United States Army Judge Advocate General's Office Southeast US

Orlando, Florida, United States of America

16 January 2016 S.E.C.

5 November 3058 I.S.C.

 

     Florida was fortunate; the only state east of the Mississippi to remain completely free of UN control, the Florida panhandle was a massive concentration of troops, some American, but many more from Brazil, Cuba, and other Latin American nations that had come to rescue the "Colossus of the North" that they had feared and envied for nearly two centuries.  Their equipment was substandard in some places, but the troops made up for it with their spirit.  Most of Latin America had a particular reason to hate Giuseppe's UN, which had negotiated with the nations of the region under a flag of peace, but when some of the countries broke off from the UN in protest of the 2013 attacks on Mecca, Medina, and Jerusalem, the ambassadors they had in Europe were all placed under arrest and disappeared, the UN having cited "security concerns" for not returning them.  That had been the final straw that had brought Latin America firmly behind the United States and her allies, and following the Caracas Accords of 2014, had militarily solidified most of the nations of the Western Hemisphere into the Pan-American Alliance.  The Alliance that was now striving with all of it's might to fight Giuseppe's advances into the United States, for even the nations that had formerly condemned the United States' actions in 2005 and onward realized that if the US fell, they too would fall.  This was the reason why the leaders of nations as diverse and as opposed to each other as Peru and Ecuador, or Honduras and El Salvador, had called off their own squabbles and put what troops they could into fighting the greatest war in history.  It was an irony of history that nations such as Venezuela and Cuba, which had been in heated disagreements in the past with the US, would send their young men and in some cases women to die on American soil, a situation that Fidel Castro would have found repugnant or, perhaps, gratifying.  For all their disagreements and concerns with the United States, the nations of the Americas preferred the domination of the Colossus of the North to the brutal dictatorship of the United Nations under Giuseppe.

     With the UN line having advanced as far south as just outside the northern border line of Florida, the state government had moved from Tallahassee to the more-defensible location of Tampa Bay.  Other government facilities had relocated to Miami, while some had centered themselves in the Orlando area, mostly the stretch of territory between Orlando and the Brevard County coast.  This region of Florida had become an economically-powerful and highly-populated area in the previous thirty years, spurred on by tourism of the nearby theme parks and, as time passed, the creation of computer-related industries and firms.

     As was required by the presence of so many troops, the Army had set up an office of the Judge Advocate General, the legal branch of the Army, to deal with the everyday and not-so-everyday cases involving misconduct of military personnel.  It was true that there was a war on, and as a state of emergency had been declared most rights such as habeas corpus had been temporarily rescinded, but the military still needed lawyers and judges to look over cases of misconduct, investigate them, prosecute them, or drop them if they were unnoteworthy.  A growing multitude of cases were related to combat soldiers.  Namely, soldiers who went AWOL, or had self-inflicted wounds to escape combat duty, or even civilians who had dodged the draft.  It smacked of hypocracy for some of the lawyers prosecuting such cases, since they were mostly of combat age as well, and yet they were not on the frontlines.

     One such thinker was Captain Steven William Penton, one such military lawyer of age twenty-five.  Penton was a large man, nearly six foot eight in height and over two hundred and sixty pounds in weight.  Although he had not gone beyond high school level in any athletic venture, Penton was still physically dominating, an effect that helped him in and out of the courtroom, and he still possessed a decent amount of physical strength from exercise.  His dark hair was kept close to his scalp by combing and was always at regulation length.  Had he wanted Penton could easily grow a beard, which would certainly add to his rugged and tough appearance, but he was fully shaven and only had the slight appearances of a mustache for facial hair.  His eyes were a dark brown, with a short and slightly pointed nose and nondescript lips to fill out his facial features.  He had joined the military seven years before, during the Saunders Administration, to help win a career in law.  Entrance requirements had been lax at the time and it had been easy for him to sweep right into law school, from which he had been assigned to the JAG office where he would serve four years before being allowed to retire and go private.  Of course, with the country the way it was he doubted he would be out at the four year mark.

     Being a Captain at twenty-five was itself not a strange thing in war time, in some cases men won the rank through battlefield promotion.  And in others, such as Penton's case, the rise through the ranks had come because of transfers out of the office and onto the field.  Such a transfer had come to mind for him as well, and Penton had always been an avid study in military tactics, but he was at a loss on where he could go.  With no combat experience he would likely be busted down in rank; a Captain after all would be a commander of an entire company of men, and it would be almost impossible for a combat-hardened group of a hundred or so men to accept leadership by an untried officer, much less an officer who was a lawyer.

     It was to some surprise that when Penton entered the main JAG office to pick up something he had forgotten on the previous day, a Friday, he found a light on in one of the other offices.  The offices were built into the military base that the Andrews Administration had constructed in Central Florida to back up Patrick AFB in Melbourne.  The eastern half of Orange County, between the city of Orlando and the coastal communities of Brevard County, had been selected over the former Naval Training Center.  As it was open and free land in most respects, a sprawling complex had been able to be constructed.  Chosen for it's location, roughly the central portion of the state, the base was now being expanded following the incredible events known as "First Contact"; the arrival of humans from another time with a new weapon of war, the walking war machines called BattleMechs.  Penton had been at the converted "Spaceport" of the base when one such shipment arrived.  Up to 14 meters in height, the machines had stomped off the large landing spaceship they had been embarked on and taken to holding areas for the first training units to be established in the American and Allied armies.  Like all of the military personnel he knew, Penton had taken the so-called "capability test".  A weird-looking helmet had been put on his head and he had been asked to order his limbs to move in certain ways, to generally think, and had been given stimuli to respond to.  The entire thing had taken about half an hour, and Penton walked away with no illusions that he had made a good show of himself.  Although he couldn't help but wonder if maybe this was the chance to finally do what his heart demanded; fight.  JAG was low enough on lawyers, and that had been what kept him even when spur-of-the-moment decisions might have led him to transfer to a combat unit, but as a lawyer he did not feel like he was contributing to his nation's defense.  Perhaps, as a pilot for one of these 'BattleMechs', he could fulfill that desire.

     Penton did not have a vain belief that war was glorious.  He had met too many combat veterans, read too many articles, seen too much combat footage to believe that war was a sport or was a glory to participate in.  It was, in fact, a horrible nightmare.  But like all unagreeable things, war was sometimes necessary, and he felt that this was one such necessity.

     As Penton went toward the lit office he noticed something on his desk.  It was a sealed envelope that had apparently been delivered the previous day, and it was addressed to him from the office of the Secretary of the Army.  He picked it up and examined it as he walked to the open office door.  He knocked on the door frame to get the attention of the occupant.  "So, what are you doing on a Saturday like this?"

     Seated behind the plain office desk was Penton's superior, Lieutenant Colonel Leah MacIntyre, a woman of mixed Japanese-Caucasian descent.  She was ten years his senior, going on thirty-six years of age, and had gone for a legal career within the Army when he was still in law school.  She was only one-quarter Japanese but that part of her bloodline still seemed to effect her height; she stood at a mere five foot six, well under a foot shorter than Penton's massive frame.  MacIntyre was a brunette, her hair short and combed downward, and her hair slightly curled on the top of her head.  Her lips were thick and kept moist by the application of moistureizer, with a small pug nose just above and a pair of shining blue eyes.  Her jaw was subdued with a pointed chin.  MacIntyre was not in peak physical condition; she was not unhealthy, but she was not an athlete or strong woman either, merely with a low enough level of body fat to be healthy.  Her skin, mostly covered at the moment by her short-sleeved duty uniform and loose-fitting trousers, was level and decently smooth, with some small amount of "flab" on her body, not enough to make her fat in any way, but enough to make the surface of her flesh soft and malleable.  MacIntyre's cleavage was large and pronounced.  Not overly so, but her co-workers considered her to have the best "bust" in the entire office.  Penton had to agree, which felt embarrassing considering how much effort MacIntyre put into trying to keep it from being so obvious.

     On her desk was a pair of pictures with her three children Daniel, Penelope, and Diana, ages 12, 8, and 6 respectively.  She had told Penton and the others before that the children where with her ex-husband in Portland, where he had moved before the invasion to take up a job at a new tank production plant.  MacIntyre kept the details of their seperation and divorce to herself, but Penton reasoned that it was on good terms from the picture of him she kept on the desk and the keeping of his surname.  Such things were not terribly uncommon.  MacIntyre struck him as someone who put her career first, and Penton considered it most likely that she and her husband had parted ways amicably because her career was interfering with their relationship.

     What Penton had to admit was that he did feel some attraction to MacIntyre.  She had beautiful features despite her age and her personality made her easy to work with.  He had also been forced to consider if some of it was the fact that unlike other women he might have attraction for, he could never have MacIntyre.  Not unless they wanted to harm their careers.  The Army under Bush and then under Andrews had done much to restore the appearance of "decency" in it's ranks, and it would not look good for a commander to sleep with her subordinate.  Fraternization regs were rarely enforced outside of political or ideological reasons; after all, one could hardly fault people for falling in love and wanting to have some intimacy when tomorrow they might die.  Combat effectiveness was the greatest worry and men and women on combat duty acted accordingly, and those who didn't were the ones who ended up on the business end of a fraternization charge.  This was doubly so in their field, where at any time General Parker, the Army officer in charge of the Southeastern branch of the Army JAG office, could assign them against each other in a case, and charges of conflict of interest would be raised.

     MacIntyre looked up from a paper and saw Penton at the door.  A wide grin crossed her face.  "I could say the same for you, Steven," she replied.  "You missed the openings yesterday."

     "Openings?"

     "The Army sent back all of our neuro exam results.  Nobody here passed."  She scooted her chair forward.  Her eyes focused on the envelope in his hand.  "Well, that leaves you I guess."

     "Nah, probably be the same as everyone else," Penton laughed.  He took the leather seat opposite the desk.  "Late paperwork?"

     "Maloney case."  MacIntyre lifted the folder.  "Had to go over some of the specifics, I'll be prosecuting."

     "Who's sitting with Maloney?"

     "O'Bannon."

     "Ah."  Penton nodded.  "He'll do good, but I don't think anyone could ever get a man off of desertion charges.  Even if it's to go fifteen miles away to be at his mother's deathbed."

     "Regs are regs, Steven," MacIntyre replied coldly.  "They break 'em, we enforce 'em."

     "Yes, we send family men into those 'penal companies' to be used as cannon fodder."  Penton shook his head.  "I hate that part of the job."

     "One of those things that happens when people get desperate."  MacIntyre leaned back in her chair.  "I'm not going to hear another 'I feel like a hypocrite' speech, am I Steven?"

     "Don't worry, I know how much you love them, I won't bore you with it."

     "All I know is that I have to do what I do best," MacIntyre stated slowly.  "I am not a combat officer and I don't have the background of one.  I am a legal officer.  So that is where I am needed.  And you're not a bad lawyer yourself, so you shouldn't be worried about anything."

     "I wish it were that simple."  Penton swallowed.  A grin began crossing his face.  "Phone lines to Portland still working?"

     "Still working," MacIntyre chuckled.  "My son is beginning to like girls."

     "All boys like girls when they reach the right age."

     "My son hates girls, though."  She shook her head laughing softly.  "He's still angry at me and Paul for having more kids.  He says we spoil the girls too much."

     "All older siblings say that," Penton remarked.  "And how is Paul?  Still screwing his secretary?"

     To Penton's surprise, a sly grin crossed MacIntyre's face.  "He's not with his secretary."  MacIntyre looked over at her husband's picture for a moment.  "It's one of the office supervisors."

     "Ah, big difference."

     "She's about your age, I've heard.  Long blond hair, shining brown eyes, luscious lips," the grin remained on MacIntyre's face, "and apparently the largest breasts he's ever seen."

     Penton's left eyebrow raised.  "Must be huge, then."

     "What makes you say that?"

     "Well, to be blunt, he's probably had a good look at your's, and you're not exactly a toothpick in that regard, Leah."

     MacIntyre giggled for a moment.  "Normally I'd throw up a yellow light for that one, but I don't really care right now."  She crossed her arms.  "Paul thinks we should, how did he say it, 'explore' sexually.  That maybe, if we both had exposure to a little variety in our sex lives, we could decide if we want to get back together."

     "Did he propose this before or after he began banging someone else?"

     "I'm not sure."  MacIntyre sighed.  "And I don't really care.  Paul can do what he likes.  We found out about three years ago that it just wasn't working.  The love had gone out of it."

     "One of those old career stories?  Your careers were conflicting?"

     "That was about it."  She steepled her fingers and looked toward Penton.  "Well, might as well see how you did with the neuro-thingy."

     Penton nodded and used his finger to begin tearing over the envelope.  "Yep, let's see how bad I did.  How bad did you do?"

     "Reaction times were good, they said," MacIntyre replied.  "But the eye-hand coordination was off.  So no selection for me."

     "I see."  Penton finished tearing the envelope open and took out the letter.  "Hmm, addressed to me by the Secretary of the Army Karl Zarbona himself..."

     "Wow.  I only got one of the underlings."  MacIntyre's eyes narrowed.  "Steve?"

     Penton continued reading.  He came to a complete pause for a moment and began to slow his breathing.  "Well I'll be damned," he muttered.

     "What about?"

     He put a finger on the paper and began reading aloud, "'By order of the Department of the Army, you are hereby transferred from your current posting with the office of the Judge Advocate General to Able Company of the 3rd BattleMech Training Brigade to begin training for a combat assignment as a BattleMech pilot.  You are ordered to report to your new assignment at the Orlando BattleMech Training Facility at zero seven-thirty on the Eighteenth of January Twenty-Sixteen."  He blinked.  "It goes on with the Secretary's personal note to me on how important it is for me to do my part in this branch of the war effort."

     MacIntyre's mouth gaped open for a moment.  "Oh my God, they've picked you."

     Penton put the letter back in the envelope and kept it in his hands.  "Looks like it.  I guess I don't know whether I should be scared or overjoyed."

     "Well, that changes things."  MacIntyre rubbed the back of her neck.  "God dammit I'm going to have to find someone else for the Vargas case.  Have your briefing notes?"

     "They are in my car."  Penton smiled a little.  "I'll give them to you when we go out.  How would you like some dinner?"

     "Dinner?  With you?"  MacIntyre's mouth widened into a semi-smile.  "You've never asked me out to dinner before."

     "Because if I had, General Parker probably would have had both of our heads on a pike," Penton reminded her.  "But the way I see it, when the JAG offices resume Monday I'll be in this training school and there is no more conflict of interest."

     "Steven, this wouldn't happen to be a way for you to get in bed with me, would it?"

     "Well, to be perfectly honest, the thought had passed my mind," Penton admitted.  "It's been a while, after all, since I've had any.  But, when it comes down to it, it might be the last time I see you alive."

     "Or more likely that I see you alive," MacIntyre corrected him.  "After all, you're the one going into combat duty.  And when you think of the small amount of people they'll have chosen, you're going to probably get yourself killed."

     "Well, Leah, that's why I want to go to dinner.  You're a good friend, we can have one last time to sit down and talk to each other."  Penton stood up.  "You don't have to go, but let me know if you do.  I'll be getting all of my case files and notes together for the others to use."

     MacIntyre nodded and watched him walk out of the room and toward his own smaller office.  She sighed and lifted her left arm, running her hand through her hair.  "Poor bastard," she muttered.  "He's going to get himself killed."

 

 

     As a side effect of the base being built near Orlando so too had barracks been constructed for the enlisted personnel to quarter in.  Houses had also been constructed for the purpose of housing troops with families but most of those families were gone, having escaped by sea and air to Mexico and on to the West Coast because of the tenuous situation on the front.  With less and less housing being used up, even single officers had been given housing units to live in, based on grade.  And as an O-5 Leah MacIntyre had been given one of those houses, a bland white one floor unit with a living room, kitchen-dining room, two bedrooms, and a pair of bathrooms.  Her brown 2003 Ford Crown Victoria with a darker brown color for trim was already parked in the small carport, and it was Penton's vehicle, a black 2001 Dodge Ram truck with red trim, that pulled up behind it.  MacIntyre stepped out of the passenger side and turned back to him.  "You want to come in for a minute?", she asked.

     Already feeling a bit full from the meal they had eaten at one of the few remaining resturants in the area, Penton considered just going home.  But there was something to her request, and his own desire to have some company before heading into an uncertain future, that prompted him to nod and turn the engine off.  MacIntyre was opening the front door as Penton came around the front.  When he entered the house he found that MacIntyre had left the living room sparsely furnished.  A single couch and a chair, with a table between them and a TV across the corner wall.  Despite a dining area there was no table for eating at, just the counter-bar seperating the kitchen from the living room.  A single hall led to the back, where Penton assumed the bedrooms and bathrooms were.  MacIntyre had stepped up to her chair and pulled off her long-sleeved uniform jacket, having been worn because of the brisk winter temperature of fourty-nine degrees Fahrenheit that had prevailed in the state.  She set it over the chair to put it away later.  Penton began to remove his own and asked, "Where should I put this?"

     "On the couch, I suppose."  MacIntyre sat down on the side of the couch closest to the chair and table.  She laid her head back and let out an exasperated sigh.  "Well, at least I got a good dinner out of the deal."

     Penton took the jacket and laid it out to minimize any wrinkling.  After that he sat down in her chair, careful not to sit back and crumple up her jacket.  "Long day?"

     "Standard day," MacIntyre responded.  "And it doesn't help that on Monday we'll be shuffling up the case loads to make up for you going away."

     "I tried to make them as orderly as I could."  Penton put his elbows on his thighs and kept his hands forward.  "You want to go back tomorrow and get that set up?  It'll help for Monday."

     MacIntyre shook her head once.  "No, I wouldn't do that to you, Steven.  It is your last day before you go off to combat duty, I want you to enjoy it."

     "Leah, where am I going to enjoy it?  Disney World?  Maybe Universal Studios?  Oh, wait, they're closed."  A sarcastic grin appeared on his face.  "The beach?  Off-limits, and it's too damned cold anyway.  Besides," he lifted his left arm and rubbed his forehead, "I don't care about the work."

     MacIntyre began laughing loudly.  "Is this the same Steven Penton who one time announced to the whole office that if he was given another case by someone he would put that someone in a headlock?  Or the same one who used to cut corners in his briefs?"  She put her left hand on her right shoulder and gently pushed her fingers into it.

     "I did not cut corners," Penton retorted.  "I simply made my typing work more efficient."

     "Colonel Pearson had to ask me what you were saying one time, Steven, because he didn't understand the way you typed some of the terms into acronyms."

     Penton rolled his eyes and blushed a little.  "My God, we're in the Army, we're supposed to love acronyms.  FUBAR, SNAFU, KISS..."

     "Yes, Keep It Simple Stupid, you should remember that," MacIntyre laughed.  "And acronyms might work for combat talk and all that, but this is the legal field, where judges and lawyers like to have their words spelled out to them."

     "Leah, I think you've made the point."

     "I hope I have."  MacIntyre finished her chuckling and her expression grew serious.  "Are you scared, Steven?  Scared of what might happen to you?"

     "A bit," Penton admitted.  "I suppose I'm more anxious than scared, though.  I don't know how this is going to turn up.  I didn't even think I was going to get this far.  I mean, I was certain I had flunked that test."

     MacIntyre gave a slow nod in return.  "Well, I hope you make it out of this one.  And, I have to say I'm going to miss you."

     Penton raised an eyebrow.  "Really?"  He lowered his head and snickered.  "Didn't know we were so close that you'd miss me."

     A mischievous grin crossed her face.  "Of course I'll miss you," MacIntyre said, chuckling after she finished her sentence.  She put her left hand back up to rub the corner of her neck and right shoulder.  "I'll miss all of the times I had to make you correct your briefs, all of the times I had to prevent you from strangling one of the clerks, all of your attempted come-ons..."

     "I never flirted with you that much," Penton pointed out, pointing toward her with his right hand.  "A compliment once and a while about your figure, nothing more.  And most of that was you losing some of your weight on the basketball court."

     "Oh yes, which is why I have this problem."  She flexed her neck and indicated to her right shoulder.

     "Overworked it, didn't you?"  He stood up to his full height, a mere six inches lower than the roof.

     "I overextended it trying to dunk in one of the half-court games," MacIntyre responded, using her fingers to rub at the muscle.  "I thought I could get up there," she added wryly.  "Just a bit too short."

     "Let me guess, you got your hand on the rim and the shock of all the weight pulled your shoulder?"

     "Exactly that."  She began flexing her neck again.  "I can't get the ache out of it.  The muscle keeps tensing up."

     "Yeah, I noticed you were favoring that shoulder earlier.  Here..."  Penton sat down beside MacIntyre and pushed her neck to the left.  "Let me see it."  He placed his hands on her shoulder and the right side of her neck and began kneading the flesh there with his fingers.  It was not often that Penton made such close contact with MacIntyre; in this case the contact emphasized the size difference between the two.  The size of his hands covered a larger portion of the area than MacIntyre's own hands.  Even sitting beside her, Penton had to look down a bit to make eye contact.  "How's that feel?"

     MacIntyre moaned lowly.  "Ooh, that's wonderful."

     "Yeah.  This forces the muscles to relax and contract.  Prevents them from tensing up."  Penton felt her smooth skin on his fingers and appreciated the touch.  Her muscles were tight, he could feel their tension fighting his own movements, but with concentrated effort he forced them to move.  Seconds turned into a couple of minutes and they slowly began to loosen.  His own fingers and hands were aching a bit from having to fight tough muscles.  MacIntyre interrupted him by turning her head toward him and making eye contact with him by raising it.  Her blue eyes glistened with an unintended seductive light.  Penton kept a hand on her right shoulder while his right hand touched her left cheek, an touch of intimacy he had never had the pleasure of before with MacIntyre.  She did not smile, did not frown, she did nothing to refuse the touch, only drawing closer.  "Leah, I..."

     "Thank you," she said softly.  MacIntyre's eyes began twinkling; in his eyes she saw the same unintended seduction.  The allure was physical and mental; they had forbidden each other from close contact, but here and now, there were no more barriers.  Nothing to keep them from exploring desires long kept hidden under the service.  Fear of peer recrimination melted away in a heartbeat as MacIntyre brought her full lips closer to Penton's.  His heart began racing as he advanced his own toward MacIntyre's.  They met in the middle, touching and exciting each other.  Their lips kept in contact for a moment before they opened their mouths and turned the simple contact into a sensual kiss.  Penton closed his eyes and let the feeling wash over him.  It served to invigorate him, and it brought the long-hidden lust and need he felt for MacIntyre to bloom.  He kept his lips locked with her as the kiss lasted longer in duration than either had intended.  The age difference didn't matter.  Her kids and ex-husband didn't matter.  MacIntyre was a flesh and blood woman with a beauty that defied age, and she was here.  In front of Penton.  And the look in her eyes told him that she was willing.

     When he finally ended the kiss, gently and without the appearance of rushing it, Penton tried to ask, "Are you sure?", but as the second word began to come out MacIntyre put a finger on his lips.  She did not reply to his question with words, but by putting her hands on his uniform shirt and beginning to unbutton it.  Penton drew in a breath to try and assume some form of control over the fire burning within him.  He feared this was a mistake, or that MacIntyre would back out now that they had started.  As she pulled away his uniform shirt, revealing a sleeveless muscle shirt beneath, Penton kissed her below the left ear.  He used his lips to tug at her earlobe, an act of gentle passion because he was still not willing to take it to the full level he truly wanted.  Not until he was sure.

     When MacIntyre began removing her own uniform shirt, Penton pulled off his muscle shirt.  It was another new sensation for him, as MacIntyre had never seen him barechested before, and Penton could not help but feel uncomfortable.  MacIntyre did not seem to mind at all, she was busy whispering "That feels good" in his ear to the sensation of Penton's lips pushed up against the side of her neck, where he was nuzzling her flesh gently, pulling at it with his lips but not allowing his teeth to make contact with her flat and even skin.  MacIntyre finished removing her uniform shirt, which she discarded, and all that remained below that was a single red bra.  Penton by now had begun slipping in terms of patience, and without asking he moved his hands around her sides and felt the latches that held the bra into place.  He kept his hands over them for a moment, focusing on another sensual kiss between the two.  The warmth of her mouth and her tongue invigorated Penton, the sweetness of the moment sending every sense he possessed into euphoria.

     MacIntyre's hands touched his bare sides and stomach, where she felt the slight curves of his abdomen.  Her fingers slipped onto the belt around his trousers and began to slip it off.  When he felt the tension around his waist from the belt begin to lighten Penton removed the first latch on her bra.  The second latch came off as she unbuttoned his trousers and took hold of the zipper.  The only sound either heard beyond their mutual kiss was the sound of the zipper being pulled down.  Despite some hesitance that remained within him, Penton's fingers finished removing the last latch on her bra while MacIntyre moved to removing her trousers.  His hands moved up to her shoulders and grasped the red straps that were slung over them.  He pulled the straps down her arms, and as he did so the bra fell away from her.  When the straps came close to her wrists the cups of the bra that had been holding her breasts fell away.  MacIntyre was obviously not the first female woman he had seen topless; it did not prevent the sight of her naked breasts from increasing the fire within him to the extent that the last bit of doubt melted away.  His heart became a piston with it's rapid and hard beat as he examined MacIntyre's exquisite bosom.  Faded tan lines were on the outer edges of her breasts, the result of wearing a swimsuit top over them during whatever time she had sunbathed.  His right hand moved up from the strap.  His fingers were the first to make contact with her left breast, a moment before his hand grasped it fully.  It was warm and soft to his palm, with the nipple pushed against the center of the palm.  He squeezed it gently to test it's firmness.  Penton brought his left hand up and touched her on the right cheek.  "You are beautiful," he managed to whisper over his pounding heart and the raging demands of his mating instincts.  He pushed his lips against MacIntyre's mouth again and began to kiss her warmly.  MacIntyre leaned back to lay on the couch, putting her head on the armrest on her side, and pulled down her trousers and panties to her thighs before Penton moved on top of her and resumed their kiss.  She began to pull down on Penton's trousers first, rubbing her hands over his posterior and grabbing the boxer shorts he was wearing underneath the trousers.  Penton finished his kiss on her lips and moved down to her neck, placing his lips on her skin and continuing down her body to her right breast. While his right hand firmly held onto her other breast, he began nuzzling at the nipple, tasting it with his tongue.  He could feel MacIntyre's diaphragm move as her lungs brought in a breath.  His own body's mating drive was now in full steam, and for the rest of the night it would hold complete control over him.  All conscious thought disappeared.

 

 

     Morning sunlight poured into the windows of Leah MacIntyre's bedroom.  The light illuminated the room and the bodies of Penton and MacIntyre, nestled under a sheet and blanket.  Penton was awake, although his eyelids were still drooping.  His body as a whole was relaxed but his mind felt weak and confused.  The previous night was a jumble of images.  Vaguely he remembered his conversation with MacIntyre, then how a friendly act of rubbing her shoulder had turned into explorative pleasure on the couch.  His lips tingled from the recalling of the sweet taste of MacIntyre's lips and tongue from their kissing.  He could still feel the sensation of her nipple pressed against his tongue, or her own lips against his body.  But it began to blur as he recalled the two of them kissing and pulling their way to her bedroom.  Their actions on her bed were more of a mystery.  Penton's memories turned up blanks, it had all been caught up in a torrent of sexual excitement and pleasure.  By then his body had completely taken over, demanding the final measure of intimacy that their playing on the couch had promised.  He could vaguely remember her crying out his name in the heat of sex, which was so intense physically that he remembered trying to gasp for more air from the effort.  He sat up and stared out the window for an undeterminable amount of time, slowly allowing the memories to come back.  Memories he wanted to cherish, of the night he had long been waiting for.  Ever since he had felt the first twang of lust for MacIntyre he had wanted to be with her in this intimate sense, and now Penton's wish had been fulfilled in a night of passion and pleasure that he could honestly believe was the best he ever knew.

     Or was it?  It didn't feel right to him.  Not totally.  Yes it had been intense, passionate, it had brought them both pleasure.  But it didn't have the feeling.  At least, the feeling Penton had told himself he would get when having sex with someone he truly loved with his soul.  It would transcend the physical acts and become something mental, spiritual.  A melding of souls as much as the rubbing of bodies.  Going beyond "sex" and into pure love, making love as it were.  Penton was not a hopeless romantic, but he also did not want to believe that sex was just a physical act that he could do with anyone.  He wanted a soulmate that he could share it with, someone who he could make love to and actually feel as if they were connecting in some transcendant way.

     A pair of hands wrapped around his sides and touched his stomach.  He looked down and noticed MacIntyre's left middle and index fingers slowly rubbing his navel.  A giggle broke the silence of the room and surprised Penton because of the light-hearted and girlish nature of the sound, something he had never heard MacIntyre do before.  He went to move before the arms moved up to cover his upper arms.  MacIntyre laid her head on his right shoulder and pulled herself right up behind him.  Her knees pressed against Penton's back.  "Good morning," she whispered gently into his right ear, after which she kissed him on the neck.  "Sleep well?"

     "Oh, yeah," he muttered.  "I just wish I could remember when I fell asleep."

     MacIntyre giggled again.  "Well, I can promise you I was thoroughly worn out.  My God you are a physical lover."

     "So you enjoyed it?"  Penton chuckled.  "Nice to know I still have that.  I'm not much of a ladies' man."

     "You're good enough."  MacIntyre flexed her neck.  "Can you rub my shoulder again?"

     "Somehow I feel that is going to become a pick-up line for you," Penton responded.  He grinned a little and brought his legs up on the bed, swinging to where she was at his side.  MacIntyre responded by moving into his lap, one leg curved at the knee to either side in what was a very alluring position.  Penton raised his left hand and put it on her right shoulder, which he began to rub with his fingers.  The other hand he used to take her left arm and hold it.  The small amount of loose fat around her arm's muscles yielded to his grip and let him feel down to the muscle.  Penton began to get some arousal simply from the position MacIntyre was in and their proximity.  The satisfaction from the previous night served to make the impulse easier to control.  "There?"

     "Yeah."  MacIntyre nodded slowly and put her right hand on his left arm.  "But you can stop now."

     "Okay."  Penton let go of her shoulder.  Unable to resist the temptation from their closeness, he brought the hand down and lightly gripped her breast.

     This drew a grin from MacIntyre, who asked, "You like doing that, don't you?"

     "Well, Leah, this is the first pair of female breasts I've been able to touch in over two years."  He matched her grin.  "And they are certainly the nicest pair I've ever laid eyes on."

     "You're trying to flatter me," MacIntyre laughed.  "You're certainly more imaginative with them than Paul.  He thought of them as grips for when he was in climax, nothing more."

     Penton began blushing.  "Oh, come on Leah, I don't think it's necessary to drag out his sex habits."

     "Well," her eyes twinkled mischievously and, to Penton, a bit seductively, "he also didn't push himself quite as strongly as you did.  He wasn't as physical, not as lovable, and tended to be somewhat dull from the strict Catholic upbringing.  You, on the other hand, are still young, healthy, and very good..."

     "But?"

     Penton's one-word question cut right through MacIntyre's compliments and the charade she was putting on behind them.  Penton had already recognized the hesitation within her, or thought he had, and so he had posed the question to fish it out.

     And it worked.  "Steven, I loved last night.  Really.  You're a very good lover, and I think you're great as a guy too."  MacIntyre lowered her eyes, their sapphire beauty now dull from inner turmoil.  "And, I liked it enough to do again."

     "But?", Penton repeated.

     "But, it's not the same as Paul."  MacIntyre pulled closer to him, more for support than any intimate desire.  She kept her eyes pointed downward, unwilling to make eye contact.  "Paul might not be as strong, or as exciting, but he was... Paul.  And I love him.  I know that now, I love Paul.  And I love my kids.  They are what I want."

     For the first time Penton saw fear in MacIntyre's eyes.  Pure uncovered fear.  "You're scared though.  Scared that he's having too much fun with his young mistress and doesn't want to go back?"

     "It's a chance I have to take," MacIntyre insisted.  "I mean, if something happens to Paul, or if he really breaks with me, I wouldn't mind having you instead, but I think of you more as a friend than a soulmate.  And he's the one I want.  I'm... I'm sorry."  She began chuckling nervously.  "I've betrayed our friendship by doing this.  You must think of me as some pitiful slut."

     "No, I don't think of that at all."  Penton put a hand in her hair, admiring it's color and softness.  "Leah, let me be honest with you.  For one thing, you are a good friend and mentor for me, you've helped me a lot in my time under you."

     "I thought I was the one under you?", MacIntyre quipped, despite the tear of shame on her face.

     Penton laughed in response, as did MacIntyre.  "Sexual puns aside, you've been a great inspiration for me, Leah.  Now, onto the next thing.  I think you are the sexiest, most beautiful woman I've set eyes on."  MacIntyre began blushing and Penton nodded slightly.  "I'm serious.  You have everything to be admired, an attractive body, a sweet face, and personal grace.  I think that last night was the result of your confusion and loneliness with my loneliness and the fact that I haven't gotten any since law school and you were just too tempting."

     "A handsome, strong man like yourself hasn't been in any relationships?"  MacIntyre put one of her hands in his hair too.  "Why?"

     "Because it's not sex I want.  It's love."  Penton shrugged.  "Okay, sex isn't bad, but I want for it to mean something more than just a one-night stand for pleasure.  I guess I was hoping that my feelings for you, our friendship and all, would make it feel special.  But it didn't.  I mean, I liked doing it, and I wouldn't exactly mind doing it again, but it's not what I'm looking for."  He grinned sheepishly.  "I guess I ruined it for you too."

     "No, not at all."  MacIntyre put her arms on his shoulders and moved into direct contact with him.  "So... what do you intend to do for your last day of freedom?"

     "Have to go back to my place tonight and pack up, I'm being housed on the training camp grounds."  Penton put his arms around her waist and down to her posterior, where he grasped her buttocks to help hold her up to eye level.  "Up for a morning shower?"

     "Is that a come-on?"

     Penton's eyes showed the same mischievous glint that MacIntyre's did.  "Well, we'll see what happens."

 

 

 

BattleMech Training Facility, 3rd BattleMech Training Battalion

Orlando, Florida, United States of America

18 January 2016 S.E.C.

7 November 3058 I.S.C.

 

 

     The morning Florida sun shined down on the group of thirty-six people standing in the open air of the newest wing of the Orlando Military Complex.  All had, presumably, passed with high scores similar to Penton's.  Most were Americans but Penton had heard a couple of non-English languages being spoken by some of the assembled.  The group was assembled in front of the ten BattleMech hangers, each holding six 'Mechs.  An Army officer with the rank insignia of a Brigadier General stepped in front of the group, flanked by a group of men and women in uniforms Penton did not immediately recognize.  The uniforms were a light blue color, with a prominent fist symbol on the left side of the chest.  The Army general took in a breath and began to speak.  "Good day.  I am Brigadier General Anthony Parlucci, commanding officer of this Training Facility, and I am here to welcome you to the first day of BattleMech training.  By now we all know about the rifts in space, and the humans from the other side.  And we already know that one of the groups of humans from the rifts has begun arming Giuseppe for their own purposes.  That makes our job here that much more important.  Because of the results of your neuro-tests, you are to be among the first of a new breed of soldier for this country's Army.  You will be our first generation of BattleMech pilots, more commonly known as MechWarriors."  Parlucci looked over them, scanning their eyes and expressions.  "Some of you are already members of the Armed Forces, that's fine.  And, I know that some of you were civilians until very recently.  For you, your BattleMech training will be complemented by the completion of your training.  I know this is asking a lot of your time, but it must be asked."  Parlucci cleared his throat for a moment and turned to one of the light-blue uniformed officers, a light-skinned man with graying dark brown hair and similar eyes with a patrician nose below them.  "This is Kommandant Peter Drasche of the Lyran Alliance Armed Forces.  He is your chief instructor.  Kommandant?"

     Drasche nodded to Parlucci and stepped forward.  Penton half-expected a German accent because of his name, and was surprised when the accent sounded more like a subdued German-American combination.  "Good day.  I am here on behalf of the Archon of the Lyran Alliance, Katrina Morgan Steiner, to teach you to be MechWarriors.  I have been an instructor at Sanglamore for the last ten years, but this is a new challenge for myself.  It is custom in the Lyran Alliance to gradually show students the skills of 'Mech piloting, but your nation has no time for that, and we will be going directly into practice.  For the first month, we will focus on simulators for helping you understand the movement and usage of a 'Mech and it's controls.  The second month will be a combination of simulator practice and training with the BattleMechs.  The last two weeks will be used for live fire exercises and a four-day field exercise that will include a forced march across the state."  Drasche kept his hands clasped behind his back and surveyed them coldly.  "I am certain we will proceed normally and on schedule.  Military discipline will be maintained at all times, between meals, training exercises, and some classwork to reinforce your learning, you will spend about twelve to thirteen hours a day in training, and six hours free on the weekends.  Time is of the essence, however, and the individual companies will proceed on their own according to how quickly they learn.  Such companies may even earn their members promotions in grade ahead of the others.  Because of this, your free time is for you to decide to use either for yourselves or for increasing the pace of your learning, and as such we will have noteputers available for each of you so that you may study material at any time you wish to.  If you feel you need additional simulator time to advance yourself, all simulator pods will be online from zero six hundred in the morning until twenty-four hundred that night.  That is all."

     Drasche turned and nodded respectfully to General Parlucci and stepped back.  "Lunch will be from eleven-thirty to twelve-thirty, and all of you will be required to be in the mess hall by eleven fourty-five.  Up until that time, you may find your bunkings and settle in with your belongings."  Parlucci coughed for a moment.  "We have done our utmost to ensure that all roommates are of the same gender, but some of the companies are unbalanced and there will be a handful of male/female pairings.  We expect everyone in such a situation to maintain a respectful relationship."

     In other words, Penton told himself, he's asking them not to fuck.  Good luck with some of the civvies...

     "Your quarters are organized by the company you were assigned to when you arrived.  Twelve members per company, six rooms, each along the same hall," Parlucci continued.  "They are sparsely furnished, each room has a pair each of drawers, small work desks, double-wide beds, and closets.  There is a night stand for the roommates to share as well as an alarm clock and a small bathroom.  Showers, locker rooms, and other facilities are shown on the noteputer you will be issued with.  We will give you your daily schedules by data upload into the noteputers, as well as any advisories, so make sure to check it."

     "That is all.  You are dismissed."

     The gaggle of trainees picked up their duffel bags and dispersed.  In unison they headed into the central quartering complex, a large three-story building with the rec room, workout room, and mess hall in addition to the central quarters.  Guide arrows pointed him upstairs to the living quarters.  As expected the company halls were labeled by the call letters, and to his benefit Able Company's hall was up first, right next to the large workout room and down the hall from the rec center.  He walked down the hall, noticing that the names and ranks of the occupants had already been labeled.  When he came up on "Capt. S. Penton", which was coupled with "Cpl. A. Paravska".  He entered the room and put the bag on the bed farthest from the bathroom.  On the desk beside the bed was a small device that, as Penton grew close, he realized was one of the "noteputers" that had been mentioned.  The keyboard for it was small, so small it would make accidental typoes more common from the size of his own fingers.  The screen was somewhat larger, equivalent to a sven inch screen.  He walked up to the desk and picked it up, marveling at it's light weight despite it's size.  He found the power switch and turned it on before taking a seat on the bed.  This brought up a menu that included options for "Schedule" and "Map".  He flipped on the map and saw that each floor had it's own rec room and small exercise room, while the first floor had the mess hall, a larger exercise complex that was for the entire base and included, according to the graphical diagram, a boxing ring and...

     The door opened and Penton turned to see who had entered.  It was to his surprise, and some disappointment, that he saw the newcomer was a female.  And a very young one at that, appearing to be little older than twenty if that.  Her uniform was not US issue; the horizontal white-blue-red tricolor patch on her left shoulder told her to be Russian.  She had blond hair that was as yellow as Penton had ever seen, cut like a male haircut and combed similarly.  He could not see her eyes at the moment but noticed her bent nose, a disfigurement on her face, and her small lips.  She threw her duffel bag on the other bed without speaking a word to him and pulled off the uniform jacket, underneath was a dark brown camo sleeveless shirt, showing her thin and muscular arms.  Her breasts were pointed and small compared to her height and torso, forming two portruding buds on her chest.  She had the appearance of possessing a thin waist and legs.  "Hello there, Corporal," he said to her.  Penton put the noteputer on the bed and walked up to her as she turned and faced him with icy blue eyes.  "I'm Captain Steven Penton, United States Army."  He extended a hand.

     The woman considered the hand for a moment with a cold expression before giving him a tense handshake.  "Corporal Aleksandra Paravska, Free Russian Army," she replied with a very thick Russian accent.  "I see they bunked me with a male."

     "You heard the general, they can't always give us same sex rooms."

     Paravska sneered.  "I will lay down my rules now, Captain.  This is my side of the room.  You may use the toilet when you wish but otherwise you may touch or look at nothing unless I let you.  If you break my rules, there will be hell to pay.  If you follow them, I will extend you the same courtesies, and we will spend our ten weeks together without problems."

     "I see."  Penton nodded, while privately hiding his discomfort.  Young but bossy.  She didn't even blink at talking down to an officer.  I doubt she's a professional soldier, probably one of the stragglers or refugees that General Shivosky's army scooped up to add to it's roster.  "I can understand you might like your privacy."

     "And," she continued briskly, "you may look at me all you want, but if you touch me I will beat the hell out of you."

     "Not a very good diplomat, are you?"

     Paravska responded by pulling off the shirt, only wearing a bra underneath.  Penton tried to hide his shock; he spotted no less than five bullet wounds on her torso and right shoulder.  When she turned to throw her shirt into her closet and presented most of her bare back, he saw long scars running the length and width of her back.  Paravska's torso was more muscular than Penton earlier believed.  She was very well-built, very much the warrior woman persona she seemed to be putting forward.  When she turned back, she answered him with, "Diplomacy is asking someone not to shoot you.  I have been shot so many times I prefer shooting first."

     "I've never seen someone living with that many wounds on them," Penton noted.

     "I have been a soldier for the past four and a half years," Paravska replied.  "While your nation was sitting on it's arse I was bleeding for the Motherland.  I only escaped here because from America I can continue my fight, while to stay in the Motherland is to risk capture."  Her eyes flashed angrily.  "And if I were to be captured, the secret police would have me tortured for information and then killed."

     Her words made Penton swallow.  There had been stories of UN atrocities against pretty much every nation it had conquered or was fighting against, but nothing that could be corroborated.  Not that Penton immediately thought it could be that bad.  "Torture" had taken on such a wide degree of terms connected with inflicting pain; merely hitting somebody could be considered "torture" in the right mind.  "Well, since you put it that way..."

     "And now, no small talk," Paravska barked.  "I will finish unpacking my things and then go practice on the firing range.  You may loaf around if you wish.  You Americans always do."  She picked up a small book and set it on her desk.  Penton looked at the title but could not read the Cyrillic lettering on the cover.  A handful of other books were also removed, finishing with a patch insignia that Paravska looked at for a moment before setting aside.  She turned to see him still looking her way.  "Well?  I am not taking the rest of my clothes off if that is what you are waiting for."

     "I'm actually thinking," Penton replied.  "I am wondering just how you have no compunctions whatsoever in being so blunt with an officer?"

     Paravska drew out another shirt, this one a sleeveless white shirt.  She pulled it on over her head before bringing her ice-blue eyes back to bear on him.  "You Americans put too much importance into ranks," she replied.  "In the Armies of Free Russia, we are all tovarischy, comrades, in the struggle to free the Motherland.  Ranks are meaningless to us in anything except for combat, when it determines who should be leading us into battle.  Even Comrade Shivosky treats us as his equal when we are not fighting."  Paravska reached into her bag and removed a sidearm, one that Penton recognized as an older Beretta make that he had used in the Saunders years, before being issued with the new Colt 2013A-M.  "Americans, on the other hand, consider rank more than they do courage or achievement.  Why should a private in your army who faced combat and took a bullet from an enemy weapon have to salute to a fat and pompous general who has only seen paper but never a real battle?  Why is that general's life held to be more important than the soldier's?  Comrade Shivosky is our leader and he leads us from the front, not the far rear."

     Penton did not answer.  How could he?  She was probably five years or so younger than he and yet had obviously seen more combat than most other Americans.  More important, Paravska had raised a point he could not counter.  He did not agree with the idea of a peacetime general being held higher than a wartime soldier.  There were still too many armchair generals in the Army from what he knew.  Some were Saunders rejects.  Others were just arrogant and preferred commanding from the comfort of commandeered mansions and the like to leading troops closer to the front.  Until, of course, it was safe and the enemy had been defeated, upon which said general would ride in triumph to the front and act as if it were he that won the battle instead of the sweat and blood of his men.  In truth, there were too many Mark Clarks in the Army; not enough George Pattons.  "I see," Penton replied.  "Well, hopefully I can earn your respect outside of rank."

     Paravska considered him coldly.  "We shall see, Captain."  She stepped toward the door.

     As Paravska went to open it Penton added, "You can call me Steven in here.  So we can be on a first name basis."

     "Very well," Paravska agreed.  "You may call me Aleksandra."

     Without further words, she stepped out and closed the door behind her.  Penton looked toward his own bag and sighed before he began unpacking.

 

 

     The "rec room" for the second floor was a large room the size of a suburban house, enough to fit about forty or so people comfortably.  A billiard table was an obvious furnishing, as well as a trio of large couches, some chairs arranged around a table, and a wetbar.  A large television screen was set into the west wall, which was opposite the main entrance.  Below it was a set of controls, indicating the screen was interfaced with a larger system likely containing things such as movies or television channels.  At ten-thirty, when Penton made his way back from a brief self-given tour of the lower floor, the room was not filled yet, with merely a dozen or so people, distinctive from the firey red combed hair on his skull.  Penton grinned at the sight of his old friend and walked on up.  "So they grounded you?"

     First Lieutenant Theodore Edwin Dane, formerly of the US Air Force, turned at the sound of Penton's voice.  Brown eyes were their only similarity; Dane stood at only six feet tall and possessed a thinner, wiry frame.  "Damn, they pulled you out of the office and got you here too?"  Dane offered his old schoolfriend his right hand, which Penton took to shake.  Dane's grip was stronger than it had been when they last met.  Penton coupled this with the increased bulk in his arms and shoulders to reason that the physical stress of piloting a craft had forced him to get a little stronger in those areas.  "Call me 'Ted' and I'll fucking hit you."

     "Got over the childhood nickname?", Penton remarked.  "Would you prefer Theo?"

     "Edwin is what I prefer," Dane replied.  "'Theodore' sucks cock, I'm so damned tired of that fucking name."

     "I thought you were supposed to be a flyboy, not a sailor?"

     "I was a pilot.  Until that stupid cock CO of mine decided to act like an ass and hog the kills to himself.  I saved his ass by putting a Sidewinder in the asspipe of a Eurofucker and what do I get?  An 'Insubordination' charge, the mother fucker grounded me and nearly got me court-martialed!"  Dane lifted his arms as if to gesture at their surroundings.  "So now I'm here.  Bunked with a ground pounder from Minnesota."

     "Cool."  Penton drew in a sigh.  "They bunked me with the Russian girl."

     Dane laughed.  "The one with the nice ass?"

     "You've seen here around here?", Penton asked.

     "Well, yeah, most of us have been here for a few days at least, we were bunked with the general population though.  At least here we have some fucking privacy, I had to sleep on the bottom bunk in a room with fifty other people, man it pissed me off."

     "Everything pisses you off, Ted."

     Dane shot an angry glare at him but held his tongue.  Penton smiled inwardly at Dane's short temper, again wondering how someone with such a quick fuse could ever get a commission, much less a promotion, in the bureaucratic and bootlicking-dominated Air Force.  Dane brought Penton over to a trio of uniformed soldiers, one a Lieutenant and the others enlisted, a Sergeant and Corporal respectively.  The brown-eyed Lieutenant sported hair that Penton knew stretched the regs and a black goatee and beard similar to the one Penton had grown during law school before going cleanshaven again.  "This, Chris," he snickered, "is the lawyer friend I told you about."

     The Sergeant, Catherine Barton, snorted with a hint of disgust present in her blue eyes; their ice-color reminded Penton of Paravska's eyes.  "A lawyer?  Looks like they're pulling in everyone.  And a Captain?"  Barton rolled her eyes.

     Instead of responding defensively Penton chose a more humble course.  "Don't worry, I won't try bossing you around.  I'm not much into rank anyway.  Only made Captain at twenty-five because JAG is running low on personnel."

     "Christ, he's younger than I am," Hayal said, "and he's already Captain.  What kind of political connections do you have to get that high of a rank?"

     Penton replied with a laugh.  "The only connections I have are the types that would have me busted to O-1.  I'm no Perry Mason but I've had a healthy career."

     Barton and Hayal grinned; Corporal Danvers blinked and asked, "Perry Mason?  Who is he?"

     "Excuse Dannie," Barton said, "she's only eighteen.  Perry Mason is a bit beyond her time."

     "I see."  Penton surveyed the two females more closely.  Danvers reminded him a bit of Paraka's built.  She was thin but not as tall.  Physically, her short-sleeved brown shirt showed that her arms had some muscle, but she did not compare to Paravska's physique.  Her breasts were almost non-existant, slight bumps in the surface of her chest.  Barton was more filled out in her figure, with the appearance of a combat veteran who had seen her fair share of battle.  Her arms and the parts of her shoulders visible through the sleeveless brown shirt she wore betrayed her muscular build.  In addition Penton could see a bullet wound in both shoulders, and her right shoulder showned signs of reconstructive surgery.  "You three know each other?"

     "We all used to be in the Minnesota Volunteers, Rochester Battalion," Hayal said.  "But we passed that weird helmet thingy test and they assigned us here.  No more open positions in the other training facilities."

     "At least it's winter," Barton added.  "It's going to be hell in the summer."

     "Well, at least I can get a tan," Danvers giggled.

     Penton and Dane exchanged looks.  "I take it you are all Able Company?", Penton asked.

     "Yep," Dane replied.

     "Well, that makes up five of us, six considering Paravska," Penton looked around and saw a couple sitting on one of the couches, holding hands and kissing each other.  The male was Caucasian; the female was dark-skinned, presumably of African descent considering her facial structure.  "I thought there was no fraternization allowed?"

     "Andrew Devon's the son of a Congressman from South Dakota, so do you expect him to be held to the same standards as us?", Hayal replied sarcastically.  "She is Victoria Taylor, they served together on the staff of one of the generals, General Leighton I think.  And they're an item.  Engaged to marry and everything."

     "They'd better be careful off-base," Penton sighed.  "We've got a lot of refugees from Alabama, Mississippi, and the like.  Including hoodheads."

     "Welcome to the Deep South," Barton muttered.  "Hicks, rednecks, hillbillies, and Klansmen galore.  When is the daily lynching of the Negroes anyway?  It's always fun to watch primitive cultures at work."

     Penton glared at her, but before he could reply Hayal pointed toward the door.  "Devon's not as bad as that."

     At the door was another male, someone who Penton guessed to be a year or so younger than he.  He wore the black uniform of a naval officer, with rank insignia that Penton recognized as that of a Lieutenant Senior Grade, meaning they were of equal comparitive rank.  His brown hair was combed to his right side in a very careful manner.  His face was perfectly cleanshaven without a sign of any facial hair.  Like most he possessed brown eyes, although a lighter shade of brown than any of the others in the room.  He was very much the aristocratic type, carrying himself like a well-mannered individual.  When he spotted Penton his expression became one of subdued surprise.  He stepped slowly up to Penton, illustrating visually that he was just two or so inches below Penton in height, and stated, "Hello Captain.  I am pleasantly surprised that I have an equal in rank here.  You are Able Company too?"

     "Yes.  Captain Steven Penton," Penton replied, offering his hand.

     The other man considered it for a moment before taking it.  "Lieutenant S.G. Brian Nielson, formerly of the Ronald Reagan.  May I ask, what was your command before assignment here?"

     "Judge Advocate General's office."

     A smug grin curved up on Nielson's face.  "So, you've never actually seen combat?"

     "Not at all?  And you?"

     "Battle of Long Island," Nielson answered with a satisfied grin.  "I was one of the officers in the CIC, I personally arranged for the airstrike that sunk the UN flag cruiser."

     "Well, congratulations.  I'm sure that was a remarkable display of battlefield capability."  Penton tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice but failed; Nielson was being far too cocky and arrogant for his taste.  "I must say I'm surprised, though, you don't look that old for an O-3, unless the Navy's carrier staff is suffering from the same shortage as the Army's JAG office."

     "I'm just a very good hand at naval operation.  Graduated from Annapolis last year, just before the invasion."

     "Annapolis?"

     "Yeah.  It's given me a better background in the future, if I try to run for office like my uncle.  You may have heard of him, he's Senator James Nielson."

     That explains it, Penton muttered to himself.  His uncle is the Senate Majority Leader, and one of the most prominent supporters of President Andrews.  Lieutenant Nielson probably got this far on his uncle's shoulders.  Penton kept a frown hidden.  Which means he'll probably act like a pampered brat for the entire period.  I wouldn't be surprised if he gets promoted to Major over me, even if he doesn't deserve it.  God I hate politics!

     "I'm sure you'll do fine in combat, though," Nielson continued.  "It's a real buzz."

     "Have you ever been shot?"

     Penton and Nielson both turned toward Barton, who repeated, "Have you ever been shot, Lieutenant Nielson?"

     "Not at all," Nielson replied in confusion.

     "Oh.  Well, pardon my commoner views, but it seems to me you shouldn't be lecturing the lawyer on combat if you haven't seen it yourself," Barton pointed out in a caustic tone.

     "I don't appreciate your tone, Sergeant," Nielson spat, emphasizing her rank as if to pull his rank on her.

     "And I don't appreciate your richboy Republican attitude," Barton retorted.  "Chris, Dannie, and I have seen real combat.  I've taken five bullets.  My right shoulder," Barton used her left hand to pull down the shoulder of her shirt and exposed her right shoulder, which was still a mass of stitching and discolored flesh, "is nothing but reconstructive skin grafts.  Chris's rib still has a nick in it from a bullet that nearly broke through to his heart.  We'd have all been killed if some cocky teen in our platoon hadn't played hero and jumped on a frag grenade.  So don't give me the threats, boy, because you haven't seen jackshit yet.  Not until an enemy soldier puts a bullet in you or you taste death.  Then you can come here and tell us that you've been in combat."

     Nielson rolled his eyes and simply stormed off, drawing a snort from Hayal.  "God help the guy who's got to stay with him," he muttered.

     With far less tact, Barton added, "Fuckin' richboy, I bet he pisses his pants the first time he hears a gunshot."  She looked at Dane and Penton.  "And the flyboy and lawyer.  Over there," she chucked her thumb at Victoria and Devon, "the staff lovers.  Jesus Christ is it too much to ask for someone who has seen real combat?"

     Dane's eyes flared, but before he could make an angry retort Nielson opened the door and had to admit someone else before exitting.  His replacement in the room was a decent challenge to Penton for largest person in the room, with a height exceeding six foot six and a muscular frame.  Combed light brown hair adorned his head, joined by a pair of chocolate brown eyes and a thick nose with a pointed end.  A bit of hair had gathered under his chin to form a bushy goatee.  His uniform was US Army; two chevrons on his arm designated his rank to be Corporal.  "So, have any of you seen him before?", Barton asked.

     She got an answer from Dane.  "Not at all."

     Being the generally friendly sort, Penton stepped over to the young man, whom he judged to be roughly approximate to his age.  When the other man saw him approach and noticed the two linked gray bars that served as Penton's rank insignia, he stood still and saluted.  "At ease," Penton said warmly.  "No need for that when we're not on duty."

     "Thank you, Captain," the Corporal replied in a baritone voice.

     Penton offered his hand and introduced himself.  "Steven Penton, JAG office lawyer.  Well, former JAG office lawyer."

     "Nathan Farris, 1st North Carolina Armored Battalion, 2nd Armored Division," came the reply.  Farris took Penton's hand and shook it, each quietly gauging the other's grip to see how they compared.  "Proud to make your acquaitance, Captain."

     "Farris?  I've heard that name before."  Penton pointed toward him.  "UNC Class of '13, you were the Tar Heels' tailback in your junior and senior years, right?"

     "Guilty as charged," Farris admitted.  "I take it you were watching the CapitalOne Bowl game?"

     "Watching it?"  Penton chuckled.  "I was there.  Had a west side seat.  You know, you're awfully big for a tailback.  I figured someone your size would make lineman."

     "My original position in high school," Farris answered.  "But the coaches at UNC saw I could run pretty well and decided to let me try for tailback."

     "Yeah, well, someone your size would be a linebacker's worst nightmare," Penton agreed with a grin.  "Bet it burned when you failed on that fourth down and goal run.  You had what?  Two inches from the goal?"

     Farris grimaced and shook his head.  "I tell you, I broke that damned line, I don't care what the refs claimed."

     "Yeah."

     "Hey, pigskin."  Barton leaned against the bar.  "You're 2nd Armored?  Under Miss Patton?"

     "Miss Patton?  Oh dear God she hates that," Farris chuckled.  "Yeah, I'm under General Tanner.  Or at least, I was.  Now I'm here."

     "Just what did you do?  I hope you're not another support man."

     "Not at all.  Drove an Abrams, saw combat all the way from Norfolk to the St. Mary's River."

     "Ah."  Barton swallowed.  "So, did your family get out?"

     "No."  A worried frown appeared on Farris's face.  "Left my folks and little sister up near Charlotte.  I hope they're smart enough to keep a low profile.  Anyway, I can't wait to see how those walking tanks run."  The look on Farris's face betrayed his desire to shift the subject matter of the conversation.

     "I think that'll be more literal than you think," Hayal commented from by the bar, where Penton brought Farris over.  "Have to admit, I'm going to enjoy staring down at some poor UN dipshit grunt and watching him piss his pants."

     "I think we all are."  Barton let out a low groan.  "And then they're going to ride into battle with their own 'Mechs, and we'll be back where we started."

     "At least we won't be getting any more holes, Cat," Hayal joked.

     "Nooo..."  Barton grinned and pulled herself up on the stool.  "I'm sure the weapons we use will be enough to kill us right away if we get hit by them.  Or we'll be forced to leave a crippled walker and get crushed into the soil by another one of them."

     Penton took a stool as well, about three down from Barton's.  "You are very pessimistic."

     "Too fucking pessimistic," Dane added.  "I'm gonna get in one of those bitchin' things and unload a can o' whoop ass on those UN fuckers."

     "Yeah, boy, we'll see what you say when you get your ass out on the firing line and nearly get killed," Barton retorted.

     The door swung open again and feminine laughter came through, followed by a pair of uniformed young woman.  They each had on an Army uniform.  One, a light-skinned woman of about twenty-five like Penton, possessed brown hair that was cut very short, kept out of her ears and did not go lower than the back of her neck.  Her green eyes twinkled with girlish charm.  A small pointed nose hung between her eyes and her thin and healthy lips.  Her uniform bore the name "Osmone" on the right breast, with the single chevron rank insignia of a Private on the shoulder partition of her shirt sleeves.  Her lower arms were bare and showed mostly flat skin aside from the joints.  Osmone's stomach was flat, with her compact breasts forming perfectly round curves on her body's side profile.  Her legs' shape was hidden by her uniform trousers but gave the appearance of being thin.  Osmone's feet were small, even considering her size.  She was small in height, standing only at about five foot six.  Penton found her more cute than beautiful, but Osmone definitely had a lovable appearance and was attractive.

     The woman beside her stood at a more impressive height of six foot three.  Her skin was a light golden brown tint which implied mestizo heritage in her blood.  Her black hair was more feminine in appearance than Osmone's short boyish hair; black locks curled down over her ears and down to the back of her neck, neatly combed and brushed in that hair style.  Her eyes were dark brown, somewhat similar to Penton's; her nose was comparatively larger and wider on her face, with a subdued point at the tip.  Her lips were also well-kept, a contrast to the drier lips of Barton and Danvers, and a little thicker than Osmone's, making them very kissable in the eyes of Penton.  She had a pointed chin that filled out her wide and straight face, below which her neck was bare and long with her windpipe visible, something Penton found attractive about her.  Her uniform bore the name "Galvaeriz" on the right breast while the lack of a chevron rank insignia marked her as an E-1; the lowest possible rank.  Her lower arms, also the only part of her body to be visible, appeared more muscular than Osmone's and indicated her to be at least a part-time athlete.  Galvaeriz possessed decent build for her size, appearing filled out in her uniform.  Her shoulders were wide; her stomach seemed thin and tight.  She was not as voluptuous as Penton had considered MacIntyre to be; nevertheless Galvaeriz's pert and rounded breasts added to the attraction created by the sight of her lips and neck.  Her trousers covered every inch of her legs; her feet were long and wide but not massive; they even seemed a bit small considering her height.

     Dane's voice said, "Hey Steve?"  Penton did not reply, keeping his gaze on the two women, who stopped chatting long enough to speak to two people standing in the corner, a black male in his twenties and a smaller light-skinned woman with flowing dark hair, appearing to be in her thirties at the very least and with a not-unattractive figure to contrast to the built out and tall black male, the stereotypical basketball player in his form.  Dane's hand crossed his field of vision.  "Hey, stop fucking those girls in your mind and talk to me."

     "I could hear you just fine, Eddie."

     "Yeah, so why are you still tearing off that tall girl's clothes in your mind?"

     Penton looked over at Dane and rolled his eyes.  "Ted, you have a very sick mind."

     A wily grin crossed his redheaded friend's face.  "So, which one?"

     "I dunno about you two," Hayal cut in, leaning over the bar, "but I call dibs on the Hispanic girl.  Very hot, can't wait to see her work out.  You," he pointed to Penton, "can have the little girl."  Hayal looked over at Farris, who shook his head.  "What, you eyeing these two?", he nodded his head toward Danvers and Barton.

     "Nope."  Farris raised his left hand, where a silver ring shined on his ring finger.  "Engaged to a beautiful young woman named Michelle Reynolds, the love of my life, and if I were to catch you hitting on her I will kick your ass."

     "Don't mind Chris," Barton chuckled.  "Unless she's got a bigger set of hooters than that girl you've got no competition.  Chris likes big titties."

     Hayal turned and gave a wicked smile before setting his left hand on Barton's chest, feeling her right breast with his fingers.  Penton had not yet noticed that Barton herself was possessing of an ample bosom, or at least compared to the smaller hand of Hayal, who only just managed to wrap his fingers around the bulbous form of her breast.  "Hmm, well, these aren't so bad.  Very suckable, very squeezable."  He squeezed the breast gently.

     Barton returned his grin with one even more wicked.  "Chris, I'm giving you to the count of four to take your hand off my titty before I grab you by the balls.  One... four..."  When Hayal didn't move his hand she reached down with her right and made contact with his testicles.  He screeched and gained the attention of the other people in the room, while Barton chuckled maniacally.  "Hmm, very squeezable too, not that suckable though."

     Hayal let go, his chuckling very frantic but in a light tone.  Barton smirked widely before letting go and looked at Penton and Dane.  "Same goes for you two."

     Technically, both of them could be said to be guilty of sexual assault, but the grins on their faces, their light-hearted expressions, and the chuckling that they and Danvers engaged in indicated it was entirely a joke and one that had been done before.  It was the common bond of three people who had seen battle together and survived where others haven't, and enjoyed each other's company immensely.  It was because of this that Penton felt he could hold nothing against them if they wanted to touch each other or act in such a way; their blood and toil had earned them that right.

     The scene had brought over the others.  "You look like you're one big happy gang," the Hispanic woman said.  "All in one company?"

     "Able Company," Penton replied.  "And it's just those three," he pointed with his thumb toward Hayal, Barton, and Danvers.  "Combat buddies always have the vulgar senses of humor."

     "They do," the smaller woman replied.  "So you're Able Company.  So are we, well, Rachel and I.  I'm Kimberly Osmone, glad to meet you."

     Penton shook her hand and replied, "Steven Penton."  He looked to the taller woman and asked, "You would be?"

     "Rachel Galvaeriz."  She shook Penton's hand.  "You're an officer?"

     "JAG office."

     "Oh."  Galvaeriz let her grin widen.  "I just joined up myself, I was going to be with intelligence but this came up first."

     "Intelligence?"

     "Yes.  To help interview prisoners of war.  I've been learning foreign languages since I was five."  Galvaeriz used her fingers to push the hair on the side of her head behind her ears.  "I was a college student until four months ago.  Then I got drafted."

     "College?  More linguistics?"

     "Multiple courses."

     "Ahem?"  Dane stepped up to Penton.  "Steven, aren't you going to introduce the rest of us or continue chatting her up?"

     "Excuse my manners."  Penton put a hand on Dane's shoulder.  "This is an old friend of mine, Theodore Dane, 1st Lieutenant, formerly a flyboy and now stuck on the ground with the rest of us.  He prefers his middle name Edwin, although I still call him Ted sometimes because he hates it," Penton snickered at Dane's snarl.  "He has the worst potty mouth in this nation's armed forces, a regular Jay."

     "Hey hey hey, fuck off fucker," Dane retorted.  Osmone giggled at him.

     Penton nodded and went on to introduce the others, but before he could Hayal said, "It's getting close to eleven-thirty, we'd better get downstairs to find a good seat."  This produced an immediate effect upon the conversation, prompting everyone to file out of the room.  Penton's height enabled him to keep track of Galvaeriz up until she and the older woman he had seen earlier stepped into the ladies' restroom.  Dane slammed his palm on Penton's back, which prompted him to continue downstairs toward the lunchroom.