Third Person - Complete

Take It

Lewis fumbled the door open and started dragging her stuff into the room, stopping to kick the door closed. She could faintly hear Bon Jovi playing and the room smelled faintly of cherries.

"Who's there?" A voice called out. It was a pleasant contralto with an accent Lewis couldn't identify.

"Um, Private Lewis. I'm assigned to this room," Lewis called out. She grunted, pulling the dufflebags.

"Oh, a newbie," another voice said, this one slightly higher but still contralto. "Need help?"

"Please?" Lewis called out.

From the main room the biggest woman Lewis had ever seen walked into view. Over six foot, with large arms and thick legs. Following her was a muscle-bound woman wearing sun glasses. Both women were well muscled and the bigger one moved with a fluid grace that Lewis was immediately jealous of. The shorter one, still a good six inches taller than Lewis, moved slowly and stiffly as if she were sunburned.

"Hey, I recognize you," the one with the sun-glasses said. "I was on the gun, remember?"

Lewis nodded, thinking how different they looked. Both were wearing jeans, the bigger one wearing a Motley Crue t-shirt, the other wearing a RATT t-shirt. The shorter one had hair down to just below her waist, the bigger one had hair down to the middle of her back.

"I'm your room-mate, Miranda Stokes," The bigger one said. "That's Heather Cromwell, but you can call her Squeaker," The big one grinned.

"I'll pull your arms off if she does, Amazon," The shorter one, Cromwell, laughed. She looked at Lewis, "You drink?"

Lewis shook her head. "I'm only eighteen."

"Make her drink, Heather," Miranda said. "She looks pretty tight, better start the fingerbanging with one finger."

Lewis blushed at the suggestion in the drink. "Um, I'm not..." she started.

Miranda laughed. "One finger of Jack Daniels, sweety."

"Life's a bitch, let's fingerbang her," Heather laughed from the room.

"Let's get your gear put up," Miranda said, picking up one of the dufflebags. "Go ahead and unlock the others, I'll put away your 2/19th draw."

Miranda held up a rumpled uniform. "I've got an iron. You don't starch your uniforms in this unit, just steam press with an iron. You starched these?"

Lewis nodded.

Miranda shook her head. "Yeah, they're all trashed then. Thermal masking is shot now. We'll mark the tags and you can steam iron or starch them to wear around garrison."

Lewis just nodded. Miranda Stokes was a large woman, and made Lewis feel self-conscious about how small she was. At five foot four, the brunette never felt that small before, but the two women were tall, and their muscular bulk made Lewis feel skinny and dainty.

"You get your squad assignment yet, Lewis?" Heather called out from the main room.

Lewis nodded, feeling foolish while she was doing it because she knew that the other woman couldn't see her. "Yeah," Lewis said.

Miranda had dumped out the dufflebag full of gear she'd been given downstairs and was quickly putting it away in the bottom locker of a three stack.

"Well?" Miranda asked, looking up at Lewis from where she was tucking away the big insulated boots.

"First Squad, Third Magazine Platoon," Lewis said.

"Ant's crew," Miranda shook her head. "Oh man, you poor baby," Miranda said. "That means you're with us out at that shit-hole Atlas."