Chapter 3
Kiss me, baby...and that’s an order...
Zach was stomping his way from the bachelor officers’ quarters to the grinder after having changed into his PT clothes: khaki shorts, a blue T-shirt with gold trim and the SEAL emblem, and heavy socks folded down and over the tops of his boondockers.
The grinder was a blacktopped area used for a structured regimen of hard physical workouts. Almost totally surrounded by buildings, some two-story, it resembled a penitentiary yard, which was not totally without intent, he supposed.
Along the way, he ran into Cage and Merrill “Geek” Good, the Beaver Cleaver of Navy SEALs. Zach was explaining his new assignment to them and enlisting their help.
Suddenly, there was a communal scream by about a dozen female voices as the women fell clumsily off the Cargo Net. This was followed by a series of squeals, groans, expletives and at least one woman bursting into loud sobs.
He started to shake his head at the sorry examples of what the government expected them to turn into rough, tough military babes. But then, he was blindsided, bigtime.
On a day in which one disaster after another had piled on him, like NFL tackles on a quarterback, he was now faced with the biggest disaster of all.
Britta.
Among those women was the one woman who’d rebuffed him...the one woman who was like a thorn in his heart...or ass. Pick one. The implications were staggering, and they were hitting him like thousand-pound dominos. Whack, whack, whack!
Oh, my God! Britta is here.
Sonofabitch! Now, I have a thousand-year-old girlfriend to contend with. Ha, ha, ha.
Well, not really a girlfriend, but she would have been. Eventually. Probably.
Shit! She looks as if she’s baited for bear...and I’m the big ol’ grizzly.
Zach couldn’t help but grin at the picture he saw.
For an eleventh century, six-foot-tall, Viking warrior goddess kind of gal, Britta sure did look fine in a perspiration-dampened drab green T-shirt, nylon running shorts and beat-up boondockers.
The Navy had probably dismissed the idea of white T-shirts for the women because once sweaty they would become, well, wet
T-shirts. Which might give the male instructors inappropriate ideas, ideas which were always close to the surface.
Her blonde hair was pulled off her face into a single, straggly braid which hung down to the middle of her back.
Her legs were sinfully long, giving a guy.
..this guy, anyhow...some really vivid ideas.
Her breasts were nicely rounded; they gave him ideas, too.
Even with sand on her face and her rump, she looked good enough to eat. And he meant that literally.
Unfortunately, Britta didn’t regard him in quite the same way. The first thing she did was shove him in the chest.
He didn’t budge. “What are you doing here, honey?”
“Do not honey me, Zach-hairy.”
His grin at her mispronunciation of his name did not amuse her.
“What am I doing here? How do I know? You tell me.”
“Well, I did sort of pray for you to come here and help me out one night, but I was drunk and didn’t know any better.”
Britta didn’t even crack a smile. She ought to join Lean Mean’s frowny face club.
“You wish-prayed me here?” Her voice was so shrill, he hit the side of his head with the heel of his hand to make sure an eardrum wasn’t broken. “For what purpose?”
“Uh, to babysit.” The second those words were out of his mouth, he wished he could take them back.
“Babysit? Are you barmy? You actually thought I, a trained warrior, would play nursemaid to your whelp?”
“Well, I did mention that I was drunk, didn’t I?” He flashed her one of his too-innocent smiles.
She was obviously in no mood for humor, or flirtation. “And your wife? Did she wish-pray for me to be a nursemaid, as well? By the by, you told me you were unwed, you slimy fornicator. Didst think of your wife on those numerous occasions when you attempted to get me in your bed furs?”
“Uh, I’m not married.” Oooh, boy! Another slip of the tongue.
Britta threw her arms up in disgust, which did amazing things to her breasts. “Why am I not surprised? Dost have any idea how like my father and brothers you are? How many other children do you have, on how many women?”
Zach drew himself up straight, suspecting that comparison to her father and brothers was not a compliment. “There are no others.” That I know of. “Listen, we need to talk...in private. Stay here.”
He walked around her and went over to one of the low platforms surrounding the grinder. Instructors stood there to oversee the exercise evolutions. “Master Chief Uxley, you are relieved of this billet. I’m here to take over.”
“About time, asshole.” Master Chief Frank Uxley, better known appropriately as F.U., was one of the more obnoxious members of SEAL Team Thirteen. A good soldier, but a speed bump on the evolutionary superhighway.
“Yeah, I can see you’ve been doing a bang-up job so far, dog breath.”
Close to a hundred women—dirty, battered and panting like war horses—stood about fifteen feet away. They were the sorriest class of trainees he had ever seen.
“So, you hittin’ on one of the trainees already?” Uxley inquired in his usual snide manner, motioning his head toward Britta, who had come up behind him. “Can you say sexual harassment suit, big boy?”
“Go away, Uxley. I’ll take over now.”
“My pleasure. Think you can handle a big ’un like her? If not, I’ll be glad to lend a hand.”
Before Zach had a chance to answer, Britta picked up Uxley by the waist and tossed him into the sand.
Uxley was fairly short...only five-nine.
..but he was built like a bull. He had to weigh a solid hundred and sixty.
Standing over him, hands on hips, Britta said, “Be forewarned, chieftain, I am a Viking warrior, more than you ever wagered for in your flea-bitten life. Dost still think you can handle me, knave?”
At first, there was a stunned silence. Then Zach turned to the group and yelled, “Ah-ten-shun!”
Everyone stood in rigid formation, hands at sides, chins forward.
Except Britta. He turned to glare at her.
At first, she balked, but then she went over to stand in line.
All of them ignored Uxley as he got to his feet, cursing, and headed toward the Naval Special Warfare Center or NSWC with his three fellow instructors.
He would no doubt file a complaint against him.
Welcome to the club, buddy.
“I am Lieutenant Zachary Floyd, the assistant commander of this first class of WEALS. These two gentlemen...,” he said, pointing to his two buddies, strolling toward them, “...are Petty Officer Justin LeBlanc and Ensign Merrill Good.” He’d enlisted them to help him.
He also introduced the other instructors standing around.
Zach saw the flicker of astonished recognition on the part of Britta toward his two fellow SEALs, and vice versa. They’d all met before in another time and place.
Cage and Geek were grinning like fools as they gave little waves to Britta, but at least they kept their fool mouths shut, except for Cage muttering to him under his breath, “You are in such trouble, buddy,” and Geek saying, “I can’t wait to see how you wiggle out of this one.”
“Now, each of you identify yourselves,” Zach urged the ladies.
One at a time, they did so till they came to Britta, who announced proudly, “Britta Asado.” Her real surname was Asadottir, he recalled. She glared at him, as if daring him to disagree with her shortening of her name.
Not bloody likely. She’d probably punch out my lights. “Petty Officer LeBlanc and Ensign Good will take over for a short time. Ms. Asado, come with me to the command center. There seems to be some missing...paperwork.”
Luckily, she followed his order, and he took her not only into the building, but into a basement storage room. He slammed the door and turned on her. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“What the hell are you doing here?” she countered. Lifting her arms, she pushed errant strands of blonde hair off her face. The gesture caused her breasts to press against the thin fabric of the T-shirt.
Pssssh! Like a deflating balloon, every logical thought in his brain shooshed out under testosterone overload. He shook his head like a wet dog. “You’ve got to ring out. I’ll take you over to do it right now.”
“And then what?”
We could sneak off to the nearest motel where we can have wild monkey sex. Maybe. “What do you want to do?” He wasn’t about to suggest babysitting again, or wild monkey sex. Besides, with her attitude toward him, she would be a bad influence on his kid, who had a bad enough attitude already.
“What are all those women doing out there?”
He waved a hand airily. “It’s a new experimental program for females. Like SEALs, but different. They’ll be called WEALS.”
“Like wheels on a cart?” she asked incredulously.
He laughed. “No. It stands for Women on Earth, Air, Land and Sea.”
“Female military?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. ’Tis what I want to do.”
“No, no, no! You don’t understand. This program is going to be brutal. Absolute torture.”
“Dost think I cannot endure hardship?”
“I didn’t say that?” Not exactly.
“You wish-prayed me here. If I do not become a wheel, you are responsible for me. Dost want that responsibility?”
“Hell, no, but—”
“You cannot have it both ways. Ah, do not trouble yourself, lout. I will take care of myself. I will be a wheel, but, Holy Thor, I hope no one intends to roll me down a hill, or attach me to a wagon, especially with this ale-head.”
He laughed again. “Britta, we don’t have much time. I don’t think you understand what has happened here. You, my dear, have traveled through time one thousand years.” Folding his arms over his chest, he waited for her reaction.
It was quick in coming. “You. Are. An. Idiot.”