Then he shook his head in self-disgust. The sun must be melting my brains if I’m getting turned on by Prissy Prescott.
Major Prescott, he corrected himself as she narrowed her glittering eyes at the sergeant who was calling out the offensive lyrics. Apparently, the slightly overweight, ruddy-faced senior enlisted man didn’t have the brains God gave a Mexican goose. Failing to notice Helen, or being incredibly stupid, he chose to ignore her as he began to sing out a new chant, “I don’t know but I been told…”
The recruits repeated his words in loud rhythm. There were no women in the company.
“Air Force babes are bought and sold.”
Oh, boy. Rafe could hear Helen’s gasp of outrage from twenty feet away. He folded his arms across his chest, waiting for the inevitable fireworks. Helen Prescott hadn’t been nicknamed “Give ‘Em Hell Helen” for nothing. And he would bet his left nut that she hadn’t changed much over the years.
“I don’t know but it’s been said…”
Helen tucked the clipboard under her arm and straightened her shoulders, which only served to emphasize her “endowments,” Rafe thought idly, knowing full well how she would hate that he had noticed. Then she stomped furiously toward the group of soldiers who were marching in place near the edge of the field. She even stomped rather nicely, Rafe noted, her buttocks bouncing the slightest bit.
“Navy babes are wicked in bed.”
Rafe turned his attention away from Helen and back to the witless wonder. Boy, could I recommend a good lawyer for this schmuck. He’s gonna need one, and soon.
But the brain-dead sergeant had his back to Helen, who was about to tap him on the shoulder. Totally unaware that he was cutting his own throat, he sang out, “All I know is what I hear…”
Before the fool could open his mouth again, Helen finished for him in a clear, disciplined, carrying voice, “Court martials are somethin’ to fear.”
Rafe smiled. Way to go, Prissy!
The sergeant spun on his heels and his jaw dropped open in surprise. “Major Prescott, I didn’t see you.” He snapped a quick salute.
“Apparently.” Helen returned the salute.
“I didn’t know… Hell, I didn’t know there were any women. I mean…” the flustered sergeant stuttered.
“AT-TEN-TION!” she yelled, real loud. Rafe was pretty sure they heard her five miles away.
Snapping leather, the flustered sergeant — who should have been the one to call “Attention” immediately — and his company obeyed without question. They stood rigid as boards, waiting for her next directive.
“The Army does not tolerate sexism, soldier,” she barked at the red-faced NCO, “whether women are present or not.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the sergeant ground out.
“If you value those stripes, soldier, I would suggest you start singing a different tune.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
She stared at him and his company for several long, drawn-out seconds, as if trying to decide what punishment to mete out. “Continue as you were,” she ordered finally, granting a reprieve.
The sergeant let out a long breath of relief. Then he saluted, waited for her return salute, did a jerky about-face, and ordered his troop to march back toward the barracks. This time, there were no chants, just the sharp click of boot heels.
After they left, Rafe watched, transfixed, as Helen inhaled and exhaled several times, deeply, as if to collect herself. For one brief second, her shoulders slumped, and Rafe knew somehow that Helen hated her job. Then she raised her face to the sunlight, eyes closed, uncaring that she might add a few more freckles to those that dotted her straight nose and clear complexion.
Rafe felt a deep pulling sensation in his chest. He had forgotten how attractive Helen was — not beautiful, but compelling. He hated himself for remembering those painful college days they had shared. He hated feeling like a horny kid again, tripping over his too-big feet the first time an Anglo girl looked his way. Most of all, he hated the memory of his yearning for a young woman who had always been beyond the reach of the token Hispanic at an all-white, private military school.
Abruptly, Helen turned back toward the plane, breaking his unwelcome reverie. She walked with brisk, efficient steps. Totally in control now, her face was a mask of military resolve.