The Link 3 - The Huntress

Epilogue 3 - General Donald Sells

"Why the hell are they holding the meeting way out here?" James asked. We had gone through the academy together and raced for our stars as friendly competitors. He had reached his seven months before I got mine, but I was better looking in the uniform. At least that's what I kept telling him.

"I guess they didn't want any eavesdroppers," I said.

"This better be good. It's taken us half the day to get down here."

"It's warm, the ocean is calm, just enjoy it," I said. I gripped the guardrail of the ferry as it took us from the runway to the other side of Guantanamo Bay. The ocean had a special place in my heart. Memories of a beach some thirty years ago came to mind. I could still see that pink bikini wrapping the finest ass I had ever seen. I was just one week out of the academy, thinking I was God's gift to women.

"Remember Hilton Head?" I asked James. He smiled at me and nodded. That was one contest he lost hands down. I never did tell Jessica that she was the target of a bet. "You know I lied to you. Jessica didn't sleep with me that night." I had no idea why I was telling him now. The bet was only for a six pack. We always were competitive.

"She's always been better than you," James said, settling against the railing next to me. "I've always known, but I saw how she looked at you. It was worth the six pack." He chuckled, and my respect for him increased. "You don't deserve her you lying bastard."

"No, but don't let her know that," I said. Our thirtieth anniversary was coming up. I wondered if a trip back to Hilton Head would please her. We didn't look near as good in our swimsuits but filtered through memories it may not matter.

"It is nice out here," James admitted.

We debarked from the ferry and were loaded into a vehicle by a corporal who was not used to generals. She was starched from head to toe and could barely get a word out. I had learned it was best to just follow whatever plan was given to them and limit the deviations, or conversations. In time, she'd figure out we were just men and it's the rank she was saluting.

"Isn't this the way to the detention center?" I asked, breaking the long silence.

"Yes, sir," the corporal said as her eyes snapped to me in the passenger seat. They stayed longer than I felt safe so I pointed forward and she realized she should be watching the road and not me.

"I thought the meeting was at the Navy Lodge," I said.

"General Landings prefers the detention mess hall, Sir."

"Long trip, uncomfortable chairs, and crap food," James mumbled from behind me. The corporal struggled to hide a smile. He was getting pissy again. I wished he wouldn't do it in front of the rank and file.

"Does General Landings fly down here a lot?" I asked the corporal. Her terrified eyes looked at me, then back to the road.

"It's not for me to say, sir," the corporal said fearfully.

"You're correct, Corporal," I said, to calm her down. I doubt if she would be betraying any national secrets, and I think I already had my answer by her reaction.

We pulled up to Camp Delta's mess, and the corporal broke a world record running around the vehicle to open our doors. I waited patiently, though I would have preferred to open it myself. Stopping her would have been insulting.

"What's your name, Corporal?" James asked. It was clearly written above her pocket, but like me, James had sensed her unease.

"Corporal Debbie Johnson, sir," she replied as she stood at attention.

"Excellent driving, Corporal Johnson," James said, then walked off. I nodded my agreement and caught a growing smile on her face as we moved forward. Sometimes a little downward respect goes a long way. I knew how she felt. It was little different for the first-years at the academy.