© 2023 Duleigh Lawrence-Townshend. All rights reserved. The author asserts the right to be identified as the author of this story for all portions. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review or commentary. If you see this story on any website other than Literotica.com, it has been copied without the author's permission.
This story has its roots in a few actual circumstances, some of which got very ugly in real life. I tossed a few real-life occurrences together to create this story. Names, unit numbers and other identifiers have been changed to amuse the innocent. There is no Bailey Air Force Base near Culbertson Montanna, there's only 750 people in Culbertson Montanna and I don't think they want a big noisy base nearby. This story was crafted for the Winter Holidays Story Contest 2023. Please vote kindly and leave a comment.
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The Pilot's Conjugal Christmas
Stoking the fires of passion at -35°
Preface: Bailey Air Force Base near Culbertson Montanna about 35 years ago was experiencing one of the coldest winters it had in decades, it was a cold base fighting the cold war. The SAC (Strategic Air Command) Nuclear Alert was a real thing and games were not played. At Bailey AFB, six B-52H's loaded with twenty-four nuclear warheads each sat ready to take to the air at a moment's notice . Air crews sat on ready alert 24/7 waiting for the call to come to launch the bombers and head north with their deadly loads. Each aircraft carried twelve AGM-86/B cruise missiles (six on each wing pylon), in the aft portion of the bomb bay hung eight AGM-SRAM missiles on a rotary launcher. The Short Range Attack Missile carried its W69 nuclear warhead in any direction at supersonic speed. Ahead of the SRAMs hung four B83 gravity bombs. The yield of that bomb will be classified for decades after it's no longer used, but it is guaranteed to make Fat Man and Little Boy look like cherry bombs.
The 360th Bombardment Wing [Heavy] stood ready for the call that everyone hoped and prayed didn't come. Some were more ready than others. Colonel Lars Gulbrandsen was aching to see his men and woman in action, but he wasn't excited about taking over a B-52 wing with the first female bomber pilot. He didn't care if Deanna Ingler was a he, she, or it, just as long as he, she, or it could fly the heaviest bomber in the world like Eddie Rickenbacker, and she could make that airplane sing. The problem was the publicity. It seemed like news reporters were waiting for her to land after every mission. That had to end.
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The temperature was -26° with a slight breeze blowing the sandy snow around on the flightline. The air looked foggy, but it was too cold for fog, the air was obscured by a fog of tiny ice crystals, the humidity had frozen and was hanging in the air. Everything was covered with hoarfrost, every tree branch and every barbed wire fence, even the chain link fences topped with coils of razor wire looked festive. It gave a look of flocked garland to everything it touched, and at night it was magical, every light reflected a spike of light that shot straight up to the sky, and the moon had a circular halo, a moondog.
A Strata Blue metro van pulled into the vehicle bay of building 579, the Weapons building and pulled into a diagonal parking spot in front of the weapons loading office. Master Sergeant Mark Hammond
stepped off the driver's seat and opened his parka savoring the warmth of the heated vehicle bay before heading over to Munitions Control. The Munitions Control Room was a masterpiece of local design. The room was divided into three areas, a document storage area where all the classified documents were locked up, a second office where the lieutenant and the chief could watch the controllers in action, and the third area, the largest area was the control room itself.
Two big magnetic boards were on both sides of the back wall, one represented the flight line and the other represented the bomb dump. Every bomb rack, missile launcher, missile pylon, and trailer to haul all those weapons had a magnetic tag with the item serial number, and every plane had its own large golden magnetic tag. One who knew the secrets of reading the magnetic boards knew where everything was. On the side walls were plexiglass status boards with every open maintenance job listed for each maintenance shop, and between the two magnetic boards was a plexiglass board that currently had weather information. If an exercise or war kicked off that would become the "main board" and the big clock set to midnight above it would start.
Mark hit the buzzer at the control room door and stood in the glaring lights in front of the two-way mirrored window. The intercom crackled to life and a voice said, "Can I get your name, rank, and serial number."
"Fuck you," replied Mark.
"And the password?"
"Fuck me."
The door buzzed and unlocked; Mark found Master Sergeant Johnny Ramirez sitting grinning at his desk. Johnny was 1/4 inch too short to be in the Air Force, but he enlisted during the Vietnam War and became a helicopter door gunner on rescue choppers, so no one is going to throw him out for being short. Too many officers had their asses saved by "Taco John" and consider him a hero and he's got the ribbons to prove it. "How did you know that the Wing King wasn't here?" said Johnny with a grin.
"Because you were the one asking me those dumbass questions," said Mark. "If Colonel Crankshaft were here, you would have been brown nosing him and Wombat would have been asking dumbass questions." Wombat was a staff sergeant 462 (Weapons Loader) like Mark and was assigned to the control room.
Mark stepped into the control room and stepped up behind Wombat, AKA Staff Sergeant Dennis Stadelmeyer, began massaging his shoulders and said, "Ten forty-one in hanger 4 is configured conventional with three cluster racks, the MAU-175 is in Release for its annual. {In English that means that B-52 1A1041 is now configured to carry non-nuclear bombs only, the rack that held the nuclear bombs is in the maintenance shop for an inspection} He handed a list of the cluster racks loaded on the aircraft to Wombat.
Dennis swapped out the appropriate tags reading the serial numbers from the work order as his old team chief massaged his shoulders. "If you weren't married..." said Dennis.
"Promises, promises," said Mark with a chuckle. "It's almost Christmas Eve, has anyone said anything about shutting this place down?"
Just then, Major Ayato Tanaka, the second highest ranking man in the squadron, the maintenance supervisor, stepped in the control room. Born in a Japanese detention center at the end of WWII there is no doubt that Ayato Tanaka is Japanese. He has incredibly thick glasses which plays into the old WWII stereotypes of the Japanese fighting man, but he has incredible hearing. It is said that if a deer pisses in the woods, Major T can tell his keto level by the sound. "Mighty Mark, I thought I heard you. What brings you to my den of iniquity?" The control room is Major Tanaka's #1 source of information, and he can be found in there reviewing the status boards throughout the day and into the evening.
"Just trying to find out some good rumors, sir," said Mark.
Major T, as he is commonly called, walked over to the flightline status board and reviewed all the planes, especially the planes on the alert pad. Each aircraft magnet had six magnets under it showing bombs, SRAM missile launcher, two ALCM pylons, tail gun ammo, and defensive flares. He scratched the back of his neck as he reviewed the board and all the controllers looked over at their boss Johnny Ramirez. Johnny trained them to keep an eye on Major T, when Major T scratches the back of his neck, something is up. The Bomb Dump controller, Tech Sergeant Julissa Prouse, looked at Major Tanaka. Something was definitely up.
Major Tanaka turned to Mark and said, "Why don't you take a crew out to the Alert Pad for lunch? Take a young crew that's never seen an elephant walk before."
Elephant Walk! Just the sound of that operation got the heart stirring, the actual show is quite a thrill. "Yes sir!" and Mark headed out.
"I don't believe you told him there was going to be an Elephant Walk!" said Julissa who was secretly crazy about the major.
"Did I say anything about an elephant walk happening? I just asked for a young crew that needs experience." He gave Julissa a grin, which he hoped was considered inscrutable and headed back to his office. "Training! Training is everything," he said as he left.
Mark headed back to the Weapons Loading office where a couple of load crews were lounging around; the game of choice today was double deck pinochle, it's usually cribbage. He checked in with the shop chief, and when Senior Master Sergeant Polo Ortiz agreed with the major, Mark turned to Buck Sergeant Steve Shaffer, a troublemaker but he was a damn good bomb loader, and he had a new crew that needed alert pad experience. "Get a box and full test sets, 'Guam Four' and Max Adapter, put the testers in the toolbox, nothing loose in the truck."
"What truck are we taking?" asked Danny Sorola, a one stripe airman on Steve's crew.
"I'm taking Hound Dog Three, you can ride with me if you don't want to walk." With a smile and a wink, he headed out to the vehicle bay. The call sign for the Munitions Maintenance Squadron's trucks was Hound Dog after the AGM-28 Hound Dog long range cruise missile that hung off the wing of the B-52s in the 1950s and 60s. The hound dog missile had a huge jet engine, and the B-52 carried 2 of them. They could fire up that engine without launching the missile turning the B-52 into a 10 engine bomber. One of the last remaining Hound Dogs was mounted on a pole, out by the Main Gate.
Mark patted the sign on the side of his Strata Blue Metro van, the sign on the side said Hound Dog Three and the famous WWI flying ace Snoopy was shown in helmet, goggles, and scarf, flying his Sopwith Camel doghouse into battle, bullet holes and all. "Hurry up or I'm leaving you behind!" called Mark and finally the van shook as they connected the ten foot long, three foot wide, four-foot-tall toolbox to the pintle hook hitch. All of the boxes featured Snoopy, Steve's box showed Snoopy firing his imaginary bullets at a sexy girl's butt and was called the Tail Gunner.
The four team members of Steve Shaffer's crew were brand new, and this was Steve's first time in the team chief position, they normally don't make an all-new crew like that, they liked to mix experienced people with new people, but sometimes it happened. Steve was months away from his 4th stripe, so they gave him a crew and they did damn well in training. "All right! If any of you assholes get me jacked up I will sodomize you in front of your Sunday school teacher," said Mark as they pulled up to the gate at the alert pad. "Get out and follow momma duck."
"Fuck you," said Steve with a laugh and he purposely left the door slid back to let all that nice cold Montana air in for Mark to enjoy. The big vehicle gate opened and let Mark drive the van in then stop as the gate closed behind him. One by one the kids on Steve's crew entered the "Sally Port" through a turnstile and Mark used a side gate and entered the "Sally Port," walked up to the security window and put his green security badge in the bank drawer. The cop inside took his badge and found the matching red badge on a large rack.
"Word?" asked the young SP.
Everyone has a code word; it's printed on the red badge for the security policeman to read. If you give him the wrong code word you are indicating that you are being forced into a secured area by a Bad Guy. The cops get very excited when that happens because they get to point their guns at you and make you and everyone else in the area lay down on the -24° sidewalk while they put handcuffs on you. It's very exciting and it's called "being jacked up." The fun REALLY starts when you get to explain to your commander why Major T had to pick you up at the police station.
"Bondie," replied Mark, his code word was his wife's nickname.
He went back to the van and made light talk with the cop that was searching the truck and toolbox for explosives and terror devices, then Mark was allowed through the gate and into the alert area. It's a long, drawn-out process and it was a good idea that Major T insisted on sending a new crew out to learn how to get through security. All that security is a pain in the ass, but it's absolutely necessary because inside the fence sat twelve dozen nuclear warheads attached to the airplanes needed to deliver them. The aircraft are all considered "Cocked" like a cocked pistol. All you got to do is pull the trigger...
Just inside the gate was an equipment parking area and he had the kids drop the box off there then he pulled up to the flightline side of the alert shack and parked facing the airplanes. "Ok, go inside, stay on the top floor, have the best food on base. If the sirens go off, get out of the way, do not block the hallway or any door, they will run your ass over. Let the air crews out then come outside and watch the show."
The building itself looked exciting. Each door had a long, insulated tube called a tunnel that you walk through to get in or out of the building that was built up on a hill giving the tunnels a slope. The crew went inside but Mark stayed in the van, he had an apple and sat eating it while he read a copy of Field & Stream. The back doors of the truck were pinned wide open, and Mark had the heaters running full blast.
Inside, the guys of Steve Schaffer's crew looked around, there was a huge TV room with those deep comfortable recliners that you just sink into, but no one was in there. The aircrews were all in the various study rooms and game rooms. Shuffleboard was a big game along with cutthroat pool. Steve showed his guys where the chow hall was, "Guys, this place has the best food on base. No local farmers flipping burgers, these cooks are dynamite!" That day's special was chicken parmigiana and as Steve got in line, he noticed that all the bomber crews were wearing their flight jackets and were nervously looking at the window that gave a great view of the runway.
"Stevie!" cried a female voice and Steve turned to look, a beautiful blond flier jogged up and stood next to him. Tall, slim and athletic, she could make those floppy old flight suits look good.
"Blon... uh, ma'am, good to see you." He almost called her Blondie, Mark's nickname for her. Captain Deanna Ingler, first command pilot of a B-52 in USAF history. He could see why the news folks are all over her, she's "as cute as a button" and gives great "copy" when asked a question. She speaks with perfect diction with a slight hardon producing Texas accent, smiles on cue, and flashes those glistening green eyes when chatting with anyone, especially the news reporters. She should be making TV commercials. There's a rumor that she used to be enlisted, which tells the average enlisted person that she's smarter than all other officers. She can drink beer like a regular bomb loader and Steve has been over to Mark and Deanna's house for parties, which is how she knows him.
"Is my husband here?"
"He is sitting in a truck at the end of the tunnel," grinned Steve.
"I hope he's not cold," she turned to the window and saw the van sitting facing the airplanes with its doors pinned open. She smiled and zipped up her jacket. "Tell your men to keep out of the hallway."
"Yes ma'am!" She's the only person on base that calls his collection of teenagers, "men."
Captain Ingler spoke to her crew that were edging to the doorway of the dining room, and they nodded, and Steve now noticed that everyone was watching the clock. "Bobby, come on." He led his #1 man, a tall lanky black kid named Bobby McDaniels, down a sloped tunnel that led outside.
Suddenly a LOUD klaxon horn sounded, and all the flight crews were dashing for the doors, if anyone was in the way they got shoved out of the way, knocked down, or ran over. Deanna was on the track team in college, and it showed. She burst out of the tunnel first and she flashed down the sidewalk and dove into Hound Dog #3 followed by Co-Pilot, Navigator, Radar Navigator, Electronic Warfare Officer and Tail Gunner. The Navigator was last and just barely made it, his crew dragged him in a second after Mark released the brake and hit the gas. "STUB FIVE!" Deanna cried as Mark flashed past the cop and floored the 350 cubic inch engine. Of course, her plane would be parked in the furthest spot.
"Gotcha," said Mark as he held her hand during their speed dash to the end of the alert pad. The alert pad had nine parking spots called Stubs and from the air it looked like a Christmas tree. The planes faced the center taxiway at an angle and Deanna's plane sat at the top of the tree like an angel.
The other flight crews had pickup trucks to deal with, and with pickup trucks if you're inside you have to wear a seat belt, it slows you up getting in and out. Hound Dog 3 only had one seat belt to buckle, and that was Mark's seat. He and Deanna had talked about doing this for a long time and this was the first chance they had to try it. As they approached her airplane, 1049, the crew chief was at work pulling the engine covers and kicking the forward wheel chock out of the way.
Mark hadn't stopped yet when Deanna's crew started jumping out, they were excited that they had a huge lead. Mark pulled up to the parking spot, and Deanna gave him a long passionate kiss then ran off. By the time she hit the airplane's crew door, her guys were inside, had their helmets on, and they were getting ready for the show.
Mark raced back to the alert shack, this is the only time you can speed on the flight line, get the crew to their plane by any means then get the fuck out of the way. He was parked in time to see a jet of smoke shooting straight down from each pair of engines on Deanna's plane and the growing howl of the engines as they started. As expected, the EC-135 Airborne Command Post aircraft flashed past Mark and dashed out to the runway. That plane is always the fastest getting to the runway.
One by one jets of smoke shot out of the B-52s on alert. These were starter cartridges; they were explosive cartridges the size of a 10-pound coffee can. The powder in the cart burned slowly and smoky, and the gases produced spun a turbine that spun the jet engine. Once the jet was up to speed the co-pilot hit the fuel pumps and hit the igniter. Once he had four engines screaming, he diverted exhaust gases from the running engines to the four waiting to start.
The air around the alert pad was thick with smoke from the starter carts and the screeching was incredibly loud, and still more B-52 engines added to the shrieking. Nick noticed that over on the tanker alert pad the tankers were running up too. The din was unbelievable as they ran the jet engines up to full power to get them cranking properly.
Then it happened! 1049's landing lights came on and the crew chief began directing the plane. 1049 leaped out of its parking spot and was dashing to the runway. Deanna won! She was the first B-52 to roll, and it looked like she beat the tankers too.
Mark stood at attention and held a salute as her plane rolled by, eight engines howling, brakes groaning as she tapped them once or twice and he looked back at her first time commanding a B-52. They were here at Baily AFB and she got the nod, so Mark brought their kids "Boomer" and "Daisy" and as she taxied by Deanna saw Mark and her babies waving. She couldn't take her hands off the yoke so she laid on the brakes making the plane howl and groan and Daisy said, "Mommy made the airplane cry!"
"No, that's just how B-52's talk," an explanation that seemed to satisfy Daisy because the next plane that came by was turning off the taxiway and onto the parking ramp and it groaned like it was being ripped apart, which made Daisy and Boomer laugh.
Deanna's co-pilot gave Mark a return salute then they both held up a fist with thumb and small finger extended to each other as the massive machine rolled by and sped out to the runway. It was almost 45 seconds before another bomber was ready to move, Deanna won big time! Once on the runway she shoved the throttles forward. Mark was watching the parade starting to move when her engines began to put out that ungodly bellow that the B-52H is known for, she ran her plane up to 100%, full military power and Mark panicked. Was she taking off? Were we going to war? Was this for real? He saluted the second plane as it rolled by and was relieved to hear Deanna's engines wind down and she taxied the 400,000-pound behemoth to the other end of the runway, 15,000 feet away.
A breeze was coming up as the planes came out of their parking spots, shrieking the whole way. The plane on Stub 3 turned and the breeze came across the intakes just right, the breeze across the intake caused a suction and he had a couple engines "compressor stall." They announced their displeasure with a loud boom! as the unburned fuel finally ignited.
Steve and Bobby came up to Mark as they watched the parade. "Danny got his ass run over."
"Was he standing in the hall watching?" asked Mark.
"Nah he was coming down the tunnel, lollygagging like he always does, and some scrawny captain leveled him then stepped on him. That captain had to play some ball," said Bobby as the fourth plane rolled past them. "Caught Danny with a shoulder and BAM! Danny was flat out bein' used as a door mat.
"Fuck you man," groaned Danny as he approached, "I didn't see her coming!" he grinned, "Nice ass though.... What!" He saw Mark glaring at him.
"That was Mark's wife," whispered Steve with his arm around Danny's shoulders.
"No shit?" Danny cried.
"No shit," said Mark. "Now you have something to remember as you pull your pecker tonight." And he turned back to watch the howling parade. As the last B-52 rolled onto the runway, Mark said, "let's go eat. There won't be any officers to interrupt us." They went back into the alert shack for a chicken parmigiano lunch that couldn't be beat. The planes came back taxiing nose to tail like an old school Circus parade and the young bomb loaders watched the Elephant Walk from the comfort of the Alert Pad chow hall.
It takes a long time to put the bombers back on spot. Mark waited until he heard they were all "Code 1" from the flightline supervisor meaning nothing was broke, kind of a rare status for a B-52. Once he heard that the weapons crew wasn't needed, they hopped back into Hound Dog 3, hooked up the toolbox and headed back to building 579.
For her part Deanna was overjoyed, she always said she had the best crew and being #1 on the runway with just a little bit of chicanery was amazing. The new wing commander called out her crew for their performance. "She caught a ride with maintenance!" complained another crew member. Immediately the malcontent was booed down, but the Wing Commander stifled the complaining with a raised hand.
Colonel Lars Gulbrandsen shrugged. "That was wise on Captain Ingler's part, looking out for the health of her crew... maintenance has the best heaters in their trucks." Now the malcontent was the butt of the joke, but Colonel Gulbrandsen continued. "Unfortunately, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. We will have turkey with all the fixings for Christmas day, sadly all we have for Christmas Eve dinner is steak and shrimp..." the cheering returned.
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A warm humid front pressed up the central plains and collided with the frigid jet stream that was sitting over the Montana prairie bringing warmer temperatures with heavy snows and Bailey AFB was caught in the maelstrom. Snow began piling up faster than had been seen in decades. The base snow fighting teams fought to keep the runway and taxiways open, but it looked for sure like Rudolph was going to be leading Santa's sleigh.
The gaily decorated Munitions Control room was quiet, Major Tanaka sent everyone with a family home and the single people would run the control room until Monday December 27. Christmas music played softly in the background as TSgt Julissa Prouse erased the complete work orders from the SRAM Maintenance section of the big plexiglass status board. "What do you want for Christmas, Ayato?" she asked.
"Global warming," said Major Tanaka.
"That's it?" she said chuckling. "I can do that. Anything else?"
Knowing that they were alone in the control room he grinned. "I wouldn't mind the Bomb Loaders dream, a nymphomaniac with a million dollars and a bar."
She knew he would say that which is why she asked. They had both quietly gone to base personnel and started the paperwork to retire, they would be done soon. She will be a civilian on July 1, and he will be Mr. Tanaka on August first. She turned and walked over to where he was standing, completely unaware that there was a sprig of mistletoe above his head. She walked up to give him a kiss, but he took her in his arms and gave her a kiss of shocking passion. For a long minute they stood passionately entwined, tongues dancing together in rhythm with their hearts. Finally, when they broke off their kiss he gave her his inscrutable grin, the grin she fell in love with. "Beware Japanese men under the influence of mistletoe."
"I found a bar," she whispered.
Just then the door buzzer snarled, shattering the moment. She looked at the closed-circuit TV and saw that it was Tex, Mark Hammond, at the door. Julissa sighed and reached under the corner of the Senior Controllers desktop and buzzed him in. "Ho, ho, ho, y'all," said the lanky Texan.
Julissa was terrified that she was blushing, so she turned her back on Mark and went back to erasing completed work orders on the bomb dump status boards, but Major Tanaka didn't show a twinge of guilt or embarrassment. "What brings you here, Tex?" asked Major T.
"Final update," said Mark as he went over to the flightline status board. "Balls Four is in the washrack, and balls thirty-three starts Phase Inspection on Monday." He moved the two aircraft tags to their new positions and turned to the weapons loading board and reviewed the work orders. "Complete, complete, on hold, complete," he said as he checked the work orders off with a bright orange China marker.
"When were they completed?" asked Julissa without turning around.
"Hell if I know, let's say fifteen hundred." He wrote a phone number on the board, "I'm on call but I have a dinner date tonight, I'll be at this number tomorrow morning, Polo is covering for me tonight. Nothing is going to come up, they're going to close the flight line."
"Are you sure?" asked Major T.
"Have you been outside lately?" asked Mark as he zipped up his parka. "Be careful going home."
As soon as the door slammed closed behind him, Ayato Tanaka turned to Julissa and asked, "Where is our bar going to be?"
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Deanna sat by herself in the Alert Pad chow hall eating the salad that came with dinner while looking out the window at the snow swirling down from the sky, it's really starting to pile up. Her steak and shrimp glared at her, daring her to eat it. Sadly no one was sitting with her making her feel lonelier than ever, she's usually more popular than that. Normally, her co-pilot Marty Johnson would sit with her, and they'd go over something business related, or he'd show her new pictures of the baby, but he's sitting with a couple of the guys from BJ Hartley's crew. Finally, a shadow appeared next to her. "Is this seat taken ma'am?"
She almost didn't hear him; she was listening to Johnny Mathes crooning her favorite Christmas songs and feeling lonely. She didn't look up, but she glanced at the hand holding a tray, the cuff of the sleeve told her that the tray carrier was wearing BDUs, the camouflaged Battle Dress Uniform, not a flight suit. probably an aircraft crew chief wanting to sit with the chick. "No, go right ahead."
He sat down and was quiet for a while, but it didn't last. "Are you ok, ma'am? you haven't touched your steak."
"Oh, I uh..." she stalled looking for the words. "I don't know."
"I hate being alone on Christmas also."
She nodded but didn't look up from her plate. It wasn't appetizing looking and she probably wasn't going to eat it. Then she heard him set something on her tray. She looked... it was a bottle of Texas Pete Hot Sauce, something you have to smuggle into the chow hall, no matter how good the cooks. Texas Pete wasn't something the chow hall stocked. Mark turned her on to that hot sauce when they met in basic training. 'Us Texans gotta stick together,' he said back then. 'I had my folks send me some.' Finally looking up she realized that her husband was sitting across the table from her, giving her that smile, and her crew was sitting to her right laughing uproariously.
"Merry Christmas Eve, Blondie," Mark said with a grin.
"You son-of-a-bitch," she said laughing, trying to hide her tears. They leaned across the table and kissed as the men of the 8th Bomb Squadron the Hounds of Hell, 360th Bombardment Wing [Heavy] hooted their approval.
"Sergeant Hammond!" called out bomber squadron commander Lt. Colonel Bret Westcott, "I said you could dine with my pilots; I didn't say you could eat one." His remark brought a good natured "Whoa!" from the assembled air crews.
Lt. Colonel Westcott caught Mark and Deanna making love in a cockpit last year and didn't realize they were married and blew a gasket, but they never held it against him and never told anyone, and Colonel Westcott has been eternally grateful. He called the weapons loading office and invited Mark to come out to the alert pad and have dinner with Deanna as a reward for her performance during the elephant walk.
Suddenly her steak was looking pretty tasty. A little Texas Pete along with the A1 and it was about as good as a chow hall steak was going to get on Christmas Eve in a bomber alert facility. The talk in the chow hall was about how Deanna was able to get her plane moving first, also how she got to level a one stripe airman in the tunnel on the way to her plane. "What's so funny?" she asked Mark who was dying, trying not to laugh.
"Ask me later."
"No, tell me now, I want to hear."
"Ok, the kid you leveled was Danny Sorola, from Steve's crew..."
"No!" she gasped.
Suddenly everyone was listening, and Mark continued after explaining to the air crews that Deanna knew Steve and most of the weapons loaders. "Steve's one-man Bobby said, 'that guy must have played some ball, he just dropped a shoulder and laid that kid out.' Then Danny said, 'that was a girl and she had a nice ass.' My man Steve puts his arm around Danny's shoulder and said, 'Mark's her husband.' He about shit his pants."
Deanna whooped with laughter and another pilot said, "No shit?"
"You should hear Major T. tell the story. He starts with 'My genius bomb loaders...'" Deanna was laughing so hard she snorted which embarrassed her, but Mark loves it and tries to keep her laughing.
"How is Ayato doing? Why don't you get together with him over Christmas, he's going to be alone too."
"No, I don't think he is." He waggled his eyebrows at Deanna, they had their suspicions about Ayato Tanaka and Julissa Prouse, but they didn't want to air their suspicions in a room full of frat boys. "Hurry up, let's go for a walk." She finished her steak, sharing the shrimp with Mark, then they got up, bussed their trays and grabbed their jackets. After letting the alert controller know she was outside they went for a walk around the alert shack.
It was warm, the temperature shot up to +3°. It has been -20° and colder for weeks and for a couple that have been living in northeastern Montana it was close to t-shirt weather. The snow was spiraling down from the sky, something that is rarely seen on the Montana Prairies, the snow usually blows in from the west and generally continues on to North Dakota. They walked hand in hand around the alert facility, the night sky was dark gray with all the lights that were on. Over on the runway the huge high-speed plows called "rollovers" raced up and down the three-mile-long strip of concrete, they would be followed by rotary brooms scraping the snow away down to clean concrete.
Even though they were surrounded by chain-link fences topped with razor wire, several high security towers were filled with security police ready to shoot anyone trying to cross the fence line. They knew they were being watched; they were the only things moving for the cops to watch other than the snowplows. Mark stopped her and they kissed in a shadow, knowing full well the cops with night vision glasses were going to have stories of the guys they saw kissing in the shadows.
After walking around the building twice, talking softly of their favorite Christmases, Deanna tugged him back toward a tunnel, but this tunnel went down, not up. Down was officer country. The only enlisted people allowed down there were the tail gunners and aircraft crew chiefs that were on alert along with their airplane. They had four-man rooms and bunk beds, the officers had two-man rooms with single mattresses and being the only woman Deanna had a whole room and a bathroom to herself.
The gang was upstairs watching It's a Wonderful Life in the TV room, downstairs Deanna was pulling her husband's BDUs off. Their lips didn't part as she pulled his blouse off. After twelve years of marriage, their two kids were both spending Christmas in Texas with grandma and grandpa, and they were still as hot for each other as they were when they met at Lackland AFB. For some reason their best sex was in places that Uncle Sam doesn't want sex happening. They've made love in all kinds of odd places such as Mark's dispatch van, the cockpit of a B-52, and on Major Tanaka's desk. They were sure that their son Rob was conceived in the refueler's couch of a KC-135 Strato Tanker which is why they call him Boomer and their daughter was conceived in their base housing flower garden which is why they call her Daisey.
With trembling hands Mark pulled the zipper down on Deanna's flight suit, slowly revealing her pale skin. Inch by inch he lowered the slider of her flight suit zipper and found that she wasn't wearing a bra. "Captain, it appears that I've caught you in a state of undress. What if you had to eject, you'd freeze your nipples off."
"I'm sure some kind soul would find a way to warm them up for me."
He pulled the slide further down and soon her athletic breasts were exposed to the night air. As his hand cupped her small breast and he gently squeezed, his free hand tangled in her blond tresses, and he pulled her head back for a kiss. Their lips met and they found themselves in a hot passionate kiss that took them back to their college days, hard and fast quickies between classes or running off to the flight line for a day of hard work before an evening of hard studying.
As their tongues entwined and their kiss grew hotter, Deanna turned Mark and pushed him back on the empty bed, the mattress bare without a sheet. His legs hit the side of the bed and he collapsed back onto the bed breaking their kiss suddenly. With a smile she knelt and one by one untied the draw strings of his green mukluks, unzipped them and slid them off, then pulled off the two pairs of heavy wool socks. Then she dove for his belt buckle and unbuckled that and began popping the buttons on his pants fly. Zippers are fine but nothing beats the thrill of unbuttoning a broken in button fly trousers. And nobody has ever pinched anything tender in a button fly, the same can't be said for a zipper.
"Lift!" she ordered, and he raised his ass allowing her to pull his pants down and off. "Lift again," she groaned, and he lifted his ass while she pulled down his blue pollys, the blue polyester thermal underwear that is a must especially for the flightline troops. Deanna has taken to wearing them when she's flying because a B-52 is a cold airplane. All that work, and he was still wearing his underpants. He sat up and pulled off his blue polly shirt, followed by his OD Green t-shirt, and now finally... "Lift," she called one last time and pulling down his drawers, his cock sprang free.
She stood and with a practiced shrug her flight suit reluctantly slid down her curves, over her round hips and pooled around her ankles, and she stepped out of it now wearing only her panties. Feeling particularly aggressive she pushed Mark back on the cot and crawled between his legs and began stroking his cock as she began suckling his balls. Mark groaned softly at the pleasure, this was his favorite, nothing beat the sensations that Captain Ingler stirred up as her tongue swabbed his balls while her hand stroked his aching cock.
Her free hand reached up and searched for his nipple and finding it she traced her fingertip around and around as she gently sucked one swollen ball into her mouth and made love to it. She knew that she could spend the night doing this and he would let her, as he enjoyed the easy thrills she incited, but she wanted to do more. She shifted up a little and now her tongue was tracing up and down the sensitive underside of his cock while her hand gently cradled his balls.
Mark rose up on his elbows to watch. He was heartbroken when she cut her long flowing blond hair, but she wanted it short to make it easy to put on her flight helmet, but that had a second advantage. She no longer had to brush her locks out of the way when blowing him and now he could watch a true mistress at her work. Now that luscious tongue of hers began swirling around his cockhead, and every now and then those emerald, green eyes of hers would look up and lock with his.
Her tongue tried to penetrate his meatus, trying to enter his cock, a sign that the best was yet to come. Deanna reveled in her husband's musk as she took his cock in her mouth. Suckling his cock's swollen head, she rapidly but gently stroked the shaft overloading him with pleasure and almost daring him to cum. Still cradling his balls, she began to take more of his cock into her mouth, knowing how much he loved this. Her mouth was rising and falling on his hardon, her tongue slithering over the thick shaft, trying to pump the cum out of him, driving him out of his mind.
Mark's head rolled back from the pleasure she was drawing out of him, she was incredible and he felt the tight ridges of her throat around the head of his cock as she strove to take more and more. It was almost too much, the pleasure of her tongue and lips was overwhelming and he gasped, "My turn..." the words she was waiting for.
He drew her up on the bed and pulled her up for a kiss. She loved it when the came out of his shell of a stoic Texan and took over as an aggressive man. He nipped and bit at her hard nipples just the way she loved it, then pinching and twisting her deliciously aching nipples he began to kiss his way lower. Deanna groaned and tangled her fingers in his hair and urged his mouth lower and lower. She arched her back and thrust her breasts up against his fingers as he began to kiss and nibble at her sensitive inner thighs.
Deanna tried to stifle her gasps of pleasure because she knew that these walls were iffy at best, and she has heard the crew chiefs down the hall debating football long into the night. By the light of the little Christmas tree that five-year-old Daisy insisted she take on alert with her so Santa can leave her extra special presents, Mark Hammond slowly drove his beautiful, accomplished wife out of her mind.
Her stifled moans and whimpers were slowly getting louder as Mark worked on her weak spot, her inner thighs. If she's in the right frame of mind and wearing shorts, a finger brushed gently across her silky, smooth, skin would end up with Mark being happily dragged to the bedroom. Now in the semi darkness of the nuclear alert shack, Marks tongue on her skin was never more potent. There's something powerful about being naughty in an illicit location, and the thought that hers was the first pussy to be licked in this alert facility, or possibly any alert facility, was mind bending in its power.
When Mark's tongue finally contacted her pussy her squeal erupted in a little chirp before she could slap her hands over her mouth. Mark looked up and saw her covering her mouth, her glinting eyes were wild with excitement, so he reached over onto the floor and picked up his blue polyester thermal top and brought it up on the bed. He folded a sleeve a few times, then pulled her hands away from her mouth. She clearly knew what was on his mind and she opened her mouth wide and bit down on the folded sleeve.
With Deanna silenced Mark returned to his task at hand, worshipping the pussy he loves deeply and wholly. With a cautious lick from her taint to her clit she closed her eyes and softly moaned, the sleeve absorbing much of the sound. Gently his tongue strummed her clit and the sensations rocketed through her. Now with the added factor of a gag, the pleasure was overwhelming. Mark began to twist and tug at both nipples as he suckled and licked her clit. She put her legs over his shoulders and planted her tiny feet in the middle of his back, urging him on.
It was so good! The pleasure was overwhelming and when Mark eased a finger into her hot, moist pussy, she squealed into his sleeve. One hand held Mark at her pussy, the other hand covered her mouth. He could feel her tensing up, she was getting close, it wouldn't be long now. He loved this, he could keep her on the edge of orgasm until she lost her mind but tonight he felt kindly and was going to give her what she wants.
Soon her hips began to shudder, and she was starting to pant through her nose, the polyester sleeve was soaked with her saliva, but it was holding up well and keeping the cries of pleasure at bay. The pleasure was overpowering and there was nothing she could do to hold back. Her ass rose up off the bed as the pleasurable pressure built. Her mind was completely jumbled, lightning was flashing between her clit and the nipple he was pinching and his two fingers in her pussy were gently but rapidly sliding in and out, adding to her pleasure, and all the while his tongue never strayed from her clit.
Her orgasm hit with the suddenness of an eight engine compressor stall. One moment she was out of her mind with delight and the next there were waves of explosive release washing over her, and the need not to shriek in the throes of release was stoking her orgasm even more. Wave after explosive wave washed over her as relief flooded her body and the end was near, she was so proud of herself for not shrieking out but that was when Mark made his move. He crawled up between her spasming legs and lined his cock up with her pussy and eased into her. Her orgasm that she thought was over just had a bucket of gasoline thrown on it.
She felt so good, so wet, so tight! Her pussy clutched at his cock, and she grabbed his ass with both hands and pulled him in deep. She spit out the gag and bit down on his shoulder to stifle her gasps and cries as he began fucking. The sudden warmth around his cock, her legs wrapping around him, her fingers clawing his back and her werewolf bite of passion all helped spur Mark on. He fucked her good and solid as her orgasm waned and his built up. He pressed his lips to hers, fucking her mouth with his tongue in rhythm with his cock pounding her tight pussy.
Finally with a groan into her mouth he came firing volley after volley of hot cum into her pussy. The cum was so good he was shaking from the intensity of his release. Finally, it was over and he rolled to her side, out of breath and completely satisfied. They lay panting in the dark, thanking God for the spouse they loved. He looked up and saw her eyes shining in the light from the little Christmas tree. "You got more?" she asked.
He tickled her and they moved over to her bed and crawled under the covers, it's going to be a little while.
<><><><><>
Another couple lay panting in the dark, exhausted from their love making. Julissa Prouse turned on her bedside lamp and took some papers she got from the realtor from the side table. The little bar has been in continuous operation for nearly 100 years changing hands from time to time, but always open, always making money, and the owner wanted to retire. "What do you think?" she asked, "I grew up not far from there."
Ayato Tanaka put on his impossibly thick glasses and studied the documents. It was an old school, neighborhood bar in a small to medium size village. It had parking and a picnic grove out back. "What's a picnic grove?" asked Major T.
"It's where groups have functions and picnics, like union picnics or class reunions. The bar sells the beer and liquor and sometimes the food."
"What kind of name is Worzil's?"
"It's the name on the liquor license. If we don't want to shell out a zillion dollars for a new license we'll leave it alone," said Julissa.
"I like it, and the price isn't bad, let's call them on Monday." And with a kiss she turned the lights back out.
<><><><><>
Mark and Deanna never got to round #2, the activities of the past couple of days wore them out, and they just couldn't sleep alone. The ability to cuddle with their beloved knocked them both out and they both got the best sleep they've ever had since she went on alert. Mark got up sometime early in the morning and glanced at his watch, it was five AM, he had better get going before she got in trouble. He went to the bathroom then coming out of the toilet he stepped on something, it was a large manila envelope that someone pushed under the door, in fact there were two of them. He picked them up and carried them to bed and turned on the reading light.
"What's that babe?" said Deanna as she blinked her eyes.
Someone knows I'm here," said Mark. One envelope was addressed to MSgt Mark Hammond, the other to CPT Deanna Ingler, both envelopes said "Merry Christmas!" in bold red letters. They both opened the envelopes and eased the stack of stapled papers out, they were all the same, each page was a set of orders. They looked at each other then at the page before them, then back at each other. They both got orders to Dyess AFB, in Abilene Texas, they were going home! It's been so long! With a cry of surprise and delight they threw their arms around each other and nearly wept with joy counting the moments until they could call and tell the kids that they're moving to Grandma's town.
May you all have a
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!