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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Drama · #2208472
A how to guide in defeating military grade buffoonery purchased at the taxpayers expense.
After an unsettling adventure on and underneath Vandenberg AFB., Private Contractor John Wayne Stone stood before Captain Bonnie Ann Clyde, her name most descriptive of her appearance, carriage and demeanor, in her office. The aforementioned local, somewhere nestled among the buildings of Wiesbaden Germany, Seventh Corps Headquarters, behind a nameless door, among other nameless doors, in a hallway of bland description. Standing next to her is Lt. Lancaster Whitehall, a West Pointer possessed of the boyish charm of John Boy Walton, and due to his transgressions in life, would always be a lieutenant unto retirement while serving as a professional informer on Bonnie's forays into criminality. As per usual, he wore neatly pressed khaki's, as this level of horror allowed the personnel the freedom to express an image through approved uniforms. In the corner, is a table offering a hot pot of coffee and cups.

Stone, he stood stoic, haggard, immaculately polished as granite, wearing his trademark black suit, representing what he considered the worst aspects of humanity. He discarded any imaginative pretenses as to his position in the universe and the only thing passing through his mind is a mildness regarding his debriefing. She interrogated him previously on Vandenberg, as he returned from the underground lair of Uncle Sam, where they kept secrets so enormous, the whole of human history is no more than a fiction, while the perception of God transposes into mundane conventionality assigned to children. One thing Stone could be sure of, if at any time, he should ever mention the exacting nature of these mysteries, he would be dead of cancer in a hot minute.

Oh, those secrets are hidden insidiously in plain sight, everyone has heard of them or it, and upon seeing the truth...Has been conditioned to disregard that obvious reality then assume those secrets to be a joke, a rouse, or at best for 'them', the people who actually operate the mechanisms of global power, as entertainment fit only for a passing interest. There were only two forces in the universe that ever-intimidated Stone intellectually. The first being the awesome mind of his paternal grandmother, the second the dreadful things locked underneath the desert sands. This from a man that absolutely possessed no fear of God's wrath whatsoever and only a mild annoyance of dying painfully. John Wayne Stone, his government given moniker is a defined, precise description of character. His given name, for riding tall in the metaphorical saddle, his family surname, a material description of his emotional attachments to the finer qualities of humane endowment.

Two seminal events transcribed his moniker, the first being an incident greatly classified however verifiable, where he distinguished himself as a Specialist Fourth Class promoted by necessity to Acting Captain, then calling in a B-52 strike on his own position. Technically the ordnance transported his passions to the afterlife. There, the Nordic deities, the artifice of Divinity, determined that he owns a vile temper given to brutal wrath and a cold, dark heart. They returned him to the temporal, to improve his charms, as they determined him to have a value as measured by the bench mark standards of courage, compassion and charity. The second, unequaled in viciousness, involved a stay in a Soviet Gulag. This, affirmed by the annals of the Rumor Mill, provided him the distinction of being the second American to endure the ordeal. Most of the unfortunate victims, survived no more than twelve hours, he subsisted thirty-six hours, before they traded him to the West for a numerical superior unit of Soviet agents and sympathizers. The anonymous Blue-Ribbon notable, after a firm forty-eight hours, succumbed to an ill-defined raspatory disease. This formed Stone into a hard, callous man described by the immortal words of the best philosophers as 'Just not giving a fuck about Jack Shit.'

Therefore, as Bonnie held up a black and white glossy photograph, with a number on the front, and a paragraph on the back, of Marilyn being tossed across the Pacific Ocean all he thought, while harmonizing internally with the melody, is 'Yes, Officer Obi, I cannot tell a lie...I put that envelope under that pile of garbage.' She began waiving it and then leveled the unseemly accusation that he, yes, he, had abused her for refusing his amorous intentions. Lancaster said nothing, he maintained a near invisible posture affecting a quite thoughtfulness.
As for Bonnie, she affected none such pretenses that may allude to civility. She without any exaggeration, she dissembled a Satanic and imaginative harangue that slandered Stone. She demanded a complete and utterly detailed explanation as to why evidence indicated he tossed a nude woman into the rolling surface of the Pacific Ocean.

"To see how far she could skip," John replied sternly.

"Excuse me?" Bonnie screamed. She then hammered a fist on the table. "Why were you seeing how far she could skip?"

"We were horsing around...Oh, as a matter of detail, the blur in the upper corner, under the number isn't a photographic anomaly. It's her bikini bottom."

"She's nude in the picture! How'd that happen!" she shrieked.

John paused for a moment, under the impression that he already mentioned that, quite clearly. He then slowly with deliberation answered, affecting a somber tone, "I'm not responsible for the interactions of water, inertia and spandex. I picked her up, threw her and the bikini bottom went approximately ten meters further and higher than she did...As her superior mass decelerated quicker than the apparel. I think...I'm not a physicist."

"Then you had consensual sex, right!" she exclaimed violently. "You committed adultery on your sweet, innocent and loving wife! You've only been married to her four months!"

"Negative," Stone answered solidly.

"How so!"

Stone found the accusation humorous and accordingly his patented cock-eyed smirk appeared on his face. He couldn't help himself on two counts, the first being he in less polite company referred to Bonnie as 'Boink-O-Rama', as colorful description of her base attributes. The second contradiction, the theatrics of her being offend by his dalliance is the finest hypocrisy ever displayed. The only adultery he committed, three months ago, involved her active participation.

"I'm turning over a new leaf," he replied. "Attempting to improve my moral fiber. Also, my I remind you I'm an asexual male? You provided the therapy to restore proper functioning, so this situation shouldn't surprise you...You taught me to be an old goat."

"Okay! So, you have a hobby! You're supposed to do your trick for your wife!"

"Asexy isn't interested," he blandly shrugged. "And since when did a marriage ever stop an old goat?"

"You can go to jail under the UCMJ! You know how much trouble you're in?"

"Measurably...none at all."

"Explain!"

"I never touched her in a sexual manner, as she'll testify to that the Article 32 hearing, secondly that is her bikini bottom...All we did is share a quiet time with each other. I believe the proper words are intimate companionship."

Bonnie huffed, then explained she is taking the eight by ten, black and white glossy to the lab and having his photographic anomaly, and she doubted he knew what those words meant, scrutinized by the best men and equipment science could provide, which turned out to be the technician and a magnifying glass. She wished him luck as she strutted from the office and enjoined both to engage in locker room talk as they were juvenile delinquents anyhow. Moments after the door slammed with a pronounced hostility, Lancaster inquired if he actually 'got any'.

"No," John replied and then artfully lit a cigarette. "And I'm not an asexual either."

"Well, Asexy is," Lancaster shrugged. He is already familiar with the finer details of Stone's pretended marriage.

"That's an issue..." John replied exhaling. "I miss Bonnie but not that much, and Asexy is starting to grow on me. Besides, would an asexual male get on Boink-O-Rama there? Really? I'm not an ace..."

"Well, what she said... you developed a hobby," Lancaster remined Stone casually.

"Consider this for your gentle perusal, and, kind considerations," John melodramatically replied. "I lied through my teeth."
The details of the backstory are related as follows; Approximately thirteen months prior the Government, in the form of two large men and a woman, in black suits waltzed into John Stone's artillery unit and leveled a business offer he could not refuse. Though, as a matter of interest, he verbally refused the offer, however, they also came with printed orders from Regiment, changing his occupation from Gun Bunny to Thug. The method of service a deep cover operative, the description, Camaraderie Coach assigned to the girl's Seventh Corps athletic team. Ostensibly, and only half true, because nobody knew him, and the men in black suspected a KGB mole on the athletic team or associating with it, therefore he could get to know them and report back. John Stone did more than report back, he accurately identified the mole with precision that outstripped his on the job training and apparent abilities.

Furthermore, he exhibited no moral quandary in 'taking care of' the sanctioned individual as pursuant to the rest of the motive they selected him as he fitted a psychological profile acquired by those assumed humans remotely. This endeared him to 'those people' that engage in covert warfare, and once these abilities unknown to him, revealed themselves, he became less than thrilled with associating with himself.

It is also no great secret he is also an avid reader of everything fit, or unfit to print. On his long list of education material are tombs on espionage, and not just that of the pulp fiction variety of narrative, one such paperback, widely disclaimed as a hit piece, proved enlightening, entitled 'The CIA and the Cult of Intelligence' a non-fiction Victor Marchetti and John D. Marks. Part of his description as 'coach' involved a gang shower with ten, eighteen to twenty-year-old athletically fit female types. What went through his mind, is how they, most notably the sports psychologist, who also is a CIA operative, Dana Webb, kept selling that aspect of employment. What Stone understood is sexual blackmail, and as a side note, he pegged Dana as CIA from the way she spoke within moments of meeting her. He also immediately despised her with a visceral passion. He tried to avoid the situation by defending his actions with half-truths in the same vein as 'they' did. Of the original ten, three were cousins, and eventually that number also included four sisters. Not that this is a problem, soap covered more of his relation's femininity than any swimsuit they wore ever did, and for him, the view on nudity is a choice, he preferred to keep that intellectual. Expressing sexuality is another choice. Furthermore, he didn't want embroiled in sexual harassment claims, that would cost him rank, money or disgrace, though that happened anyhow on the periphery. Understand, the remainder of team were lesbians and one a virgin and a Mormon, who found it offensive they were in the presence of a man. Furthermore, in the Mormon's understanding...Showering with your cousins is just wrong. That conspiracy resulted in a civil suit against the Army for damages, and those plaintiffs, under a cloud of the darkest ignominy, became civilians.

Dana Webb, a noteworthy buffoon, educated in the Caribbean, armed with a bottle of gin, determined that John is either a homosexual or an asexual male, as he preferred to associate with his cousins, as opposed to blatant promiscuity with the replacements for the 'happy' crowd. She also threatened to discharge him under that cloud of ignominy where as he demanded an Article 32 hearing...The first of many such identical demands. One of the requirements and evaluations he participated in were numerous surveys, John understood a psychological examine when he saw one. So, he lied. At first, he selected random dots without reading the questions, evasively and vaguely answered Webb's interrogation. He did this as he realized being honest as to his actions and behaviors fell on deaf ears. He associated with his cousins because he didn't see them much over the past three years of service, as for his sexual proclivities, prostitution meets that, and furthermore, he didn't get lonely or want a wife. He justified that attitude by quoting Field Marshal Erwin Rommel on the subject feeling that gave it a bit of polish. No such thing, they then asked him why he was always quoting German Field Marshals.

The fact he only quoted Rommel, sparingly, on that subject, told him several things. A). They didn't pay attention to the obvious, B.) He held a keener education in general than they, C). He possesses an innately greater wit and lastly D). They believed their own bullshit. He also became grateful he didn't quote Sun-Tzu or Musashi. Eventually he learned in conversation with Boink-O-Rama they suspected his Rommel quotes to be representative of a leaning toward the Nazi Party.

As a matter of interest, he quoted Rommel on the grounds that the Cold War in Europe is a European War, and involved Russians. Rommel knew the European mindset intimately and excelled at killing Russians, and everyone else, circa Poland 1938. Additionally, he knew more about war, then Stone did. They didn't believe him. He also wondered if he quoted Col. Sanders, if they'd confound him with a roasted chicken.

Naturally, Webb insisting he is an asexual male, and her superior, a Col. May insisted he participate in therapy, for something that Stone thought should be a non-issue. He refused, for him it is a waste of his free time as he had other activities requiring his attention; Drinking, gambling, whoring and chaperoning his cousins as they were prone to serious misadventures. To avoid further annoyance by idiots, he accessed a Col. May through his open-door policy and promptly, received an education, by shooting himself in the foot. To quote, "Sir, I understand sex is the tactical nuclear weapon of psychological warfare and those engaged in it seek out asexual individuals because they are immune to said weapons systems...However, I disbelieve Ms. Webb's ascertained observation on the grounds that you're asking me to consider non-activity a detriment and I never even heard the word before meeting your people..."

All of which is an honest critique. Col. May's response, betrayed him as an intellectually hollow bumbler, reduced to; You're our boy...Get help or else. Infuriating the matter to cyclonic proportions, a literal half hour after he tested out of Webb's therapy, which involved deviousness on his part, he met, through his cousin Morty of the Dead, a member of the bodybuilding team, and as the name implies, a mortician assigned to Graves Registration, Eden Katz. Dana Webb, took credit for it, though, she had nothing to do with it, Morty's involvement ignored, as Eden initiated the romantic advance. That short-live symphony became Stone's greatest love of his adult life, and decades later, maybe the only.

"That's incredible," Lancaster mused as he weighed the facts of the narrative.

"Explains Boink-O-Rama...Asexy..." Stone shrugged and asked Lancaster if he wanted a cup of coffee. He stood by the table smoking a cigarette and sipping coffee admiring his mastery of the art of politics, answering Lancaster's query with, 'I learned that from the best of them, you and Bonnie.'

"Well I suspected something foul," Lancaster went on, lighting his own cigarette. "From everything I read asexual males aren't supposed to be aggressive...The picture I have is they're passive monk like hermits. With you...We always know where you been by following the dead bodies," he then chuckles. After a pause, his eyebrows arched he then erupted. "MY God! You're a genius!"

"Thankyou but how so?" John questioned.

"It means you've exempted yourself from the UCMJ!" Lancaster went on.

"Of course, it was written by reprobates and dim-wits," John replied not quite following. "How so I'm lost."

"If this goes to trial...Not only is Bonnie sunk...And let me tell you about the skeletons in her closet..." Lancaster shot back.

"The two Mexicans and the table top position in Acapulco?"

"How'd you know about that!"

"They're still talking about it on Vandenburg...Air Force Intelligence has the porn flick..." John shrugs. "Several copies are regularly passed around in the underground grottos..."

"Ha!" Lancaster laughed. "Well the point I'm making is you can legitimately argue your actions are based on what Webb and Bonnie did to you.... Against your will as an enhancement...All unquestionable there...So, you're just doing what you were told to do. Following orders. That son! Is genius!"

"I thought it was devious but not to that level..." John replied trailing off in consideration.

"Ha!" Lancaster laughed. "What makes you think that isn't genius?
"I figured anyone could see that coming, hang the other guys with their own rope. I mean shit dude," John slipped into a more relaxed frame. "When you tell somebody the truth and they don't believe it, they're suckers...Hanged with their own rope. I'm surprised you didn't do that years ago..."

"Pour me a cup of coffee," Lancaster chuckled and then mused. "Makes me wonder how many other people have pulled that maneuver and we just don't know about it. Ha! I thought about offering to represent you at the Article 32 hearing with that argument. Think it'll go any place?"

"No," John answered giving Lancaster a cup of coffee. "If it went even to trial the whole system is condemned."

"Okay you two reprobates, done with the gossip? What were you talking about...Molesting sheep?" Bonnie bellowed as she stormed into the office, the door slamming hostilely behind her.

John produced a bleating sound which formed a sour look on Bonnie's already drawn countenance. Lancaster just stared at her grinning.

"Okay boy," she spat pointing at John. "You're lucky. The photographic anomaly is a bikini bottom! That and Marilyn won't testify.... You're off the hook! Just what are you going to say to Asexy if she asks?"

"She's not," John shrugged. "Most people that get sent to under Vandenberg don't come back. She'll be too happy to see me in the living room to ask questions. If anything, she'll ask me about the secret and I'll say I can't tell you."

"You cocky bastard," Bonnie disgustedly muttered.

She then threw both out of the office and John complained about his sub-machinegun, artfully hidden under his left armpit causing shoulder discomfort. He answered Lancaster's questions involving the well-known secret as they walked to the arms room. After satisfying his curiosity John sauntered to his on-post housing flat and exhaled in relief when he discovered the apartment empty. He had just completed an act of personal hygiene, had his feet up on the coffee table, drinking a beer and trying to watch Alf re-runs on AFN when Asexy burst into the apartment. She did what she normally did, stopped, stared at him mischievously then ordered him to 'Get his rear dog paws off the table'.

"I just talked to Capt. Clyde," she chirped as she used a key the detach the handcuff bracelet from an obviously empty leather briefcase. She explains the key only opened that side as she threw it on the dining table. She took off her pants suit jacket, revealing that the other end of the handcuff affixed to her wrist and a leather and steel harness attached to her, needed a second key. "What was it like!"

"Uh? What?" Stone replied nonchalantly. "Wasn't there didn't do it."

"Capt. Clyde said you came back because of me!" she beamed. "What was it like! Is the grotto at Vandenberg everything I heard!"

"And more," John replied. "What gives with the security harness?"

"They only had one key, as the other end is out being used someplace else..." she smiled. "The Security Officer will be back from where ever in an hour and when I heard you were home, I rushed back.... The guys down in security were surprised you came back! Nobody comes back from Vandenberg when they send them underground!"

"Its been a while babe," John slyly smiled at her. "Want a quickie? The leather and handcuffs are arousing me..."

"Oh!" Asexy gulped nervously, almost breaking out into a sweat. "You know that could give you an anxiety attack." She then looked at her watch and exclaimed, "Well! Look at the time! I need to get down to S-2 and get the harness off. When I come back, I want you to tell me all about Vandenberg! I have some leftover lasagna and if you want, I have gefilte fish! Food the way to a man's heart!"

She then darted out.

"You're just going to have to get her drunk," John mused. "Remember she thought Pussy Galore in Goldfinger referenced adult entertainment..."

He spent most of the night talking to Asexy about the grotto's well-known secret while eating leftover lasagna and gefilte fish.









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