Charlequinade

West Germany, 1976

Au rêverie

It was not only Charles Miller's earliest recurring memory, but it was also his most sentient and melancholic.

He had no idea how old he was, it occurred long before he began school. Waking from his afternoon nap, he heard a joyful commotion outside. In the connected driveways between the homes of his family and the neighbours were more older kids that he’d ever seen before. Their red wagons were rolled to one side; all were blasting away at an invisible overwhelming Indian attack shouting their gun shots,

'Bam! Bam!'

'Dow dow dow!'

His mother dressed him up in his cowboy gear; his older brother's hand-me-down hat, red neckerchief, and a pair of imitation ivory handled six-shooters on a gun belt. Running outside to join them, none said a word to him.

He was in the Wild West; with the largest posse he’d ever seen defending the wagon train against hordes of Indians with a delightful intensity! He was having the time of his life.

One by one, the Indian fighters imperceptibly returned to their homes; then he was the last one there…

That memory repeatedly came back to him over the years; whenever he joined something wonderful, it gradually ended. One by one his comrades left, and he'd be the last man standing; he never realised it until it happened.

'Don't forget to turn off the lights!', was a comment he added to the memory.

Fall Out

Charlie’s, or Freitag’s as was his code name, departure from the best time in his life began insignificantly. When members of his US Army Europe surveillance and assassination team left through retirement, they weren’t replaced.

The gradualness became big bangs.

Major Jillian Schaefer, his occasional instructor and the team’s psychiatrist, summoned him for a chat, coffee and her home-made cookies. He loved talking to her, but he knew she had a reason for their tête-à-tête.

At last, she told him that his partner Wildschwein would never return. He had been sent to the USA not for ‘special training of a confidential nature’, but for pending medical discharge. To put things bluntly, he cracked up and could no longer do his job.

Freitag expressed surprise that he had no knowledge of his condition. She replied that buddies were often the last to know, as no one ever wanted to let down their buddy.

‘He was ashamed to see you. It was his cross to bear, and some people have this subliminal instinct to carry one.’

She sang,

‘Kept by Thy tender care, gladly the cross I'll bear’, then crossed her eyes and growled. ‘Glad Lee, the Cross-Eyed Bear’, she explained.

He remained silently contemplative.

‘Freitag, it’s not what you say, it’s how people think you look at them…he was remote with me too…’

‘Maybe you should’ve communicated with him as he watched you in his crosshairs? He had communion with his clients…’

Her eyes widened in surprise, then she reflected,

‘You’re probably right, I wish I would’ve adopted your idea. He preferred me wearing Hoppe's No. 9 instead of Chanel No. 5.’

* * *

The bangs grew bigger.

Fearless Leader was assigned back to Fort Bragg.

Everyone was ordered to shave, get a military haircut and stand in formation in their Class A uniforms.

There was their new commanding officer. The lieutenant colonel resembled an advertisement for constipation.

He gave a similar speech to all Freitag’s new battalion commanders in his former outfit, the 1/13th Infantry, saying that he was going to bring them back into the United States Army; the vocal equivalent of a dog urinating on things to show they were all his.

There was his new team. They saw through him as if he lived in a glass house.

At least two of his comrades-in-arms openly yawned.

‘Open ranks…march!’

Someone imitated a chicken clucking.

The Colonel began an inspection where Number Two, the team’s executive officer who would also soon be replaced, introduced each of the team. Freitag was first.

As he wasn’t Special Forces qualified, he wore a cloth striker bar, nicknamed ‘candy bar’, beneath his Special Forces crest on his green beret instead of the usual shield of the 10th Special Forces. He never thought himself worthy to wear a green beret, but his team insisted that not only did non-SF qualified individuals assigned to SF units wear it, but they had such a high respect for him that they presented him with it after he made a parachute jump with them and his Major. It was the greatest honour he had ever received.

He who humbles himself shall be exalted, whilst he who exalts himself shall be humbled.

With Wildschwein gone, Major Schaefer and him were the only ‘candy stripers’; the derogatory term for those who wore the candy bar named after trainee nurses.

‘A Candy Bar! I don’t want any Candy Stripers in my team. We’ll send you to Fort Bragg to earn your right to be here, Candy Ass!’

The Colonel next went to Löwe, the Texan who glared the death ray.

‘What’s your problem, Sergeant.’

‘Mah problem’s havin’ a goddamned coward who was kicked upstairs to be XO of a B-Team when he ran out on his A-Team and they fucked up trying to frag him, right? You’re as yella as mustard without the bite!’

‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that! I am a Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Army Special Forces and you’re at the position of attention!!!’

‘No one’s paying attention to you, Colonel. Your Vietnam reputation precedes you’, coldly sneered Super Top Two.

‘I’ll have every one of you court-martialled for insubordination to a superior officer!!!’

‘”Superior”???’

The team roared in laughter, then began a pack attack,

‘PUPO! Pack Up and Piss Off! PUPO!’

‘How’d you get that Purple Heart? Paper cut?’

‘Naw, his hand slipped when he was stabbing one of his men in the back.’

‘You fell on your sword! Right, Colonel?’

‘He was pushed!’

‘He was ordered!’

As they hadn’t been in Vietnam, Freitag and Number Two remained quiet, but the latter gave a classic ‘what can you do?’ expression.

‘Major Schaefer! You’re my witness!’

Their Major made the Colonel blink in the showdown.

‘A persecution complex with paranoid tendencies…I’m afraid I can’t allow you to take command, Colonel; and you well know the powers-that-be will back me up…I’ve read your file…’

Loud suggestions came for the Colonel to have sexual intercourse with his mother, himself and the high horse he rode in on.

‘I was a big man yesterday…’, sang Braunbär.

‘But boy, you oughta see me now!’, the entire team continued the song.

The Colonel stalked off muttering threats as the team sang Run, Rabbit Run.

Bierliebhauber brought everyone back to grade school,

‘We call him kernel because he’s so corny!’

Major Schaefer commanded,

‘At ease!’

She pointed at the candy stripe on her beret, then began dancing The Wah-Watusi singing ‘candy ass’ to the tune of Candy Girl like Frankie Valli. Her team sang the Four Seasons’ part.

Two days later they were again in formation; Number Two related that their new Colonel had died in an automobile accident…

Mission to Summer’s End

‘Lucky man, you’ve won an all-expenses paid Italian holiday!’, beamed Major Schaefer who wore class As.

‘With you, Ma’am?’, replied Freitag, who was back in mufti.

‘The bad news is no. The good news is you’re not going stag, and your name is now Harlequin.’

‘What do you have in mind, Ma’am?’

‘You’re going to be mentor, bodyguard, emotional support and Zanni Harlequin to a prospective team member who’s going to do her stuff. You’ll be informed in Italy to who and when.’

There was never a ‘why’…

‘”Her”…that means she’ll be able to get close.’

‘Right you are…Ladykiller! Everyone knows you have a way with women. She outranks you, but she doesn’t know that. She does know you’re in charge of her mission…whatever it is...she also knows…’

Major Schaefer put on a cigar store Indian expression and raised her palm,

‘How!...She knows what she signed up for, but she doesn’t know the specifics.’

‘Why me, Ma’am?’

‘Because you’re a Sergeant in the United States Army; it’s high time you act like one. The team mentored you, it’s time to give something back.’

‘Yes, Ma’am!’

She began singing Spanish Flea, the theme song to The Dating Game, as she pushed a button beneath her desk and walked to the door,

‘Let me introduce you to our choice; Bachelorette Number One!’

His Columbina was an attractive bespectacled brunette in Class A uniform sans nameplate wearing second lieutenant bars, USAEUR shoulder patch and the branch of service insignia of the Chemical Corps; crossed flasks called ‘retorts’.

She smiled as she saluted.

‘Reporting as ordered, Ma’am…’

The Major returned her salute.

‘Welcome aboard, Columbina…this is your Harlequin…you can take off your beret and…’,

Their Major began dancing The Pony whilst singing Dusty Springfield’s Stay Awhile.

Columbina looked around. Still smiling, singing and dancing, their Major suddenly produced a flat throwing knife and threw it into the wall next to Columbina.

‘Home is where you hang your hat…you’ll need a sense of humour to survive us…’, Harlequin smiled.

Columbina nervously placed her black beret on the knife’s handle.

‘You’re just in time for coffee and cookies…I made them myself this morning!’

Arrividreamci

His new buddy appeared keen and enjoyed their code names: Col and Harley for short. She drove to their destination on what was called the Ligurian Riviera. Their identities were off limits, as was their unrevealed mission and sexual intercourse.

‘I’ve never been to Italy before, Harley…have you?’

‘Not this part; Rome, Venice, a few other places.’

When they were on leave together, Wildschwein returned to the US, Harlequin remained in Europe and travelled like a backpacker.

She wasn’t an Italian-American, but an Italophile. Fluent in the language, she also was an expert in Italian history, both ancient and modern, that she gleefully shared with him during the drive. It was a long trip, but the scenery and conversation were excellent.

They stopped off for a splendid lunch and walked alongside Lake Lucerne.

‘I can think clearly when I’m next to the water’, she wistfully sighed, ‘Everything falls into place.’

They later took a brief, but beautiful side trip with another splendid walk by Lake Como with Col thinking to herself again.

They were in the proverbial seventh heaven. It was like winning a date with the smartest girl in school.

* * *

Their arrival coincided with the end of summer festival that attracted a multitude of visitors consisting of a religious procession, a fete featuring the local cuisine, then after dark, a masked costume carnival and fireworks.

Posing as a newlywed couple, his new wife enjoyed chatting with the hotel manager.

‘Don’t forget you’re an officer and a gentleman’, she whispered.

As she opened the door, he picked her up and carried her over the threshold.

After wedging a chair beneath the doorknob, they changed into their pyjamas. The bed was large, so they weren’t on top of each other; both behaved themselves. Harlequin said his prayers to himself and soon was asleep.

* * *

There was every member of his team, even those who were no longer there, dressed in togas sitting at a marble round table. They were presided over by their Major wearing a Roman helmet, red cloak and smirk.

‘Somebody must atone for the death of Colonel Chickenshit, and guess who won the unanimous vote? Your choice of our Commander-in-Chief President Ford doesn’t count, Harley.’

All of them shook a cup that sounded like dice were inside. Out came ping pong balls with cartoons of Charlie’s face.

His team sang For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow as Columbina stuck her dagger into his back.

‘Et tu, Columbina?’

‘Et too much’, laughed their Major as she dropped Alka-Seltzer into a glass of water, that turned to fizzy blood.

He bolted upright in their bed.

‘Nightmares?’, she whispered.

‘Hopefully not Previews of Coming Attractions’, he whispered back.

‘Like to talk about it?’

He shook his head. Columbina rolled over and went back to sleep.

Was her mission to kill him?

He was the youngest and the most expendable of the team and the only one who didn’t have a buddy…however, if they wanted him dead, they wouldn’t bother with a road trip…unless Columbina was issued an Italian holiday as her reward…

A Day is a Lifetime…Morning

On the first day of their La Dolce Vita, the locals were burning vegetation on the hillsides around town giving the smell of autumn.

‘How about a swim before breakfast?’

Columbina had the right idea, as their swish hotel had its own private beach. Yesterday’s brilliant blue continued; they leapt into the Golfo Paradiso to the bracing, but not overly cold water. Like Sub-Mariner, Columbina seemed to gather mental strength and happiness from the sea.

The surf was surprisingly good. Columbina was hit by one of the waves, she came up laughing. Her face was blackened from the brushfire ashes that floated on the water.

‘Looks like you’re going on night patrol.’

‘We shall be’, she replied.

He put his finger on her face and showed the black on it.

‘Ash Wednesday’s early this year.’

‘Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return’, she replied.

They enjoyed their breakfast outside beneath an umbrella facing the seaside.

Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow…

Afternoon

Charliequin had only seen religious processions in films. Columbina became wide-eyed and held him like the Madonna of the Seven Moons. She looked up to him, he gestured with his head and eyes to the procession.

‘We’re not going their way…doesn't it bother you?’

‘I flunked guilt in Catechism, Col; they didn’t have Summer School for it.’

The procession finished; it would soon be time to meet their contact.

* * *

They were picked up by a car at an arranged location; the driver gave the correct password phrase, they replied with the countersign.

Friend or Foe?

He liked Pantalone as soon as he set his eyes on him. He was an Italian-American, no doubt assigned there from a similar USAEUR unit to his. He brought back memories of his Italian neighbours and the high school wise guys he cracked jokes with; one of them said he never met a single person whose parents or grandparents didn’t speak with a non-American accent until he reached high school.

‘Does Italy live up to your expectations, Columbina?’

‘To tell the truth, it’s just like Mexico…but the food’s better.’

Pantalone smiled, but his eyes shot daggers…

Things fell into place over coffee as both were briefed on Columbina’s target that included photographs.

‘How do we know he’s going to show up?’, asked Harlequin.

‘I got someone who feeds the target bogus information that he trusts…’, When someone was referred to as ‘target’ rather than his or her name, you knew their time was up, ‘and she’ll meet him at a certain location as arranged this morning.’

After Pantalone’s assistant pointed him out, Columbina would walk up and brush him with her handbag that would shoot a poisoned needle into him, then keep on walking.

He would be dead in twenty-four hours allowing sufficient time for a getaway.

Presto-Change-O!!!

Columbina was now instantly keen.

He discovered why she wore Chemical Corps insignia…she developed the toxic poison. It was her baby, and she wanted to be the first to try it out. He wondered if her target was selected purely to field test her venom.

Columbina went on about its effectiveness like a TV commercial; act within 24 hours and you’ll not only have a clean getaway, but you’ll get this free set of steak knives!

In the back?

Pantalone displayed Columbina’s lethal handbag and explained how it worked. A small tube contained the needle Columbina provided that when released would instantly protrude and retract by a spring mechanism. It had a safety catch kept on until showtime.

Harley felt like a fashion model walking up and down as Columbina practiced her nonchalant execution.

Pantalone insisted Harlequin practice the movement on Columbina ‘in case something unexpected happened’.

‘What could go wrong?’, she laughed.

Pantalone gave a classic Italian shrug. Once Columbina turned her head away from him, he glanced at her and made a freezing gesture.

‘Now you play Columbina.’

‘Shall I swish?’

‘We don’t want a Jerry Lewis comedy show. You can cover the bag with a coat, leaving this area free.’

Panty went away and returned with one of his sweaters, wrapping it around the bag except for the area of the needle.

‘When Columbina, or you, if the case arises, complete the act, one of you will pass it to my assistant Gazooney, who drove you here.’

Pantalone explained that Gazooney had no idea who the man she would point out was, nor what the handbag contained, but she would get it out, hand it over to Pantalone away from the area, with Pantalone safely disposing of it.

‘Can we trust Gazooney?’, asked Columbina.

Pantalone’s mouth said yes, but Harlequin believed his eyes said, can we trust YOU?

The four would meet in the evening with Pantalone issuing them Columbina and Harlequin costumes; then leading the pair to Columbina’s target.

Columbina and Harlequin returned to their hotel for rest and arranged their hotel checkout for the next morning.

Evening

There was an unobvious coded message at the hotel reception for him alone.

He was to ring one of the telephone numbers used for the Point of No Return to obtain information from his designated handler. He had done the duty often for his cohort as they had done it for him and the Wild Man. If there was any new information, abortion, delay or confirmation to proceed, this was the final step.

His Major was on the other end of the line, wherever it was, and he gave the usual code phrase that all was going according to plan.

She had two words for him,

‘Fail secure…repeat…fail secure…acknowledge…’

‘Fail secure acknowledged.’

Fail secure meant that the assets, material and personnel of his mission must not fall into the wrong hands in case of a security or other failure.

‘Everyone knows you have a way with women…Thunderbirds are Go! Ciao, bello!’

As the assets and material would be in Pantalone’s hands; his Major had given him the green light to do his partner in if there was any problem.

Masquerade Hardball

Pantalone’s Judas did her masquerade in a monk’s robe, giving Col’s target, attired in 18th century court dress, the literal kiss of death.

Harlequin looked in another direction as he glanced sideways to watch Columbina do her stuff; he imagined Woody Woodpecker singing,

Cartoon Showtime! Cartoon Showtime! Here…comes…Columbina!

Signorina Assassina circled around behind her target to strike from the rear. She paused…then proceeded with an intense look on her face…

Don’t look like his wife when you’ve caught him out, Col!

Her target made a face and grunted.

Columbina kept walking to her rendezvous with Gazooney to switch handbags. She’d rendezvous with him elsewhere to watch the fireworks.

The target was walking after Columbina when…

‘Papa! Papa!’

Two adorable little girls and presumably their mother ran up to their target who warmly embraced them.

Columbina not only turned back to look at them, but as Pantalone predicted, froze…though she didn’t turn into a pillar of salt.

He gave a signal; Gazooney rapidly walked up to Columbina, hugged her and whispered in her ear…she walked Columbina who was still looking back.

* * *

Columbina and Harlequin watched the fireworks with the latter joining the ooohs and ahhhs whilst Columbina resembled a deer caught in the spotlight.

They removed their costumes in the back seat of Gazooney’s car, then returned to their hotel.

Columbina followed his orders to take a sleeping pill.

A Lifetime is a Day

They packed most of their gear the previous night. Columbina only had coffee; Charlequin drove north towards Genoa.

Though in semi-catatonic appearance, her mouth was still working.

‘It’s the first time I’ve killed a man…’

‘Better to give than receive.’

‘Doesn’t it bother you that he has children?’

‘Remember Death Rides a Horse? The outlaws let the kid go and he grows up to be John Phillip Law who goes after them in their old age…bang goes retirement…literally…’

‘They didn’t tell me he had children…’

‘What’s that got to do with it? You think a person’s a saint because they don’t practice birth control? You don’t make the shitlist for doing nothing…If so, I’d be on it!’

‘What would you do if you knew you had less than 24 hours to live?’

He related the plot of D.O.A., with Edmond O’Brien going after the person who poisoned him.

They stopped in a beautiful coastal city for lunch; Columbina spoke like a zombie,

‘I’m going for a walk to think.’

He watched her as she crossed a busy street to pensively view the Golfo Paradiso from a high cliff…

She leapt to her death.

Dismissed

Neverland was deserted when he returned; there was only Wendy of the Lost Boys.

He gave his detailed report as she took notes.

‘Well, you do have a way with women…’

He wondered if she thought that he had thrown her off the cliff.

‘Want to hear the punchline? Her chemical concoction wasn’t what it was cracked up to be…he survived.’

‘I guess she’d be in trouble when she came back to her mad scientists…”Acme Toxins…WARNING! Does not work on Road Runners…”’

After her laughter she asked,

‘Noticed anything unusual since your return?’

‘Where is everyone, Ma’am?’

‘Gone; you’re The Last of the Mohicans and the last of our missions. They’ve been considering getting rid of our team for some time. Colonel Chickenshit’s unfortunate mishap dramatically speeded up their actions. My own transfer’s been delayed so I’d be here for you. I know how important it is to you to have your friends say goodbye.’

Time stood still for Charlie…at the most unlikely times a memory of a cartoon would pop into his mind, and he’d break out laughing…at this time, place and moment, the opposite happened.

He was back at the Academy Theatre with his brother who had taken him to Journey to the Seventh Planet that had everything an afternoon spaceman movie should. The exciting title, posters and trailer made you eagerly anticipate it. John Agar’s stalwart astronauts with ray guns visited a far-off forbidden world full of perils, mysteries, monsters and beautiful women in lurid colour, exactly like the Spaceman game his neighbourhood gang played in the overgrown vacant lot with the girls vs. the boys. After defeating the evil power on Uranus whose illusions and delusions vanish, the spacemen rocket back to Earth, but the beautiful woman coming back with them, and maybe the spacemen themselves disappeared. Instead of an explanation, there was only the unforgettable melancholic title song playing over the end credits. It was the first film he’d seen that didn’t have an easily understandable or happy ending; Charlie was as shocked now as he was then.

‘Where are you going, Ma’am?’

‘I can’t say, Charlie…where do the lost things go?’

This was the only time she called him ‘Charlie’ since she called him into her office and handed him a box of Good and Plenty candy. The two rattled the boxes and sang the product’s Choo Choo Charlie song that went to the tune of Casey Jones as they walked around the room, then she sat in a chair behind him imitating the commercial’s train.

‘Where am I going, Ma’am?’

‘You can re-enlist in the Regular Army, but I doubt you’d want that.’

He nodded, then shouted,

‘Re-up?’

‘You’ve some time left before your expiration term of service…’, she saw the surprised look on his face and chortled, ‘You’re the only soldier in the history of the United States Regular Army who forgot when his ETS is…it’s this month!’

She was right! His Expiration Term of Service from his three-year enlistment was due to end very soon, he had never thought of it once he joined his team. Every day with them had been like childhood playtime; fun forever and tomorrow never came. He had also forgotten his Date Eligible for Return from Overseas Service, whose initials sounded like a far-off planet. Neither mattered to him.

His mind drifted back to the day six weeks after his 17th birthday at the Chicago Armed Forces Examining and Entrance Station when his Basic Combat Training platoon were sworn in. There followed the usual hurry up and wait and threats from the sergeants that undercover FBI agents were on the train to St. Louis who would arrest them for misbehaviour. One sergeant said that bringing pornography onto a military installation was a serious Federal offence. He produced a wastepaper basket he called the ‘amnesty can’. It was soon filled with obscene magazines and nude photographs of what one recruit said was his wife. The sergeant obligingly showed it to the platoon. After the laughter came the mad dash through the streets of the Loop to Union Station where his platoon just made its train. It was the start of their bonding where he had more laughs and adventures in less than two months at Fort Lost-in-the-Woods then he had in his entire life. Firing various weapons, throwing grenades, war games on bivouac, being thrown into a prisoner of war camp where they were beaten up and terrorised, then hell-for-leather escape and evasion. Return to barracks led to the final weekend post privileges where they pigged out on junk food and saw American Graffiti together. It all ended with the final parade in their Class As, and when one of them introduced his mother to their drill sergeant, he made him do push ups in front of her.

Then, like his childhood friends, they never saw each other again…

‘As your reward for distinguished service we’ve got you unassigned so you can disappear between the cracks like you specialised in before you joined us. I’ve completed your paperwork for a European Out for your ETS. You may want to go to Rhodesia, not much money, but lots of laughs.’

‘Rhodesia?’

‘You’re not the Peace Corps type. Every soldier needs a war, Charlie. You had an inferiority complex that you missed Vietnam, some of the others from the brown shoe army had the same when they missed Korea, and of course the Korean vets had the same for missing World War II. I’d love to go.’

‘I wish you would…’, to hell with it, he’d embarrass himself. ‘You’re the girlfriend I’ve always wanted, you’re like my Our Miss Brooks 4th grade teacher…I really like you…Ma’am…’

Her eyes beamed in happy surprise,

‘When I was a little girl, I wanted to be Our Miss Brooks! Thank you, Charlie. I like you too! You’re just like my little brother who joined the Marines to be a man and was killed in Vietnam.'

They looked at each other as they did when one finished the other’s sentence; each realised they reminded each other of a very special person they thought were long lost.

‘Maybe I was more of your buddy than the Wild Man was. We could always talk to each other; lots of the team said you were on another planet, just like my little brother was.’

‘I don’t know why, Ma’am, but I’m only attracted to the unobtainable.’

‘I’m Unobtanium-235!’, she pointed at herself with her pen and made Geiger counter clicking noises.

He laughed harder than he did when she took him out for his black-tie birthday dinner then turned her auburn wig backwards, put on her sunglasses and did her Cousin Itt from The Addams Family impression at the haughty maître d'hôtel’s reception desk.

They laughed as they always had, but he suddenly became saddened that this would be the last time.

‘I remember you told me about your childhood gang who never said goodbye to you when they grew up and left you, and I know how hurt you were when your own partner didn’t want to say goodbye…’

Like Charlie, her mind drifted to a movie memory.

‘I once saw a film called The Admiral Was a Lady; ever see it?’

‘No, Ma’am.’

‘No Jilly…please say it to me?’

‘No, Jilly.’

‘After the war a former WAVE meets a discharged aircrew who live a dream life of getting paid for doing nothing, but their commander wouldn’t let them leave until they were truly ready to find the place for themselves where they belonged. I’m your Admiral, Charlie; I’ve seen all the others off, back to Special Forces Stateside with a couple retirements. I recommend you going to Rhodesia. Once you’re gone, I can carry on with my own new life…Give me a great big hug, Charlie?’

He complied; then she held his hand and began to sing I Love How You Love Me as they danced together…

His eyes suddenly widened, she curiously looked into them as he blurted,

‘Brainflash! You’re the real commander of T-Team! Fearless Leader and Col. Chickenshit were figureheads! There wasn’t any major upheaval when they left…’

She silenced him by kissing him on his mouth; their tongues met. She looked back into his eyes and winked.

‘I’ve never done this with an Admiral…’

FIN

Author Notes: I am the author of three Extra Dimensional/Ultraterrestial military science fiction novels MERCENARY EXOTIQUE, OPERATION CHUPACABRA and WORK IN OTHER WORLDS FROM YOUR OWN HOME! as well as two travel books THE MAN FROM WAUKEGAN and TWO AUSTRALIANS IN SCOTLAND (all from Lulu.com). I live happily ever after with my wonderful wife in paradise (coastal Kiama, NSW Australia).

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