obligation to engage in anal or any one specific act, okay?”

She nodded.

“I’m a greedy bastard in having twelve women to share my bed, but I’m a careful and smart greedy bastard.”

Ellie hugged me tightly, giving me a kiss.  “It didn’t hurt all that much – some yes – it’s just that it felt … so …”

“Demeaning?”

“Not quite that, but a little bit.”

“That’s clear enough for me to declare your butt off limits to my dick.”

She giggled again.

“If you feel up to standing and walking, we could go shower now.  I know I need one.  My dick has been somewhere dirty.”

Ellie playfully slapped my chest, then made her way off the bed, gingerly walking towards the shower.  We took turns washing each other.  I took care when cleaning around her butt, both in the diligent sense, to get the dry cum off her ass and legs, and the delicate sense, aware of the sensitivity back there.  Short as she was, she managed to wash all of me.  I’d just washed my hair before my nap so that wasn’t needed.  Good thing too, because she could not reach my hair without me kneeling or bending over.

We took our time drying each other off.  Ellie took the towel and left, her clothes were in the room she shared with Destiny and others.  She emerged, dressed casually, but nicely, about the same time I did.  Seems everyone one else had gotten ready before Ellie slipped in my bed.  We piled in the cars and left for the on-base conference center.

Ellie was understandably walking funny on the way from the van to the conference room.  She insisted on snuggling close to me and the others clustered around us in support, but no one tried to horn in closer.  I don’t know how much of Ellie’s insistence was an actual desire to be close and how much was her attempt at reassuring me.  All I know for sure was I felt like an absolute heel.  Yes, the prior times I’d done anal with Jessica and Destiny were delightful.  They showed no ill effects from the encounters.  Now that treasonous part of my brain was wondering how much of that was merely the greater control of an older woman refraining from expressing any difficulty while still in my presence.  I was giving serious consideration to a full moratorium on anal.  Maybe even permanently.

But smiles were important.  If my little butterfly could put on a brave face for the evening, I damn sure could as well.  Besides, I still had duties to perform.  This was mostly a fun night.

Sarah had communicated with the men’s partners and the event center’s staff regarding family sizes.  With twelve women and six minors, there were no tables that would fit all of us, so we had two tables assigned for my flock.  At the front, off to one side.  In mirror position to us was Kolson’s table.  That placed both of us close to the stage.

Families filtered in, finding tables and shuffling through the food line for plates.  The bar was open as well, and getting business.  I decided to start there.  Two beers, consumed slowly, wouldn’t whittle my wits a bit, but would get me started so the third would take the edge off enough to sing.  I’d planned the karaoke, so I was expected to sing.  By the time I got back, a plate with a chopped brisket sandwich and my favorite sides sat at my place.  Hey, spend a few months with several ladies, chances are, they’ll know just what to get you in the chow line.  Searching about, I noted Connie’s eyes had a little extra sparkle and she nodded her head.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  Then she stole a piece of fried okra off my plate.  She giggled at my mostly mock offense.

The ambient noise continued to rise.  At five minutes to start time, all the tables were populated, though several were in line at the food tables or the bar.  I caught Kolson’s eye and we nodded to each other.  Time to get started.  We rose from our tables and met at the mic in center.  Kolson kicked off first.

“Welcome everyone, to the joint Thunder & Lightning section end of training celebration.  I know some of my partners and some of sergeant Ansen’s have worked with a few of you other ladies to plan this.  I appreciate your efforts, as I’m sure all of us do.”

Cheers and applause greeted his last statement.

“Okay, so we’re going to give you an oral brief on the induction protocols before we kick this shindig off.  However, we also have a booklet, one copy each for each family.  Keep this booklet secure.  This is classified information only to be discussed or seen among those who are entering the bunker.  Do not share this with those who are staying outside.  That includes those that will be taking over your hard point as you leave.”

On his signal, Connie and Melissa picked up the box from my table and began distributing the booklets to half the room.  Two of Kolson’s partners did likewise for the other half.

“In synopsis, we have three weeks remaining until induction day.  For several of us, that means leaving our homes in two, maybe two and a half weeks to arrive in three.  Once you get home, packing is top priority.  Anything you forget, you lose permanently.  Make sure you have whatever professional gear you are allotted based on your lottery application and acceptance.  There are three military bases in close proximity to the MidWest bunker.  Each of you have a designated base to report to.  Arrive there with the minimum number of vehicles and trailers.  The guards will direct you to a cargo staging area and a parking area.  Make sure your trailer is properly marked.  Soldiers will palletize your household and personal goods, for later delivery to your residence.  Ladies and children should keep one bag, no larger than an aircraft-checked luggage containing everything necessary for the first week, possibly two.  You will have laundry facilities in your individual residence.”

A lot of looking around was going on.  No one seemed upset.  Mostly it was family members appearing to make a few muttered plans.

“Men, pack a similar bag for yourself, your family will be responsible for transporting it to your residence.  Have your field gear close at hand when you park.  After verifying your family cargo instructions with the logistics troops, say goodbye to your families.  You will be boarding separate buses.  Troop buses will disembark at the rally point.  Once the section forms, we will move off to our area of responsibility.  We will relieve another militia section that will stand guard the week prior to us.  Our sections are entering during the last week of induction.”

“The regular army troops at the base have secure facilities on base in which they will ride out the aftermath.  One such base will contain a battery of artillery that will be on call while we are on guard duty.  There are also two sections of mortars on the mesa above the bunker.  One is oriented toward the western approaches, the other oriented to the east.  Our resident eff-oh,” he pointed to me, “will have the means to engage these assets to aid our efforts, if things get nasty.  While some of us were sleeping, he was out on the hill, brushing up his skills in that regard.”

A few nods were directed my way.

“We will be the last exterior guards.  The doors will close and lock behind us.  We are to maintain our watch until all personnel have been admitted and all common and household goods are embarked.  The expectation is that it may last up to one week past the day we report and take over the watch.  The uncertainty on that is plus or minus three days.”  He paused to let all of his words fully register.  “All of that is detailed in the booklets.  Pay special attention to the appropriate method for marking your family goods and how they should be packaged in your trailer.  Any questions?”

A few heads shook, no one seemed overly concerned or confused.

“Well then, let’s kick this off.  Our resident singing monkey will start us off.”  With that, he returned the mic to the stand, motioned to me, and walked off stage.

“And to think, I was starting to reconsider this first song choice.” I said.  Kolson looked back at me quizzically as he took his seat.

“In all seriousness, I want to echo the congratulations of Sergeant Kolson and Master Sergeant Opler this morning.  All of you have done outstanding work.  Now let’s end this like soldiers.  Have a blowout party, and give each other a little,” I looked away for a second, gently reminding everyone that little ears were present, “jazz.”  Chuckles greeted my comments.  Point taken.  Then I signaled the DJ to start the first song.  Chad Brock’s ‘Lightning Does the Work’.

There was laughing, and a few fingers in response when the chorus hit the title line, but it was all in good fun, and the fingers were quickly squashed.  When the bridge hit ‘… I’ve heard thunder barkin’ up a storm, rattlin my window, and knockin at my door …” I made a goofy little kid knocking motion towards Kolson.  The twisted smile on his face showed the laugh he was suppressing, along with the urge to flip me off.  Once I’d finished, I exited the stage in the direction of his table.  He met me at the base of the stairs.  He clasped my hand tightly.  Between our proximity and the ambient noise, we had plenty of latitude to say anything.

“You funny fucker.  You’re the best kind of bastard to have out there if shit goes sideways.  If I don’t see you before we split, just know I’m damn glad you’re on my flank, man.”  Then with a smile he added, “asshole.”

I laughed and walked away.

The songs rolled on, men and women singing just for fun, sometimes to each other.  All with an eye that this was a family gathering, so romantic, but not raunchy.  As things were reaching a natural ending, before anyone left, I put in a second song request to the DJ.  Finally, my turn came up again.

“Folks, this song has become a tradition among some for a unit going on a deployment.  I know we aren’t expected to be separated more than two weeks, not the year or more that many experienced – even some in the room – but I know every moment I am not engaged with mission duties, my mind will be on my family.  In honor of that …”

The song started and most recognized it immediately.  Some of the men joined me for the chorus. I looked across the ladies in my family and sang directly to them.

So hold me when I’m here

Right me when I’m wrong

Hold me when I’m scared

And love me when I’m go-ooone

In three more weeks, my men and I would leave our families behind, if only for a few days.