Chapter 2
Jake hit the hard-packed sand beside his Bradley and tried to tuck and roll. His back felt as if someone had kicked him in it. The non-standard issue bullet-proof vest he wore had prevented the rounds from penetrating his back, he reckoned, but did not absorb the full impact of them hitting him. He must have hit the side of his vehicle when he fell because his ass stung. He was pumped too full of adrenaline to feel much pain, though, as he rolled onto his left side, unholstered his sidearm, and jacked a round into the chamber. He crawled to the end of the Bradley and cautiously looked around. The firing from his forces was concentrated on a row of buildings about fifty meters to his left front, not from the obvious troop barracks on the other side of the mosque-like building. This old section of Ar Relbat was a maze of small twisting streets leading off the main square where the fake mosque was located.
Jake pulled the intercom phone off the back corner of the Bradley.
"Richie, I fell off the turret," Jake said apologetically, "I'm coming in the troop door."
Richie Davis was Jake's gunner and radio operator. Richie was a big strong country boy who had a boat load of common sense. Jake knew that Richie was hand picked for the job by Tiny Johnson and figured that a part of his job was to keep Jake out of trouble. Richie acknowledged Jake's message then started firing the fighting vehicle's M240 light machinegun to cover him.
Back inside the track, Jake holstered his sidearm and reassumed his position in the commander's hatch. He grabbed the radio and called the Special Forces Detachment Commander.
"Saber one-zero, this is Warrior six, where are these guys coming from?"
"Six, they must have some kind of tunnel complex between these buildings. They keep disappearing and popping up somewhere else. I saw you take that dive, are you okay?"
"Embarrassed mostly, I'm about to waste these buildings, are you out of the way?"
"Roger that, we bugged out when you guys started firing. We are about two hundred meters to your ten o'clock."
"Copy one-zero. Stand-by, out."
Jake contacted the Apache flight leader next. He instructed the flight leader to hover above and behind his Bradleys and put a missile or two into each of the buildings. The pilot acknowledged his understanding. A minute or two later the three Apaches were in position and proceeded to flatten half the block. When the dust settled all that remained were piles of rubble.
With the immediate threat disposed of Jake put out the word for everyone to keep a sharp eye out. He was particularly worried about his vehicles being targeted by RPG-7s. The part of this mission he dreaded most was upon him. He radioed the Alpha Company commander.
"Warrior one-six this is Warrior six, dismount as many squads as you think necessary to clear the buildings within five hundred meters of here. Check the destroyed buildings as best you can. We need to account for at least twenty RPGs. Let's move these Bradleys inside the wall tight against it then we should be able to see over the top to cover your troops, over."
Jake figured the number of RPGs based on the Soviet model of one per every ten soldiers. The RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenade) was a 1960's era weapon that was still diabolically effective against most armored vehicles out to a range of five hundred meters. An RPG could take out one of the stationary, lightly-armored Bradleys in a heartbeat. Jake figured they had dodged being targeted only because of the suppressive fire from the Bradleys and Apaches. The only sure way to avoid the RPG gunners was to go after them with infantrymen; even a good gunner could not fire an RPG and run at the same time.
It took fewer than three minutes for the dismounted squads to move into the buildings across the road. By then the Bradleys were hastily backing into the walled courtyard of the fake mosque. Jake kept his M3 out in the street until he received word that a couple of Bradleys were overwatching the riflemen from within the wall -- then had his driver haul ass to join them. Once inside the compound Jake called the Special Forces team leader. Jake was decidedly uncomfortable; he was in pain and could not sit in his seat in the Bradley. He could feel wet stickiness in the seat of his BDUs (Battle Dress Uniform) although the chemical protective suit he wore over the BDUs kept the blood from seeping though and showing.
"Saber one-zero, Warrior six, how good is you senior medic?"
"Warrior six, he'd be a brain surgeon in most third world countries; you need him?"
"Roger, one-zero; I'd like you to join me in the mosque compound and bring the Doc along with you."
Jake was standing outside his track listening to radio traffic from the troops searching the buildings surrounding the mosque when the Special Forces Chief Warrant Officer and his medic walked up. Jake's men had found three RPGs so far and two wounded Iraqis. They also discovered two buildings with tunnels in the basements. A rifle squad was moving into one of the tunnels.
Jake had delayed having anyone enter the mosque until they had complete control of the area and could give it their undivided attention. The squad poised at the South doors had relayed that the floor in front of then sloped down into a tunnel big enough for large vehicles to enter. The NBC team from Brigade was setting up chemical threat monitoring equipment near the same door. A fuel truck was parked inside the north door. Jake was not thrilled with the idea of the fuel truck. For all he knew it could be a ten-thousand gallon booby trap. He got on the horn again to brigade and requested an EOD (Explosive Ordinance Disposal) team as a precaution. Brigade said they would forward the request to division but most of the EOD guys were in Kuwait disarming booby-trapped oil wells.
Jake turned slowly and looked at the Special Forces duo.
"Chief, I plan to ask that your team be attached OPCON (Operational Control) to me. I want you in on whatever we find down there. After all, you really discovered this place," Jake said.
"That'll work, sir," the Chief replied. "Now what can the Doc do for you?"
Jake led them into the track and shooed out his driver and gunner.
"I think I took a round in my ass when I got knocked off my track. I don't want my battalion surgeon looking at it yet, he is nervous in the service and would have me medevaced for a hangnail. I'm like you Chief; I need to see this through if possible."
Sergeant First Class Manuel "Manny" Sousa opened his M3 medic bag and turned to Jake.
"Drop trou, Colonel, and I'll check you out; but if I say you need to be evaced then you gotta go," he said.
Jake skinned off his chemical protective suit then pulled down his BDU trousers. Sousa had Jake lay face down on his chem suit and cut away his underwear. The medic started cleaning up the area around the wound.
"Looks like you took a ricocheted almost-spent round in your left butt cheek, Colonel. The round traveled upward under the skin for about three inches, I can see a lump that I'm betting is the projectile. Four inches to the right and you'd be singing soprano. It's going to hurt to sit for a while, but shouldn't put you out of commission," Manny said.
Sousa took out a minor surgery set and inserted a sterile blade in the scalpel handle. He bent over and made a quick incision to expose the slug.
Jake grunted when Sousa cut into him.
"Shouldn't you be using anesthesia?" Jake asked.
"Left it in my other bag," the medic muttered, "Hold still so I can pull this thing out."
Sousa took a set of forceps and pried out the flattened, blob like slug. To Jake it felt as if the Doc were applying a blow-torch to his ass. Sousa dropped the round onto a piece of gauze; next, he soaked a long cotton tipped swab in betadine solution and started cleaning out the path the bullet had traveled.
"You know," Sousa said conversationally, "I'm from Fall River, Massachusetts. My father is a fisherman there as are most of us Portuguese. In 1985, my father took my eight-year-old son and me to Fenway Park for a Red Sox game. They were playing the Yankees that day and you were pitching. You pitched a three-hitter or something like that and struck out a shit-load of Red Sox. My son thought you were the greatest thing since sliced bread and became a Yankee fan. My father thought his conversion was the worst thing to happen to the family since I joined the Army instead of the Navy. Now fate has literally delivered your ass into my hands."
Jake gave a little yelp as Sousa punctuated his speech with a little jab of the swab. Jake was having serious second thoughts about his selection of medics as Sousa took out a suture kit with what Jake thought was an entirely too large, curved needle. Jake gritted his teeth again as Sousa started to stitch him up.
"So anyway, sir, what's the chance of getting an autograph for my son?" Sousa said as he knotted the last stitch.
It took a startled Jake a few seconds to realize that the medic's banter had been designed to keep him distracted while Sousa worked on him. Jake reevaluated his opinion of the man's skills when he noticed that it had taken Sousa only ten minutes to remove the bullet, disinfect the wound, and stitch him up. And, on reflection, it had not been that painful.
"You got it, Doc," Jake said.
Sousa gave Jake a five day supply of amoxicillin, packed up his aid bag, and left with his autograph. Jake grabbed a fresh uniform out of his rucksack and slipped on the trousers. He stripped off his shirt and unfastened the law enforcement style body armor he wore. Two 7.62mm projectiles had penetrated the titanium high velocity plate and were lodged in the woven Kevlar mesh; he picked them out and put them in his pocket along with the slug from his rump.
Chief Warrant Officer Cole looked at the vest with interest.
"Nice rig, did the government issue you that?" he asked.
"Nope, Christmas present from the wife. She and the family support group got together and raised money to buy every man in my battalion one. She bought them off the shelf from some police equipment company. She had to go with this concealable model because she couldn't find eight-hundred olive drab SWAT team vests." Jake replied.
Jake was telling mostly the truth about the vests. The wives support group had held a bake sale and some other fund-raisers but Melissa anted up most of the money. The vests, with their titanium inserts, cost close to six hundred dollars each. On December twentieth, an Air Erika cargo plane flew into Saudi Arabia with four pallets of Christmas goodies for the 1st Battalion, 94th Infantry (Mechanized), including the vests. Every vest had a personal message written on it from a spouse, girlfriend, or parent. The vests were better protection, more comfortable to wear, and half the weight of the Vietnam era flak jackets his battalion had been issued. It was not that the jackets would make rounds bounce off the wearer; actually, the high tensile-strength "Kevlar" woven fibers would spread out the force of any incoming projectile over a wide area. Jake would always take being kicked by a horse over being drilled by a wound-expanding projectile.
"I think you owe her one then," Cole said.
Jake nodded his fervent agreement as he reattached the vest and finished dressing.
"You weren't kidding about your medic being good. What say we go check out the mosque?" Jake said.
The two men approached the south doors and were briefed by the squad leader securing it. The above ground portion had been carefully checked for booby traps and swept for mines; it was clear. There was an office on this level that appeared to be some sort of dispatch and radio room. The tanker truck was about half full of diesel fuel. Jake thanked the sergeant then he and Chief Cole walked to the edge of the ramp and looked into the tunnel. They could not see much, as it was a dark abyss.
Jake led Cole to the other doors and outside. He walked directly to the tank guarding the north gate and spoke to the tank commander.
"Captain Solomon, play out your retrieval cable and hook it that fuel truck. When I get the area cleared, drag it out of here. I'll have someone lash the steering wheel to the door frame so it will roll straight," Jake directed.
It took fifteen minutes to pull the fuel truck out into a side street. Jake was watching the operation from his track when firing erupted behind him. Jake turned around looked in the direction of the firing as it picked up in intensity. Jake could hear the staccato three round bursts of an M-16 and the answering clatter of AKs. As the firefight ramped up, the radio came to life.
"Warrior one-six this is warrior one-two bravo, we have at least ten bad guys firing on us from the second floor and roof of a building. We have two friendlies down."
The voice on the radio was calm and professional. Jake immediately identified the unit in contact by its call sign; the first number denoted the company, the second number was the platoon, and the letter was the squad. Warrior one-two bravo was the second squad, second platoon of Alpha Company. The squad leader was a new guy, an ex-Ranger buck sergeant now a premedical student at the University of Central Florida. Ron Ellis, the Alpha Company commander called the Apache flight leader who then radioed one-two bravo. The squad leader identified the building and Nighthawk three-four imploded it with half a dozen 2.75 inch rockets.
Warrior one-two bravo's track moved out of the walled compound and sped to where the squad was with its wounded. Daniel Solomon rolled his tank out to cover the Bradley while it was stationary, while Nighthawk three-four hovered menacingly nearby.
Jake called in Delta Company to clear the barracks and the east side of the town center. He used Charlie Company to block any escape to the west. It took the remainder of the day to clear a five hundred meter perimeter. His troops killed or captured sixty of the Special Troops and accounted for another ten RPGs. Two more of his men were wounded and one injured by a falling wall. Only one of the injuries appeared to be serious enough for evacuation; the soldier pinned by the collapsing wall suffered a broken femur.
At 1600 hrs, Jake sent the Special Forces team and two of his squads into the large tunnel. Only a supreme effort of will kept him from going with them. Jake had his battalion to think of first. He checked the newly established perimeter with Captain Ellis, the Alpha Company commander. Ellis had done an excellent job of positioning his vehicles and securing the area. He also checked on his wounded before they were transported to the aid station at the battalion's base camp outside of town. He was eating an MRE sitting with a group of his troops when a soldier came out of the mosque to fetch him.
"Sir, Mr. Cole (Warrant Officers are addressed as Mr.) requests that you come down to the tunnel ASAP," the private said.
Jake shrugged into his LBE (Load Bearing Equipment), grabbed his M-16, and hustled after the private. His butt hurt when he stretched out his stride, he had a feeling that he was going to catch some major ribbing about his wound when word got out. Jake had someone radio for Captain Solomon and Captain Ellis to join him at the tunnel. He figured the officers had earned the right to see what they had been fighting so hard to capture. The three men flipped down their helmet mounted NVGs (Night Vision Goggles) and walked down the inclined ramp.
Chief Cole was waiting at the bottom of the ramp. Jake could see flashlights bobbing around in the darkness as the troops explored. He only noticed the flashlights and Cole peripherally though because he was fixated on the first thing he had seen. Sitting about twenty meters from the ramp were a pair of mobile SCUD missile launchers complete with the notorious missiles.
"That's not all, sir," Cole said, "There are about twenty missiles stored down here, plus a bunch of warheads and some drums that I don't even want to guess the contents of."
"I think we need to leave this shit to the experts and get the hell out of here, Chief, Jake replied.
"Roger that sir, but my boys and I are going out the small tunnel we found. I think if we set up an ambush on the other end of it we might catch Ahmed trying to sneak back in here to cause mischief."
"That sounds like a plan, Chief. Let Captain Ellis know where you end up so he can back you up. Do you need anything from us?"
Cole gave Jake a snappy salute.
"No sir, we're all set. We scrounged some claymore mines from your supply guys. I think we'll set up a mechanical ambush at the other entrance. I'd like to have my demo man rig the other entrance then I can blow it to seal it off in case anyone gets through the ambush."
The M18 claymore mine was a shaped charged two pound block of explosives with a plastic face impregnated with seven hundred.25 caliber pellets. The device exploded on command or by trip wire. When it exploded, it threw the pellets in a sixty degree arc that were lethal out to fifty meters. Special Forces guys loved to use them for ambushes because they were devastating and did not reveal the location of the ambushers.
"Do it," Jake said.
Jake went to sleep that night not knowing that he had caused a large shift in the timeline of his second existence. By his being in Ar Relbat, five SCUDs were prevented from hitting Tel Aviv and twenty-seven soldiers in Saudi Arabia were not killed by another of the SCUDs parked under him.
Jake was startled awake at 0200 hrs by a couple of explosions inside the mosque compound. He scrambled into his track and peeked out the hatch over the wall. Three of his Bradleys were pouring 25mm rounds into an area about six hundred meters to his front. Two minutes later three loud explosions came from the direction of the barracks on the other side of the mosque. Jake found out what was happening by listening to the radio. An LP/OP (Listening Post / Out Post) reported that the explosions were caused by a couple of RPG gunners lobbing grenades over the wall from the position that his Bradleys were lighting up.
Chief Cole completed the picture when he radioed in that his team had just wasted about twenty guys trying to slip into the tunnel under the diversion of the RPGs. Cole blew the tunnel entrance as a precaution. By 0215 it was quiet again, with only the pall of acrid smoke and wafting dust to mark the short deadly engagement.
The discovery of the SCUDS and possible chemical warheads sent CENTCOM in a tizzy. Helicopters started arriving the next morning ferrying brass, intelligence officers, chemical officers, UN observers and even reporters. Jake beat a hasty retreat to his battalion command post and worked hard at being unavailable. Chief Cole and his team snuck off also. Jake was directed by the Deputy Commander of CENTCOM to be available for a briefing at 1500 hrs. Jake made his way back into town and was at the mosque at 1445.
The courtyard of the mosque looked as if it were a kicked over bee hive, with more personnel and equipment arriving by the minute. CNN was even there with a satellite uplink. Public affairs soldiers were putting the finishing touches on a briefing podium with map back drops and large television monitors. The plan, Jake learned, was for the CENTCOM Commander to start the briefing in Saudi Arabia then kick it over to his deputy in Ar Relbat, sort of like the talking heads on the local news. Jake was standing to the side of the gaggle of bigwigs as they prepared to brief.
At 1520, the Air Force three-star general started his pitch. He gave some background information and then put a live feed from a camera in the underground chamber on one of the monitors. Temporary lights lit up the two-acre room as men in full hazardous-material suits carefully examined the room's contents. The general catalogued what had been found so far and its significance -- then he invited questions from the reporters gathered at CENTCOM headquarters. The briefer smoothly fielded the questions parsing out information in very small doses. The general identified Jake's unit in response to a question and described the task force's original mission.
At the conclusion of the briefing, Lieutenant General Grimes had his aide find Jake.
"Colonel Turner, you have done some seriously good work here," Grimes stated. "Finding these SCUDs eliminated a big worry for us and the intelligence that your unit has been sending back is top-notch. General Schwarzkopf sends his personal thanks to you and your men."
Jake and the general talked for a few minutes longer. Grimes let him know that Ar Relbat was quickly becoming a political issue and that Jake's unit would soon be relieved in place by a UN-led contingent of Pakistani soldiers. It was a political issue that Americans were occupying an Arab country. Whatever the reason, the fact that they did not have to stay and baby-sit the town was good news to Jake.
Two days later the president ordered a cease fire and Saddam agreed to the coalition's terms. Part of the terms was that the United Nations contingent at Ar Relbat stay for sixty more days to dispose of the VX nerve agent and the equipment used to make it. By the end of hostilities, the amazing story of the town was international news.
The Iraqis had chosen Ar Relbat as a site for SCUDs and chemical warfare because its location put most of the Middle East in range of the missiles. Jordan, Syria, Israel, Saudi Arabia, and Turkey could all be targeted from the site. Ar Relbat had been a sleepy little desert oasis, a watering stop on the highway, until Saddam secretly depopulated it. Everything about Ar Relbat was designed to be clandestine, from the buildings that camouflaged armored vehicles to the three-laning of the highway so that it could double as a runway.
On February twenty-eighth, Chief Cole's team was extracted back to Riyadh. On the fourth of March, the Pakistani troops arrived to relieve Task Force Seminole Warrior. By the eighth, the hand-off was complete and the task force broke camp, headed back to Saudi Arabia. It took ten long days to square away vehicles and equipment for transport home but finally, on the nineteenth, the 1st Battalion, 94th Infantry was wheels up headed back to Florida.
The three leased Boeing 747s touched down at Daytona International Airport at one in the afternoon. The planes stopped at the east end of the taxi way about a quarter of a mile from the Air Erika Hanger complex and two stair trucks pulled up to each plane. The battalion exited the aircraft and the senior noncommissioned officers started getting them into a battalion formation. The sergeant major even had a color guard ready. The battalion had rehearsed this drill for the last week or so in Saudi; they were coming home to a hero's welcome and were determined to look as if they deserved it. When the battalion was formed, the sergeant major turned it over to Jake. Jake gave them a right face, marched to his position in front of the first unit, and commanded, 'Forward March'.
Jake was flabbergasted when he cleared the edge of the first hanger and saw the size of the crowd waiting for them. There must have been five thousand people sitting in portable bleachers or standing on the apron. There was even a reviewing stand; as the formation got closer, Jake recognized the Adjutant General of the Florida National Guard as the reviewing officer. Jake told Major Cooley to march the unit two hundred yards past the reviewing stand and then bring them back this way to get them aligned correctly. Jake detached himself from the formation and halted in front of the reviewing stand, did an about face, and waited for the battalion to reverse direction.
Jake knew this was not strictly 22-5 (Army Field Manual 22-5, "Drill and Ceremonies"), but he had to adlib something or they would all look like idiots. When the color guard was in front of him he commanded, "Mark time - March". He let the troops march in place for long enough to align themselves then halted them. He next faced the troops towards him and brought them to present arms. He executed an about face and whipped his right hand up in a perfect salute.
"Sir," he thundered, "the First Battalion, Ninety-fourth Infantry is all present and accounted for."
When the last words left Jake's lips the crowd went wild, clapping and cheering for nearly two minutes. When the noise quieted down the General dropped his salute.
"Bring your unit to order arms and parade rest," the general ordered.
Jake dropped his salute, faced about, and gave the commands. When he was faced back to the reviewing stand, General Gilliam walked to the lectern.
"Men, this is the shortest speech you'll ever hear from a general officer. Your bravery, professionalism, and dedication to duty reflect credit on you, your unit, and the great state of Florida. On behalf of Governor Chiles, I want to welcome you home and tell you how proud we all are of you. Colonel Turner, take charge of your unit."
Jake and the general exchanged salutes, Jake faced about, called his men to attention, and dismissed them. Jake did not have a speech for them; he had spent the last weeks meeting with small groups of them so he could tell each man individually how proud he was to serve with them.
At the command "dismissed", a cheer went up and the troops broke ranks looking for family and loved ones. Jake had already spotted his reason for living sitting in the front row behind the reviewing stand and made a bee line in that direction. Melissa and his kids were up and headed toward him, Mikayla in the front at a gallop. Jake held out his arms and Mikayla leaped into them crying. He soothed her as he waited for JJ and Melissa to get to him. Melissa slipped into the arm he held out for her and kissed him. She was crying also. JJ held back and solemnly stuck out his hand. Jake took the proffered hand and pulled his son into the group hug.
Jake dodged the television crews that were trying to interview him and hustled his family into the hanger. The rest of his family caught up with them there. Jake figured he was hugged, kissed, and patted on the back about as much as he had ever experienced, but it was all good. After about twenty minutes in the hanger, Jake and his family slipped out and headed for the ranch. Melissa had planned a welcome home party for Jake that would start at seven. Mikayla sat in the back of the car with her hand on Jakes shoulder. She had not stopped touching him since he had hugged her at the airport.
Jake received a warm welcome at the ranch from Quincy and Tanya Nobles and from Ramon and Carmen Diaz. Jake was happy to see his old friends. After the Diazes and Nobles departed, Jake sat and chatted with his family, finally breaking the news to them that he had been slightly wounded. JJ thought it was a hoot that he had been shot in the ass. Melissa and Mikayla, however, did not see the humor in it. Jake started yawning at three-thirty and said he was going to take a nap before the party. He kissed Mikayla and shook JJ's hand again, thanking his son for taking care of things in his absence. Melissa walked to the bedroom with him.
As soon as the bedroom door closed, Melissa molded herself against him and kissed him fiercely.
"God, I've missed holding you, Muffy," he said. "Not having you near me was a worse hell than the desert."
"That goes double for me. Why don't you go take a shower Hubby? I still have a Christmas present I haven't given you yet," Melissa replied.
"Oh Goody," Jake exclaimed jokingly as he started unlacing his boots.
Jake took the rest of his clothes off in the bathroom. He wanted to surprise Melissa with his new physique. With a lot of down-time before the shooting war started Jake fell in with a bunch of young guys who were exercise fanatics on the order of his sister Debbie. Jake had run and lifted moderate weights until he was down to a fit and trim two hundred-fifteen pounds. He felt that he was in the best shape of his life. Jake toweled off and dug a pair of red silk print boxers out of his closet. He shaved, brushed the fur off his tongue, slapped on some sweet smelly after-shave, and slicked down his hair. He was as dapper as he was going to get, he reckoned, as he strolled into the bedroom.
He glanced at his wife sprawled seductively on the bed and did a double take that a cartoon character could not have matched. Holy Shit, she looked better than she did at eighteen. Melissa sat up and put her arms behind her thrusting out her breasts. They were almost as big as when she was nursing and they sat high and firm on her chest. Her tummy was flat and toned and her legs smooth and silky looking. She gave him a coy smile.
"You like? I've been working out and these are what else I got you for Christmas," she said glancing down at her breasts.
"You give thoughtful gifts, Wifey," he said as he climbed on the bed and reached for her.
Jake hefted her breasts in the palms of his hands and thumbed her nipples. Melissa cooed and covered his hands with hers.
"You are the first one to touch them besides me and the surgeon, Jacob. Actually, you are the first lover to touch me since you left. I had lots of offers but thought it wouldn't be fair since I knew you weren't getting any."
"You know I wouldn't have minded, Muffy; the thought of Erika putting you through your paces helped me wile away some empty hours."
Melissa tugged Jake's boxers down and off then craned her neck to check the scars on his butt. The wound had healed cleanly and the scars were not that big, thanks to Doc Sousa. Melissa traced the scars with her fingertip.
"I'm glad I didn't know about this, it would have worried me to death."
"It was just a scratch sweetie, nothing worth mentioning. It is actually embarrassing to me so I want to keep it quiet. Getting shot in the ass is exactly what Ginwich and his boys think ought to happen to Democrats in the House; he could get a lot of political mileage out of it," Jake said to lighten the mood.
"If I hear him say anything I'll scratch his beady little eyes out. His wife, Maribeth, told me he plays around and that they are off again, on again. I'm glad you told me he was going to eventually self-destruct, it makes me feel better."
"I bet I know what else will make you feel better," Jake said as he pressed her back onto the bed and capture her nipple with his teeth.
Melissa moaned her agreement as he worked on her breast. It still felt wonderfully the same as Jake applied the pressure she liked on her hard nubbin. Melissa's new implants were more lifelike than the silicon versions. Trish had warned her of the problems with silicon that popped up in the late nineteen-nineties so she had Carl McClelland develop something better. Carl, genius that he was, took less than a week to find a solution. He distilled honey until it had the consistency of silicon. Honey was the most stable natural product known; some that was still edible had even been found in a five thousand year old Egyptian tomb. Honey was also non-toxic, if an implant burst the honey would be absorbed as a nutrient.
Melissa lost her train of thought as Jake nibbled his way down her body. He was so sweet to take his time when he was probably dying to bury himself in her wetness.
"Let's save that for later, Baby. I want you in me now," she said urgently.
She did not have to ask twice as Jake settled between her thighs. She grasped his shaft and lined him up at the entrance of her gushing vagina. When she released her hand Jake slipped the head of his penis inside her and stopped. He was braced on his outstretched arms looking down at her beautiful face.
"How is it that I love you more every day? I thought I would be over loving you so intensely by now, but while I was in the Gulf, I thought about you all the time. I missed you so much it was scary."
"I've told you before, Jacob, we were meant to be. Something, God or whatever, sent you back here to be with me; saving the world is only your secondary purpose. My heart knew you were my forever from the minute you kissed me the first time."
Melissa raised her slender legs and wrapped them over the back of his thighs. Jake eased forward until he was buried to the hilt in her. He ground against her and pulled slowly back.
"Don't drag it out, Hubby. Take me like you want me, I'm so ready I'm boiling inside. Tonight after the party we can take our time."
Her words fired his passion and he started thrusting in earnest. Jake knew he was not going to last long but from the way Melissa was gyrating under him she was not going to be left behind. In a few minutes they erupted together, wrapped up in each other's arms, lips glued together. Jake tried to roll to the side but Melissa was not playing that.
"Oh no, you don't. You are staying right here, Baby, so I can savor this," she admonished.
So, Jake stayed in her as they kissed and caressed each other. Jake forgot about being tired as his dick stayed hard inside her.
"Wow, Wifey, now you have breasts almost as fabulous as your butt. Do you think we could maybe give them a test drive?"
Melissa chuckled and pushed the plump mounds together.
"They are your, Baby, drive away," she said.
Jake unsheathed his dick, slithered up her body, and slipped it, still wet with their juices into the tunnel she had made for him. By craning her neck forward, she could lap at his crown as it poked out between her breasts.
"This is nice Hubby, remember when we use to do this while I was nursing and milk would gush out to lubricate you?"
Jake nodded, groaned, and slipped forward so she could take him fully into her mouth. It took her fewer than three minutes to coax his load from him. Jake's eyelids were getting droopy when she finally let him go. She kissed his cheek and covered him with the sheet as she lovingly watched him nod off. She stretched languidly then pulled out a pair of jeans and one of his sweatshirts. She dispensed with underwear or the shower; she wanted to wear him on her skin until it was time to get ready for the party. Running a brush through her hair, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror. He was home; life was good again.
Jake was instantly awake and alert when someone touched his shoulder. He relaxed when he saw it was Mikayla.
"Daddy, Mom said it was time to get up and get ready for the party. It's six-fifteen; everyone is supposed to get here at seven."
"Ok Princess, I'll get up as soon as some beautiful young woman hugs me," Jake said.
Mikayla smiled shyly, trying to keep her braces from showing and then threw her self onto his chest. Surprisingly, she kissed him full on the lips. Jake held her as she nestled against him.
"Thanks for saying that Daddy, even if it isn't true. I know I'm ugly and gawky now but Mom says I'll grow out of it. Mom is so pretty I sometimes feel I'm destined to be the ugly duckling," she sighed.
Jake hugged her tighter and stroked her dark red hair.
"You mother is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Jake admitted. "But I see the potential for you to be just as beautiful as she is. Give it time Mickey, that's all you have to do. By the time you are fifteen, I'll have to buy a shotgun to chase the boys away from you. Now scoot so I can take a shower."
Mikayla said 'ok, Daddy', and gave him another lingering kiss on the lips before scampering out the door.
"What was that all about?" he wondered. He had better ask Muffy
about that tonight. He jumped out of bed and hit the shower; he was
looking forward to seeing his friends and extended family again.