Chapter 5 #2
The only one unaffected by the excessive running was the nimble-footed Donita who ran like the wind, her long legs nigh flying over the sand.
The rest of them staggered by the end of the ridiculously long runs.
“For strength and endurance,” their instructors kept saying.
Britta girded herself with resolve to persevere, but she was not sure how much longer she could endure the pain.
Leastways, for now, she could run and sing at the same time, and that was no small thing.
“But Navy women are better than gold.”
“But Navy women are better than gold.”
“They can fight and they can flirt.”
“They can fight and they can flirt.”
“They can make a grown man hurt.”
“They can make a grown man hurt.”
“Men can grin and strut their stuff.”
“Men can grin and strut their stuff.”
“But women know they ain’t so tough.”
“But women know they ain’t so tough.
“Boobs and butts, latex rubber...”
“Boobs and butts, latex rubber...”
“Turn bad ol’ SEALs to drooling blubber.”
“Turn bad ol’ SEALs to drooling blubber.”
“Sound off, one, two...”
“Three, four.”
There was a small satisfaction in seeing the five men gape with astonishment at the lewd lyrics, then scowl their opinion. She especially liked making the pretty SEAL scowl.
Britta had been in this strange land only four days, and she was more tired, sore, bewildered and angry than she’d ever been in all her twenty and seven years. It was so bad, she half wished she could return to St. Anne’s Abbey.
But, nay, she would run and then run some more if that is what it took. Bad as this was, she had no wish to return to the life she had back at the nunnery. Which was no life at all.
Commander MacLean, the leader, was married to Madrene Magnusson, though Britta could hardly credit a strong-willed woman such as Madrene tolerating this arrogant man.
Right now, said arrogant man raised a halting hand for them to stop running and yelled, “Time to cool down before lunch. A little surf passage should do the trick.”
The women groaned, knowing that their being nigh drowned in the pounding waves of the cold ocean water would soon prove punishment, not relief.
If that were not bad enough, when they all came staggering out of the water, it was to see the five brutes staring at their drenched bodies to which their scant clothing clung.
Men! They were the same everywhere. Show them a bit of breast or arse and they became like rutting beasts.
Especially that one master chieftain called F.U.
who’d taken a particular delight in tormenting her.
“How about some sugar cookies now, snuffie?” Chieftain F.U. said, standing practically toe to toe with her. “Snuffies are the lowest rank in a training compound, in case you didn’t know, and you ladies are the lowest of the low.”
In her weakened condition, Britta could barely take her usual pleasure in noting that he was a half head shorter than her.
That was no doubt why he picked on her. “Petty Officer Asado, why don’t you show us how it’s done?
” Petty officer was the rank given to all the women who had not come up through their regular military with a higher status.
They would have assigned her the same rank she had in the Norse Navy, which she had learned was a type of military.
Instead, she’d demurred and accepted the same as the others.
Besides, being an officer in WEALS gave no special privileges. All of them were treated alike. Badly.
She flopped down to the beach for the exercise called “sugar cookies” and rolled over so that the sand clung to her skin, her clothing, her hair, and in fact some unmentionable places that sand should never be. The other women followed her example.
“No, no, no, sweetheart. Put your face in it.” Chieftain F.U.
placed a boot on the back of her neck so that sand went into her mouth, her nose and her eyes.
Then he used the same boot to tip her over to her back.
“Now wiggle your hips a little, like a worm. That’s it.
Pretend you’re getting nailed, and you like it a lot.
Oh, yeah, baby. Now you look just like a sugar cookie. Good enough to eat.”
Britta did not see the humor in his joke, but several of the men laughed.
“That’ll be enough for now,” she heard someone say behind her.
“Says who?” Chieftain F.U. asked.
“Says me, maggot. Pick up your gear and meet me and the commander in his office at oh-eleven-hundred. And, ladies, at ease. You can go to your rooms to shower before lunch, then report back to the grinder at oh two hundred.” Under his breath, the same man murmured something about “inappropriate conduct for an officer.”
It sounded like Zack-hairy coming to their defense, but it was hard to tell with all the sand clogging her ears.
Moving clumsily to a sitting position, she blinked repeatedly, trying to get the sand out of her eyes. Unable to see, she took hold of the hand stretched out to her. When she was standing, she saw that it was indeed Zack-hairy and for once he was not grinning.
“You exceed yourself, lout, coming to my defense. I can protect myself.”
“Bullshit!”
“Crude oaf!”
“Come on,” he said, still holding onto her hand and leading her back into the water.
“No,” she squealed, trying to pull out of his grasp, to no avail. “No more salt water.”
“It’s the best way, honey.”
Still, she resisted.
But then he lifted her in his arms, something the brute persisted in doing, though Britta could not recall any man but him being able to do since she’d gained her full height at sixteen winters.
“Here we go,” he said, tossing her into an enormous oncoming wave which hit her like a stone wall, knocking her over, then tumbling her head over heels, repeatedly.
Britta was not sure how much more punishment she could take, especially from this man.
Now she had salt water in her mouth and nose and ears and throat, in addition to the sand.
She was on her hands and knees crawling toward the beach minutes later, coughing, too tired to raise herself to a standing position.
Zack-hairy sat on the beach, arms resting on raised knees, watching her. If he dared to laugh, she might very well pick him up and dump him in the ocean. And she could do it, too, in the mood she was in.
When she got close to him, she managed to maneuver herself into a sitting position. And, actually, Zack-hairy’s maneuver had helped remove the sand from her eyes and some of it from her other body cavities.
She was too exhausted to chastise him, like she usually did, but she could look.
The man was too pretty for words. He matched her in height and then some.
Wearing only running shorts—they had special garb for running in this country—he was slightly brown all over, except for his blond hair.
His muscled chest. His long muscled legs. His perfectly sculpted face.
And I look like a drowned rat.
“Why don’t you just ring out, Britta?”
“I am not a person who quits.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t sign on for this, honey.”
“Do not call me honey or sweetling or dearling or any of your other slick words.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t need to go through all this,” he said, totally ignoring what she’d just said.
“Yea, I do. You have to understand, I have no skills in the womanly arts. I cannot do needlework or run a castle household. I cannot count the times I have been in a scullery. Herb gardens look like weeds to me. As for babies, they are stinksome, and their cries just make me wince. But give me a bow and quiver and I can shoot an arrow straight and true. Sword play comes second nature to me.”
“Your point?”
“I cannot fathom where I am or why, but I am where I should be. For now. Leastways, I have work here.” Which she no longer had in the past.
“I could find you work.” He reached over to pick a bit of seaweed out of her hair, and she slapped his hand away.
“Hah! As a nursemaid for your bratling? I declined that offer afore.” She suspected the job would involve more than care for his child, more like care for the father...in the bedsport.
“I could take you to Madrene’s family.”
“You have told me there is danger in others knowing of my supposed time travel. Wouldst have me expose them to danger?”
He shrugged. “They’ve time-traveled, too.
Yeah, the more people associated with them in this crazy business, whatever it is, the greater chance someone will find out.
And, believe me, there is danger in that.
Still...” He shrugged again. “There are Ericssons and Magnussons all over the place, but mostly at Blue Dragon Vineyard.”
“And what pray tell would I do at a vineyard? Watch the grapes grow? Methinks that would be nigh as bad as being in a nunnery?”
“You were in a nunnery?” The expression of incredulity on Zach face was a mite offensive.
“I told you that afore, halfwit. What? You think I have no godly traits?”
“I didn’t say that.” He laughed. “But, sweetie, a body like yours would be wasted in a convent.”
“Why dost say such things? I have long become resigned that I do not have the womanly traits that draw men. Frail, soft-skinned, sweet-tempered women are the ideal, and I am none of those.”
“Are you kidding? You’re the hottest woman I’ve ever met.”
Now it was Britta’s turn to stare at him with incredulity. “Slick words! There has not been a woman I’ve met in the past four days who does not pant after your overly handsome form. And you well know of your allure.”
To his credit, he did not preen false modesty. Just nodded, then replied, “That was not just a line, if that’s what you’re trying to say. When you were watching me being hit on by those women, did you see me show any interest in any of them? Except for you?”
“Please, do not insult me by claiming celibacy.”
His face flushed.
“You are renowned for your excesses, Zack-hairy.”
“My name is Zach or Zachary.”
“I prefer Zack-hairy. It has a crude sound to it.” She glared at him for changing the subject.
Laughing, he stood and pulled her up beside him.
They started to walk across the training grounds.
“I’m not a saint, Britta. I like women. I like sex.” He smiled as if to include her in his likings. “I like the things I fantasize about doing to you.”
She shook her head at his persistence.
“So, do you like it here?” Another change of subject.
“I cannot say that I like this country. It is confusing, and nay, do not start telling me of time travel again.”
“What other explanation is there?”
“I do not know.”
“Me and the guys have decided it must be a miracle performed by God.”
“Your One-God. Hmmm. For what purpose?”
“We haven’t figured that out yet.” He laughed. “Is there nothing you like about this place and time?”
“Oh, there are many things I like. What woman wouldn’t like indoor water and privies that flush away wastes, or wonderful boxes which wash and dry clothing?
And they do not even have to hunt for their game here.
Didst know they have ointments in this country that control odor under the arms?
” Before he could answer, she lifted an arm and said, “Smell me.”
He grinned like she’d made some great jest and leaned down, sniffing. “Yep, your pits smell just great.”
“Some of the women even take all the hair off their nether parts,” she confided to him. “Do men do that, too? Are you hairless there?”
“Some men might, but not me.” He was still grinning.
“If I do get sent back to the nunnery, there is one thing I would like to have experienced afore I go,” she said with a sigh.
“What’s that?”
“I do not want to be tupped, by you or any other man...” Holy Thor! What a lamebrain way of starting? Mayhap I should tighten my loose tongue afore I embarrass myself.
“Okaaaay. Not that I asked to, uh, tup you...lately.”
It is in your eyes even when you do not say the words, rogue. She disregarded his teasing words and continued, her flapping tongue out of control. “But...”
“But? Oooh, ‘but’ is a very tantalizing word. I think I’m gonna like this. But?”
She hesitated. Now she was really regretting having brought up the subject.
“You don’t want to get laid, but…?”
Too late now. Best to finish what I have started. “But I want to have some of those...you know...things. And I thought mayhap you might recommend a man.”
“Why would I recommend a man for this, uh, thing? Why not me?”
“Oh, nay! Not you! Nay! I need a man with no feelings toward me. Not that you have feelings. I mean...oh, forget I brought up this subject.”
“Not on your life!”
Her face felt warm and not from the sun, especially since he stared at her with a mixture of confusion and anticipation.
“Okay, let’s back up this train, baby. You want me to recommend a man for…what things?”
“Multiple orgy-as-hims.”
“Do you mean orgasms?”
“’Tis what I said,” she snapped.
His grin turned into a full-blown, watch-yourself-wench smile.
MEMO
From: Captain Lenore Feldman
To: Commander Ian MacLean
Subject: WEALS
Women must wear good running bras.