September 16th

It’s been a quiet couple of days here at GIJOE central. Well, quiet in terms of COBRA activity…not in terms of sheer volume of things that need to get done.

My legs are still wobbly from the killer obstacle course that Beachhead put us through last night in the pouring rain. I swear that man spends his evenings dreaming up ways to make us sweat. He’s a patient, stubborn bastard too…and will sit and wait you out if you stumble or stop…glaring until you are forced to push yourself to complete the grueling torture he calls ‘exercises’ to escape his scrutiny.

He isn’t interested in excuses. He is only concerned about one thing…that you do your best and then some. He expects every member of this team to push themselves to their limits and then drive their tired body beyond them.

As much as I grumble about it…every time I finish one of his exercises I feel an immense sense of accomplishment.

In any case, as I was saying even when we are not engaging the enemy or out on a mission, there is very little free time on this team. Paperwork, equipment maintenance, briefings, familiarization with new weapons, training, training and more training...

…In the military you can never become complacent. The moment you think you have learned it all, done it all, are in the best shape you have ever been…that is the moment you find a bullet tearing through your skull.

That’s not to say there isn’t down time. Without it we would most likely all burn out…as I have mentioned before this is a stressful job. I cherish those moments that I have to myself…

One of those moments is right now.

I am actually on the surface, having escaped the PIT for the afternoon only to find that it is still pouring rain. It rarely rains in the desert, but this time of year the area is inundated with water. I actually like it…not only because it reminds me of the storms at home on the Vineyard…but once the rain has subsided, the desert will erupt in bloom. It really is a beautiful sight…flowers as far as the eye can see. It doesn’t last very long, but once you have seen it remains in your memory forever.

Who would have thought this East Coast girl who grew up on the shores of the Atlantic would find herself so enchanted by the desert!

I made my way to the motor pool, a large hanger where we store most of the land vehicles, and am now sitting in the driver’s seat of Flint’s car while he works away at the engine. The large bay doors are open and there is a gentle, wet wind blowing in from outside. Cross Country and Crank Case are busy cleaning the sand off the Awe Strikers that had been out in the field earlier this morning, and in the background the CD player is blasting out the blues/rock of Bruce Springsteen.

This machine is Flint’s pride and joy. A red Mustang Cobra (ironic) convertible sporting what Clutch keeps referring to as a kick ass engine with more power than a Wolverine. The car is in impeccable condition, ever panel, ever part, every inch waxed and shining, the leather seats soft as a babies bottom, the engine purring due to the inordinate amount of time Flint spends tuning it.

Boys and their toys…sigh*

This is about as close as I will ever get to driving it, turning the engine every so often on Flint’s signal…giving it gas while he monitors things under the hood. He made it very clear early on that the car was off limits…and the resulting argument resulted in one of our finer moments.

It was a few months after Flint joined the Joes, and he had been working on the car while I sat quietly with Heavy Metal as he explained to me the inner workings of the MOBAT. I had never been very good at driving these heavily armored vehicles, preferring something light and fast like an AWE striker…or better yet a RAM, but I knew if I didn’t master the 59 ton tank it would end up coming back to haunt me…and knowing my luck it would happen in the middle of a battle.

Anyhow, I don’t remember precisely HOW it got started, but somehow Flint and I began arguing about his car. More specifically on my abilities as a driver. Apparently, he was of the mind that girls and cars don’t mix well (Courtney was the exception to the rule)…and that not only would I not know a good car if it came up and bit me in the behind but I would definitely not be able to handle the ‘stang. Maybe a cute little Civic hatch would be more my speed…

Ah yes…a typical Flint testosterone-show.

Poor Sherm sat quietly to the side as we went at it and in the end got dragged, along with Crank Case, into one of my better thought schemes.

Ok…I admit to knowing next to nothing about cars. In fact, up until that week I never really owned one. I used to take one of my parents cars out when I was in town, and while at university I never needed one. The army provided me with a fleet of Jeeps and Hummers to choose from should I feel a need to go into town…why waste the money?

Of course, lack of money was never a problem for me. I did get cut off from the Hart fortune when I went against family wishes and joined the forces, but that certainly did not effect to my existing inheritance, which was substantial. I had to fight for it…many lawyers, it was not pretty…but I won. Smart investment strategy and very little in the way of expenses has helped that nest egg grow.

How much? Ah, a lady never talks of money…it’s impolite! Let’s just say that although I will never be able to return to the jet-setting lifestyle that I had pre-army, I’ll definitely never suffer.

But I digress…I was angry at Flint and being the stubborn, competitive person that I am, decided I needed to make a point. So in my infinite wisdom and with one of Cover Girl’s Car and Driver magazines in hand, I dragged Sherman and Elwood out the very next day and hit the dealerships.

Now, Crank is a car fanatic. He was racing cars as soon as he got his license, and knew a good machine when he saw one. I think he was expecting to test drive some Miatas, a mustang, a prelude or two…and was quietly going over with me the pros and cons of those particular vehicles when we pulled into the dealership I had chosen.

I can still remember the two of them in the back of the jeep, their eyes bulging through their head…their mouths watering at the prospect of taking some of those babies out for a spin. Needless to say a good time was had by all…

…and when, a couple of days later, I peeled past Flint and his Cobra on the highway outside Fort Wadsworth in my brand new shiny black Porsche 911 turbo convertible, pausing just long enough glance over my shoulder and smirk…well, lets just say seeing the look on his face was worth every penny of the inordinate amount of money I has just spent.

The car in question is sitting under a tarp in the back of this very motor pool. I have grown quite fond of it, and although I don’t spend half as much time driving it as I would like, I will never regret the purchase. And if Flint ever starts up on my abilities as a driver I merely have to challenge him to a race and swing my set of keys in his face to shut him up.

Speaking of shutting him up…what the hell is he going on about? What did he just call me?

Grrrrrr….hold on….

Woohoo. Ha ha ha!

I just hit the horn while he was leaning into the engine and it startled him so badly that he ended up smashing his head against the hood, swearing as he did so. He is standing just outside the car glaring at me but I know he wouldn’t dare touch the door or the interior with his grease and oil covered hands.

I am safe…I think I will stick my tongue out at him.

Oh oh…that did it…

Wait…

Why is he grinning evilly?

What is he doing with those work gloves?

what?

No…

He wouldn’t dare…

Oh shit…gotta go!

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