For Love or Country

by Jesse Jordan

  Dinner goes great, and at the end we exchange hugs, Cara and Tammy both getting into their Tahoe to drive back to Ft. Sill. “Remember, you need anything, you call us,” Tammy tells me as we hold hands through the window, unwilling to let go. “I promise you, I'll move heaven and earth to be there for you guys.”

  “And the same goes here,” Simon says. “I promise you that.”

  Cara and Tammy drive away, and Simon pulls me close, kissing me. “I don't have a father or a mother any more... but I think after this weekend I for sure have two sisters.”

  “You don't even have to think,” I reply, kissing him again. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” Simon says before biting his lip. “I was thinking when I woke up this morning, we talked about going all in, right?”

  “Right,” I tell him, curious where this is going. “Why, what's on your mind?”

  “Well... Camp Humphries isn't a base that lets people live off post, except for the troops married to Korean nationals. But... well, what about instead of you and I living in separate bachelor officer's quarters, maybe we put in for a shared unit in family housing?”

  “Are you asking me to move in with you?” I ask, secretly thrilled. “As in making this even more formal than it is?”

  “Gimmie time, Ashley,” Simon begs, laughing softly. “It took me three years to work up the guts to say I love you. And I don't have an engagement ring handy right this second. I don't even have an onion ring, we ate them all.”

  I smile and kiss his cheek, nodding. “Tell you what. We've got eight months to talk about it, that's how long I've got until I finish up school and start coordination with Korea. So how about we talk about it, you check out base housing, and gimmie a few photos. I'm leaning towards saying yes, but if those BOQ's are sweet enough, maybe we can just stay over at each other's place instead of the rigmarole of family housing.”

  Simon nods, not disappointed at all. “Okay. So, by my watch, we've got two hours before I need to be at the airport. Think we can spend that just... together? I'd say making love, but I think my penis is on vacation for a couple of weeks after last night, it's still in shock.”

  “That'll be good then,” I tease. “None of those Korean mama-sans have to concern me for a while, do they?”

  Simon laughs and kisses me tenderly. “You've ruined me to all other women. I love you, and that means I'm exclusive to Ashley Carlyle only.”

  “Shucks, and here I was thinking I might see if I could get Cara and Tammy to join us for some fun some time,” I tease, and Simon laughs. I kiss him again, and smile. “It's something I enjoy hearing, though. I'm exclusive to you too. I love you, Simon.”

  “Come on, let's not spend the whole two hours in a restaurant parking lot,” he says, taking my hand and leading me towards my car. “I'm sure there's something we can do between here and the airport that'll let me spend time with the woman I love.”

  I didn't choose Transportation Corps for the fact that it's headquartered at Fort Lee. Sure, it's convenient that I'm going through school less than an hour and a half from home, and if I get rotated back to be part of a transportation battalion stateside, there's a very good chance that I'd be posted nearby.

  No, I didn't choose Transpo because of that. I chose it because of the flexibility that it gives me, Transportation officers are assigned all over the Army. I knew even when I put in my choices, I wanted to be close to Simon, and Transpo is one of those branches that gives me all those opportunities.

  Basic Officer’s Leaders Course, or BOLC, is located inside the ‘Army Logistics University,’ a pretty damn pretentious title if I do say so myself. Sitting in the classroom with the other seventeen members of my class, I wish West Point had figured out how to make classrooms this good. Large, spacious desk with a decent chair, a power outlet built in so I can use my laptop as needed, and even a side spot where I can stick my backpack and a drink? Hell, all this desk needs is a mini fridge and I'd never have to leave it all day.

  Class itself is going well. Up front, Captain Bali, our class mentor, points to a picture of a UH-60 Blackhawk that has a bunch of lines coming from it to highlight areas. “All right, so who can tell me the primary concerns you would have in organizing a movement operation involving Blackhawks? Carlyle?”

  “Landing zone area, security, movement time, and slingload capabilities of the unit,” I state, remembering my notes. Captain Bali doesn't mind us using our computers at our desk, but we're supposed to be able to recall facts from our heads, there may not be a computer with you in the field. “It is very important to make sure you have every item to be slingloaded done properly with a supervising Loadmaster.”

  “Very good,” Bali says, turning around. “Now, Lieutenant Offut, can you tell me the differences in landing field selection in the field between Blackhawks, Chinooks and Ospreys?”

  Ospreys? Oooh, that's a tough one, and Offut stumbles, we just haven't had enough time to really get into the nuts and bolts of the Osprey. It isn’t used by the Army, but the Air Force and Marines. Finally, Captain Bali lets him off the hook. “Relax, Offut. A good rule of thumb, and this is true with any cross-service options, is to get on the horn with your counterpart on the other side. They know their equipment just like you're supposed to know Army equipment. If you can't do that, talk to the pilot. They want to cover their ass. All right, let's take a break for lunch. Be back here at thirteen hundred hours, we're going over the introduction to railhead operations.”

  The class files out, and I rush outside, where I can get a good phone signal. As I do I rub my tummy, it's not feeling good the past few days, but then again with the first test coming up, I'm sure it's something to do with nerves. But my mind is focused on other things. I go into my e-mail, and type out a quick message to Simon. It's nearly one in the morning his time, and even though it's Friday night his time, I know he might have crashed already.

  You up?

  I don't have to wait long though, as my phone's Skype rings, and I see it's from Simon. “Simon?”

  “Hey beautiful,” he says. While we will often use video chats when I call him at what I think of as our 'bookend' times before or after our duty hours, my phone's camera sucks. I didn't buy it for video chatting. “I was just thinking of trying you before crashing for the night.”

  “Pilots aren't supposed to crash,” I remind him, making him laugh. “How was your day?”

  “Not bad. Looking forward to waking up in the morning and talking with you before chillin' for the day. By the way, I've got a flight on Sunday morning, so we'll have to nix that long talk we planned for your Saturday night. I'm going to be doing flights Sunday through Thursday.”

  “Awww,” I mock pout, but I really don't like it. We've been apart for a month, and I'm already counting the days to when I can go to Korea and rejoin him. “Even if I just wear my sexiest lingerie for the video? We can... play some.”

  I hear Simon groan, and I know how he feels. After that night in the hotel room, once my body recovered, my libido's been on fire, to the point that some of our video chats have become long distance sex chats for each other. It's not something I'd normally have thought about, but I need him. “Baby....”

  “I know, I know. We get started, and I'm going to be late for afternoon class anyway,” I huff, sighing in frustration. “My fault. Just... I keep dreaming about you, Simon. I miss you.”

  “I miss you too, Ash. And I talked with the people at family housing. I got some photos that I'll upload and send to your e-mail tonight before I go to bed. It's not bad, actually. Not great, but not bad.”

  I smile, and hum. “So... you still want me to move in with you then?”

  Simon's happy hum more than answers the question for me. “Yes. Ashley... there's other things I'd like to talk about with you when you get here, too,” Simon says, and I feel a little thrill in my heart. Ever since he said engagement ring in the restaurant parking lot, my mind's kept coming back around to that idea, turning it over and over
in my spare moments, and liking it more and more each time. “Even just this month has meant so damn much to me, I know it showed me a few more things that I need to discuss with you face to face.”

  “I understand. Okay, well then send your e-mail and get some sleep. If we can't play around Saturday night, maybe I can be convinced to wear that lingerie tomorrow morning or something. I love you.”

  “I love you too. And I'll be thinking about you during the flight. 'Bye.”

  Simon

  “You ready, sir?”

  “Let's do it,” I tell Chief Warrant Officer Jensen, my gunner today. “One more flight, and then it's back to piloting a desk until next time.”

  “Ah, you know you love doing the paperwork, El Tee. Face it, that's why they have you commissioned officers in the wing,” Jensen jokes, and he's not that far off. The warrant officers of the wing may be crack pilots, and they've got balls of steel when it comes to helicopter skills, but they are the closest thing the Army has to fighter jock types. They blow off paperwork like it's nothing.

  “Yeah well, just remember that when your leave request to go to Okinawa for New Year's gets mysteriously lost and you end up being barracks OIC for the whole time,” I joke, and Jensen laughs. He and I have flown together now for three weeks, and we're at the point now where we are starting to work together as a crew and not just two professionals.

  We climb into the cockpit of our AH-64D Apache, loaded for a patrol mission. We're not loaded heavy, but it's still enough to tear some shit up if we need to. These sorts of patrols are routine, and the NKs might holler a lot, but they know not to start any stupidity with us.

  Yung Sool Kwok, our Korean Army attachment, is just finishing up his final preflight checks as I warm up the electronics. “Hey Kwok, looking good?”

  “You clear, sir!” Kwok calls back in his very strong if accented English. I've spent a good chunk of the time since getting to Korea learning the local language, expanding on something I started back at Ft. Rucker. I figure if I'm going to be here a year or more, I might as well know when someone's been talking shit about me.

  “Good. Clear the area,” I call, firing up the engines. The engine whines a little, but catches just fine, and we've got two good engines quickly enough.

  “Gimpo Flight Control, this is Gambit One Two. Requesting clearance for takeoff.” We're not at Camp Humphreys, having ferried from there to Gimpo in order to be closer to the DMZ. The first time I flew close enough to realize that off to my left shoulder, easily visible, was North Korea itself, I felt a rush. Now, it's still enough to put my adrenaline pumping, but it's nowhere near as scary as it was.

  “Roger Gambit One Two, you are cleared for takeoff. Good flying, boys,” the air traffic control unit calls back.

  I feed more power to the rotors, until we're just at that moment where everything in the Apache trembles, like a racehorse ready to jump out of the gate. The wheels are just barely touching the ground, if I feed in any more power we'll take off, but if there's an issue now, Kwok can give me the cut signal, and there's nothing damaged. Instead, Kwok pops me a salute that I pop back. I give the rotors full power, and we're off.

  “Set nav for checkpoint Alpha,” I tell Jensen. He's got a full set of controls up in his seat, the Apache can be flown by just one person, but it's nice to have him up there worrying about weapons and checking radar scopes and listening in on the radios.

  “Checkpoint set, sir. Just remember, if you have to veer off course, try to veer south,” Jensen jokes, and we start off. The patrol route is a sort of looping wobbly triangle, mostly following a series of country highways from Gimpo to another village to the west, before heading back. All in all, it's not that hard of a flight, and only a few times will we be within spitting distance of the border.

  “So Jensen, the North Koreans whining at us yet?” I ask as I make a course adjustment for Jiseok-Ri, one of our checkpoints. My first flight up here, Jensen took over the controls for ten minutes while I got to listen to the wider radio band, and the nearly constant chatter from the North Koreans telling us in alternating Korean and English that we were in danger of violating their airspace, we'd be meeting our makers, and oh by the way they'd be happy if we defected and joined the glorious communist revolution and happy place known as the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. I think they actually have live people over there reading the damn script. That's gotta be a fun job.

  “Of course, sir,” Jensen says, still keeping to the honorific. I don't have a nickname yet, so I'm either El Tee or sir. After this exercise, I'll get one, I'm sure. I hear they're kicking around either Joker, because of my facial scar, or Artie, after King Arthur, since I have an admittedly aristocratic look to my face. Well, other than the half a Glasgow smile. “You getting any better at understanding their gobbledygook?”

  “A bit,” I admit. “But the accents different. Imagine someone from Ohio being sent to Scotland to talk to the folks up there. Kwok told me that the closest word the South Koreans have to the Northern accent is the equivalent of calling it redneck Korean. No offense, Chief.”

  Jensen, who's from Kentucky, shakes his head. “None taken. Kwok just better remember that when the shit hits the fan, it's us rednecks who are going to save....”

  Suddenly, red lights go off all over the cabin, and my Apache starts to buck and shimmy in the air. “What the fuck? Gimpo control, this is Gambit One Two, I've got major mechanical problems with my aircraft. Over.”

  “Roger, Gambit One Two. Can you set her down?”

  I try my stick, but there's no movement left or right, and I hiss. “Chief, you got any stick?”

  “Negative, sir!” Chief yells. “Shit, we're headed north!”

  Goddammit, this had to happen just as we were looping to the north for the return leg of the patrol. “Understood. Gimpo control, we are dead stick, I repeat, dead stick. I'm heading north, I'm going to try and cut power and ditch before we cross the border. Notify the North Koreans that I am not hostile, repeat, not hostile.”

  Not hostile, right. Like they're going to fucking believe that the hundred and forty rockets, my chain gun, and the Stingers on my outboard points are just because I want to make sure I don't get blown out of the sky. “Chief, start resetting any and every fucking thing you can. I'm going to dump gas.”

  It's a risky move, dumping my fuel, but I'm less than two miles from the North Korean border. I reach for the hard line that's connected to the emergency dump and pull, the big plume of mist behind me at least telling me my engines will be sucking dry in fifteen seconds. I hear the turboshafts sputter, then come to a stop, and we're coasting on autorotating, the closest thing to a crash landing system in the Apache. “What's our altitude, Chief?”

  “Nine hundred feet, sir!” Chief yells, and I curse. Goddamn minimum flight levels set by not wanting to scare the locals and their pets more than save my ass! It's just high enough that we're going to coast over the line into North Korea.

  “Get the survival kits ready, Chief! Hope you liked SERE school!” Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape, or SERE. Where you learn what it's like to be dumped behind enemy lines and forced to get your ass back to the good guys. Not fun as a school, yet still nowhere near as bad as the real thing, I've heard.

  The radio cuts out, some circuit or another frying, and I can only watch, trying with a dead stick to do something, anything to lessen the impact of what's about to happen. I hear a pinging sound on the outer skin of the chopper, and I realize that whoever the hell is over there in North Korea, they're shooting at us. Thankfully, the cockpit is protected against anything short of a fifty caliber round.

  The ground rushes up, faster than I'd like, and I send up a quick prayer. If there's any higher power protecting me, I just hope that I can see Ashley again. I never told her the question I wanted to ask, if she'd marry me.

  There's scrub trees, and some brush. A rice paddy comes up, and my Apache splats into the middle of it, probably saving my life. Still, my head ro
cks forward, and I feel a tremendous jarring before everything goes black.

  Ashley

  I sit in class, wondering if the Army is joking. Maybe it's that the knowledge of long distance road transport is considered so important that they're baby stepping us, or maybe this test was derived from the enlisted tests, which were designed for people who may have only had a high school education.

  Whatever the case, I'm looking down at a completed score sheet, and there's still over an hour left on our test time. Hell, maybe I missed something, so I go back to the beginning, and start re-reading the test again, checking what I would answer against what I marked on the test. Nope... no, this is just an easy test.

  Screw it, it's early enough that I might be able to send some e-mail to Simon, or give Dad and Mom a call, I haven't left the Ft. Lee Lodge enough over the past few weekends to get back home to see them. I head up to the front of the room to drop off my test, but when I do, Captain Bali motions for me to follow him out into the hallway. “I'm sorry to delay, I wanted you to get your test done first, but I got word, you need to report to the company office.”

  I nod, kind of perplexed. Officially, the members of the class are organized into a company, even if we're much smaller. So we have a company office, and even have a company commander, first sergeant and clerk. “Roger sir. Uh, should I take my stuff?”

  “I don't think so, but I'll make sure your gear's secured,” Captain Bali says, his brown face filled with disquiet. This is strange for him too, whatever the hell's going on.

  I make my way down the hallway to the stairs and head down, still wondering what's going on. When I get to the basement, I find the offices of Bravo Company, 71st Transportation Battalion, my assigned unit for school. I knock on the door, and the company clerk, Specialist McCray, looks up. “Hi El Tee. What can I do for you?”