by Tina Maurine
I don’t know how many times I repeated the Hail Mary as the approach worsened and our landing turned chilling. The flight line had been de-iced, but we encountered a sheet of frozen precipitation when we touched down. We slipped and slid, fighting for traction.
I gasped, and a few others let out little yelps of fear as the flying beast fought to stick to the icy tarmac.
“Too many delays,” Tim snarled, clutching his rigging until his fingers turned purple. “We waited too long after de-icing.”
Wonderful.
At last, the pilots straightened out the nose and the wild fishtailing stopped. We taxied in a controlled slide past our hangar and had to circle back around.
When the plane finally stopped moving, I rehearsed a litany of facts to ground myself and calm my pounding heart. It’s February 3, 1998. We flew over sixteen hours in a C-130. We’ve finally stopped in front of our deployment hangar. We’re on the NAS Keflavik flight line.
I was still fighting to slow my breathing when AE1 Dunnmoth nudged me and said, “Come on, Christy, pull your big girl pants on; it’s time to get off this greased pig.”
For the first time since before the approach started—hell, since the flight started in Brunswick—time returned to normal. I no longer felt like everything was moving in slow motion. I noticed everyone standing and putting their jackets on, zipping the inner and outer shells and pulling up their fur lined hoods… I followed suit and got in line behind Tim.
“Here we go. Welcome to Iceland!” Tim’s eyes smiled at me, but behind them was also a silent warning. There was so much I couldn’t read in his face and from his comment, but I’d take heed, as I clearly had no idea what to expect.
The belly of the beast dropped, and the harsh Arctic wind slapped us in the face. Adding insult to injury, the auxiliary light carts simultaneously blinded us after having spent so many hours in the dim emergency lighting. Physically sore and emotionally worn out, I had no excitement over the fact that we’d landed.
We all hovered within varying degrees of breaking down. Even the most seasoned sailors among us wore haunted expressions and shuffled like zombies out of the innards of the torturous machine. Someone initiated the procession down the ‘gang plank’ onto the icy tarmac. We paraded, walking so tightly one after the other, our stomachs touched the backs of the people in front of us. Step after step, we trudged on, ‘nut-to-butt,’ like the penguins huddled in the movie March of the Penguins. We shoved our hands deep into our pockets, many of us fighting for our balance against the bullish winds, our heads bent down to keep the icy, cutting gusts from hitting our faces. We marched on, one after the other, without looking up, robotically following the person in front of us.
I hope this leads us to a much warmer place.
AT LAST, we reached the buses.
4
I had one last trip—or so I thought—from the flight line to the electrician’s shop, but that meant making another several hundred-yard trek out to the plane for the last of the toolboxes. Apparently, we had garnered some sort of attention, because the base’s security patrol detail was keeping close tabs on us. I let my attention wander their direction, scanning the men who scanned us so intently. It seemed like they weren’t really patrolling the flight line, apart from the few hundred yards around and out in front of our hangar.
Who knows—maybe this is common procedure for when new squadrons arrive on deployments.
“Christy, step it up! These boxes aren’t going to move themselves!”
God, my annoying supervisor of the minute—Petty Officer What’s-her-name—had been up my ass all day as we relocated our equipment from the C-130.
“Christy! I said get a move on—let’s go. Now!”
Screw that! You’re not my boss. “Hey! Come here.” I stood by the gear, flagging her over.
“I don’t respond to ‘Hey,’” she snapped. “You can address me as AE2 Cai.”
Yeah. You’re one rank above me. What the fuck over? Whatever! Blow me. I stuffed down the cutting remark that lingered on the tip of my tongue. “Petty Officer Cai, come here please.”
She dragged her ass off the ramp where she’d been standing around barking orders, and over to where I stood just behind the beast. “Look, over there.” I pointed to the security detail’s Hummer about thirty yards away from me. “Why do you suppose they’re watching us so closely? They were practically underfoot a couple of hours ago. I mean, haven’t they gotten a good eyeful yet?”
“I don’t know, Christy. They’re probably providing protective detail until we’re set up. Who cares? Get to work.” She started to walk off.
“Cai!”
She spun around, and boy did she look pissed. I’m looking forward to working with such a raging bitch. NOT!
“What?!”
I walked over to her and pointed to the guy closest to us, at the lead of the detail. “Why do you suppose he’s watching us so closely? Don’t you find it a little… unnerving?”
AE2 Cai threw her hand up in a casual wave. He waved back, and then laid his hand casually on the top on his M4 rifle. “No, I don’t. Besides, he’s not watching us. When you aren’t out here, he couldn’t care less.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t be dense, Petty Officer Christy. It means he’s watching you. Who gives a flying fuck? Get back to work. I want to get out of here.”
I looked over at him one last time, and this time, he threw his gloved hand up in a wave. I stalled, but eventually waved back before heading into the beast. Stomping through the echoing interior, I slammed my boots onto the floor, childishly pretending to hurt the obnoxious plane that had so distressed me. In the back, near the bucket of my shame, I found one of the last of those damn forty-pound tool boxes. Hefting its bulk while struggling not to strain my back, I staggered back out. My cart sat to the left of the open belly, and I threw it on.
I cannot begin to explain how grueling the rest of the day became. After the tool boxes, I had to unload and set up equipment. As a squadron, we only had today to arrive and set up the remaining shops that the skeleton crew didn’t get to when they’d arrived last week. After finishing this monumental task, we had to attend the Welcome to Iceland: Courtesies and Traditions class. Last on our mile-long list was getting checked in at our barracks.
I CAN’T DO THIS ANY MORE! I’m dying…
Seriously, I felt like I was dying. Time? I couldn’t have begun to guess. Iceland is mostly dark out this time of year, then add the snowstorm that soured our flight, well… the bland, overcast grey sky had resembled twilight for hours now. I was so sleep deprived down was up and up was down.
When I climbed on the second to last bus to leave the squadron and head to my new home, I was beyond beat. I had tomorrow off—or as time had it, the rest of the day—before I had to report for duty.
I can’t wait for a bed, followed by a gallon of coffee and a hot shower.
Someone jostled me awake when we arrived at the barracks. Stumbling semi-comatose off the bus steps, I found my luggage with little effort, as most everyone had already claimed theirs and taken it inside. I exchanged courteous platitudes with the petty officer giving out room assignments, threw my huge duffel over my shoulder and trudged up the three flights of stairs…
Oh my God I am so out of shape, I thought, panting. Now, to find room 308… and my glorious bed.
I swung open the heavy fire door that connected the stairway to the hall, and instead of the quiet I was expecting, it looked and sounded more like a fraternity party. Lots of people close to my age and a little older meandered along the hall going to and from each other’s rooms. Everyone wore either flannel PJ bottoms or sweats, and I had yet to see anyone without a cup or drink in their hands.
Oh My God. I don’t think I can do this. I can’t do this. I’m just too tired.
“Hey, Christy! Drop your bag off and come grab a drink—there’s a shitload in the kitchen!” I turned to see an attractive man I recognized
from the C-130 flight. How he knew me, I had no idea, but drinking right then didn’t sound appealing at all.
“Yeah, sure thing,” I responded with as much gusto as I could muster, and then returned to hunt for my room. Just a few doors down, 308 signified peace, quiet, and my sanctuary. I tested the door handle and found it locked. As I reached in my pocket for my key, the door slowly cracked open.
Oh, Thank You, Jesus! It’s quiet inside. So wonderfully, blissfully quiet.
I entered a mostly dark room with blackout shades drawn. I could see a figure sitting in the sole recliner with her feet up.
“Hiya, hooka,” Sammie greeted me in a totally lackluster voice, very unlike herself.
“I had no idea if we were actually assigned to the same room.” My relief reflected in my voice as it washed over my soul. NOW all’s right in the world.
“Put your bag down, Tess. You’re home. I fixed you a Jack and Coke. It’s by the sink,” Sammie said quietly, the fatigue audible in her voice.
“Thanks,” I replied. I dropped my bag, slammed my drink and then collapsed onto my bed, dead to the world.
5
Who knows how long I actually slept, since I’d lost track of time. I had no awareness if it was day or night when I crashed out or when I came to. My brain just couldn’t get rid of the idea that maybe it was someone leaving our room that woke me, but when I came to, nobody was there, and Sammie appeared to still be sleeping. It may have been the music coming from her alarm that was, as I later found out, set for four hours earlier that awakened me. Or perhaps it was even a crow flying into our window—they were flocking outside the barracks and it wasn’t uncommon for them to hit the glass from time to time. Regardless, whatever woke me startled the shit out of me.
My eyes shot open and my skin prickled, ears perked… my body at attention as I waited to decipher what I thought I’d heard. I sat up, swung my legs cautiously over the edge of my three-drawer, high-lifted bed. I stretched my feet down to reach the floor and walked around the end of the back-to-back wardrobes and caroles—folding desks—Sammie had placed down the middle of our room to act as a privacy divider. Propping my left knee on the cushion of the recliner she had placed on the end and opposite the door, I peered around her wardrobe. Sammie lay sound asleep in her bed.
I looked back towards the door, assessing that it was closed and locked—then stood and leaned my shoulder against it as a precaution—to assure myself that were safe, and all was well. Then, and only then, did I make my way back into my bed; truly a heavenly comfort that reminded me of a cloud.
In cloud-like fashion, I drifted off to Never Never Land.
“Hey, Tessa? Hey, Te-ssa!” I heard my mom calling my voice.
“Five. More. Minutes,” I begged in the same fashion I’d had since I was eleven or twelve years old.
“Get up out of bed, lazy-head.”
“Mom, please!”
“Mom? Tessa! Wake the fuck up, dude,” Sammie responded with laughter in her voice. “I’m not your mom… you’re dreaming, so wake up already.”
I finally forced my eyelids apart and took a hooded look at my surroundings. Sammie stood maybe a foot from my face, looking down at me.
“Shit, Sam!” I exclaimed startled. “What’s up? Why are you waking me up? Am I late for work? Shit, what time is it?”
“Calm down. It’s six in the evening, and I didn’t think you wanted to sleep away your entire day off,” she responded with an ease that made being around her feel like home. Strange I might add, since I really didn’t know her too well… and yet it seemed like we were already sisters.
“Thanks,” I said with a half-smile as I sat up. I had gone to bed in my white Hanes work shirt, barely finding the energy to strip off my flight deck boots and coveralls before I’d crashed.
“Ugh, I so, so need a shower.” I yawned as I swung my feet over the side of the bed.
“Yes. You. Do,” she coughed jokingly as if my stench were choking her. I pushed her aside, opened my wardrobe, and pulled out some clean clothes and shower stuff from my suitcase…seeing as how I hadn’t gotten around to unpacking everything yesterday… or rather this morning?
“Ta-ta, beeatch!” Sammie shouted after me as I left the room.
The shower was pure bliss; the hot water washed the impurities of traveling and work off my skin and eased the tightness from my aching muscles. The pelting beads invigorated my still sleep-deprived and weary mind. The public shower stalls didn’t bother me a bit, as I had experienced them when I lived in the dorms while attending WSU and again during my stint in boot camp. Hell, at least these showers had curtains on them. The chit-chattering of the gals in the other stalls did nothing to distract me from my heaven on earth.
Ever since I was a teenager, I reveled in long, hot showers. I was able to day-dream in them, relax, and even find clarity in my important thoughts. As the steaming waterfall of hot beads kissed my shoulders and slid down my torso, my thoughts went back to Puerto Rico and the people I’d left behind.
I miss Wes a bunch. He’s such a fine specimen… nineteen, dishwater blonde, 6’3” and about 180, built like a track star with no extra weight on him… anywhere. After my divorce was final, he asked me to be his 'first.' I really struggled with whether or not I wanted always to hold the title. Although I hemmed and hawed about it, eventually he wore me down and I agreed to it since we were such amazing and close friends.
I miss the intimacy we shared, our close friendship, and that he was ‘my person.’ The one that I could talk to… about anything. Everything.
My memories took me back to a conversation that I’d had with him, one that was etched in my mind forever.
I’d pounded on his barracks room door, tears driving their way down my cheeks like sleet in a blizzard—ferocious, unrelenting.
“Tess, what’s wrong,” Wes opened the door, took one look at me and pulled me into his arms.”
“Oh my God, oh my God…” I choked out through my sobs.
“You’re worrying me, what’s wrong,” he stroked my head and hugged me strongly, surely. “Shh, tell me Tess. It’ll be okay, shh.”
I drew in a shaky breath, “They cheated… he cheated on me with all of them.”
“Wait, who? What? Tess, you aren’t making sense. What happened?”
“Teddy, he slept with my girls.” Again my sobs overtook me.
“So, you mean to tell me that the three of them… he slept with all of them?”
I nodded.
He waited until my sobs subsided enough to talk again, “I was just at their apartment and we were doing shots and playing a game of ‘Truth’… oh Wes… they all did it. They shared the details. Oh my God, it was so graphic. What am I going to do?”
He’d held me all night, and that was the first time I realized he was irreplaceable. He irrevocably held a position in my heart. Wes had been there for me when I became personally destructive post-divorce and kept me from drinking myself to death; more importantly, from driving while I was that drunk. Finally, after leaving Puerto Rico, he’d been there, a phone call away. Any time. EVERY time, to console my loneliness; spending long hours into the wee mornings whenever I’d needed him to—after I’d moved to NAS Jacksonville.
In many ways, Wes became my sweet angel. I knew he loved me differently than I loved him, which really stirred up deep, sorrowful feelings of guilt. I also knew I couldn’t force a different love to form for him. He had needed me to help with his ‘problem’ virginity… not that I thought he had a problem. I had needed him to get through the grieving stage of my divorce. Saying goodbye to Wes was hard since I’d known it was the end of that phase of our relationship, but it was also a little liberating. I’d been loyal to him out of friendship and the fact that I cared so much for him, but it had never been what I had really intended to happen. I hadn’t intended to jump from a dysfunctional marriage directly into a serious relationship; so, the opportunity to write a new chapter by moving excited me. I looked forward to my
next guy and reveled in the idea of having an inconsequential, carefree and fun encounter. I needed something that was uncomplicated and easy—since being married hadn’t worked out so well for me.
The steam swirled around me and transformed my skin to hues of pink and red from the scalding onslaught. I turned and faced the water, letting the hot pin-pricks sensitize the front of my neck.
Mmm… mmm. This brings back so many memories of Ethan, Teddy, Ryker, Wes, Ignacio… what is it with me and men in the shower? I giggled.
“Shit, Tessa, are you still in there?” I heard a note of disbelief in Sammie’s voice.
“Yes, Mother.” I laughed. “I still have to shave, and then I’ll be out.”
“You do that, ‘cause I know the guys are getting antsy… they may have already left for the base’s sports bar. What’s its name?” Sammie’s voice trailed off as she focused on trying to remember. “Isn’t it Pirate something, or Pirateer? Why can’t I remember?”
I just wanted to finish my shower, but after hearing ‘pirateer,’ the bar name came to me. In a voice laced with victory and dripping with sarcasm I answered, “Sam, I’ll tell you if you let me finish my shower.”
“Ok… Deal.”
“It’s The Privateers’ Pub. I read about it in the base literature on the first leg of the flight. I think it said they have pool tables, darts, TV; just an all-around hometown type of pub.” It sounded more and more like fun now that we’d talked about it.
“Okay, so are you going or what?” I could discern irritation in her voice.
“Yeah, just let me finish up already!”
Sammie guffawed, “Shit, Tessa, you don’t have to ask a lady twice!” With that, I heard her squeaking out of the shower room.
“Yeah, right! When you become a lady let me know,” I jested loudly as the door squealed closed on its noisy hinges.
