Fraternization - Containment Protocol-Part 11
Booker's Marshmallow. Fiction, 2200 words. 11-minute read.
Merry Christmas, a little early! The season is a demanding one, so I need to clear the decks for (yuletide) action. Here’s part 11 of the Containment Protocol saga a couple of day ahead of normal. Booker, and the rest of the platoon, received some overwhelming hospitality last episode, along with a few heaping helpings of roasted T-Rex. Consequences incoming!
Find the rest of the Containment Protocol tale here: https://raytabler.substack.com/s/containment-protocol-serial
Part 1 (the beginning), ... Part 10 (last episode), Part 12 (next episode)
Fraternization - Containment Protocol-Part 11
By Ray Tabler
Although he tried to be a gentleman about it, Booker dressed and excused himself as fast as possible. Nohfa watched him, stretching brazenly nude on the woven bed/mat they’d shared. She smiled, giggled, and stroked her tummy languidly. Where, Booker’s seed had kindled new life. Or so she appeared to believe. That rattled Booker even more than waking up neck deep in this situation. And the hangover surely didn’t help.
Stumbling out of Nohfa’s hut, feet shoved hurriedly into his untied boots, Booker encountered Zunta. Nohfa’s mate squatted, scraping a fresh hide with some sharp, stone tool. Zunta looked up from his task, and smiled. Booker stopped, muscles tightening to prepare for whatever Zunta might do.
Nohfa’s gargantuan mate rose, still holding the stone implement, and advanced upon Booker. He pointed the scraper at Booker, expression unreadable. A fabric-upon-flesh sound cause both of the men to turn toward the hut. Nohfa peeked out of the entrance, the hide flap hung over the doorway wrapped about her torso, bare shoulder exposed. Nohfa giggled, and held out Booker’s forgotten boxer shorts.
Booker gulped, preparing for Zunta’s explosion.
Zunta reached out and took the shorts from Nohfa, brow wrinkling. He held the garment out to Booker... and smiled. Booker wondered if the caveman was sadistically imagining what vengeance he would wreak upon the soldier. Perhaps it involved the sharp, stone scraper he held. Instead, Zunta took hold of Booker’s hand and draped the shorts over the stunned lieutenant’s fingers. He chuckled in a most unthreatening manner.
Nohfa spoke. Zunta’s smile widened. The caveman tossed his stone tool to the dirt at the foot of the wooden frame over which the hide he’d been scraping was stretched. With waggling brows and an obviously lusty comment to Booker, Zunta spun and charged through the hut’s doorway. He scooped Nohfa off her feet on the way inside. Nohfa squealed with delight as Zunta carried her into the hut over his brawny shoulder.
Booker stood rooted the spot wide eyes wide and mouth open. This was nothing like what he’d expected from Zunta. Or Nohfa, for that matter. Within moments, Zunta’s growls, and Nohfa’s passionate moaning drifted form the hut.
Once he took care of business, was Zunta going to come back out and pound him to a pulp? Booker decided he really didn’t want to stick around and find out. He shoved his errant boxer shorts into a pocket of his coveralls, and scurried off in the direction of the tank lager, feet slipping in and out of his still untied boots.
The trip involved numerous detours around individuals and groups of people still prone and unconscious from the effects of last night’s party. Some of his men lay piled among collections of local women, apparently having received the same type of hospitality he had from Nohfa. Should he rouse them? Booker decided to delegate that task to Mulroney. Assuming he could find the platoon sergeant.
Much to Booker’s surprise, and relief, Mulroney stood waiting for him in front of Fred’s steel prow, a steaming metal mug of black coffee at the ready.
“Good mornin’, sir. Thought you could use a cup of hot joe.” Mulroney greeted Booker, as if he found nothing at all unusual about the situation.
Booker accepted the coal black liquid. “Thank you, sergeant Mulroney.”
Although Booker’s head still pounded with a hangover, and the implications of having spent the night with Nohfa, the aroma of the coffee provided an island of comfort in the sea of his troubles. He cupped his hands carefully around the hot metal, and breathed in the vapors as if they were oxygen for a drowning man. After a moment, Booker sipped tentatively at the scalding liquid, and felt almost human again.
“Uh, barn door’s open, sir.” Mulroney nodded toward Booker’s midsection.
“Thank you.” Booker reached down and zipped up his open fly.
The two men shared a moment of companionable silence, side by side in the morning light. Across the bowl of the caldera, a swahldet trumpeted mournfully in the dawn mist rising from the hot springs. Above the vine rope netting, a pterodactyl soared, catching the sun with its leathery wings. Duty settled back on Booker’s shoulders, like a comfortable, old jacket.
Booker swallowed some coffee. “Why don’t you tell me what I missed last night?”
“Do you recall jumping up and dancing the hootchy-kootchywith young Ms. Nohfa?”
“The hootchy-kootchy?”
“Well, that’s what I’d call it.”
“No. I do not recall dancing with Nohfa. Hootchy-kootchy, or otherwise.”
“After that, I lost track of you, sir.”
“Did you look for me?”
“Struck me as a personal matter between you and the lady, sir.”
Booker pondered that.
“If it makes any difference, the lieutenant wasn’t the only one to be targeted for persistent, aggressive female attention last night.” Mulroney said.
“I did notice Gonzalez and Thibodeaux in... compromising positions on the way over here this morning.”
“Just about every man in the platoon was overwhelmed with female companionship. In fact, every man was.”
“Wilson too? Even though we’re not supposed to say so, I think Wilson is—"
“Not last night he weren’t.” Mulroney shrugged.
“Looks like I’ve kind of made a mess of things, sergeant Mulroney.” Booker set his now empty mug down on Fred’s hull.
“I don’t things are all that bad, sir.”
“We’re just lucky no local crawled into one of tracks and accidently machinegunned the whole place.”
“Oh, that wasn’t gonna happen, sir. I was watchin’ the vehicles.”
“Didn’t you have overwhelming female companionship?”
“A couple of sweet young things came sniffin’ around my hillbilly ass, but I shooed them away as gently as I could. They was real disappointed. But, they kinda reminded me of my teenaged daughters. And that was a definite mood killer.”
Booker blinked at his platoon sergeant.
“You mind if I speak freely, sir?’
“I have a feeling you’re gonna speak freely even if I say no. So, go ahead, sergeant Mulroney.”
“Thank you, sir. When I was just a little nipper my family all went campin’ one summer. We was all sittin’ around the campfire roastin’ marshmallows on sticks over the fire. I was talkin’ with my brother.”
“Is this going somewhere, sergeant?”
“Oh, yes sir. It is.” Mulroney assured. “Then I looked over and my marshmallow was on fire. I looked at my daddy, and he was just grinnin’. I said, how come you didn’t tell me my marshmallow was on fire? And my daddy said, next time you’ll watch your marshmallow closer.”
Booker crossed his arms and regarded Mulroney critically. “So, next time, I’ll watch my platoon closer?”
“I would never say anything like that, sir. Watching your marshmallows would be totally up to you.”
“And, here I thought sergeants were supposed to keep their lieutenants from screwing up.”
“Oh, no sir. That’s not the case at all. Lieutenants always screw up sooner or later. That’s a law of nature. It’s the sergeant’s job to minimize the scope and consequences of the screw ups.”
Booker snorted a laugh in spite of his annoyance.
“Frankly, I’m glad you did stumble off the straight and narrow last night, sir. Up to now you’ve been entirely too perfect as an officer. It’s dangerous to let a lieutenant make captain without at least one embarrassing fuck up somewhere along the line. He gets to thinkin’ he’s God’s gift to the army, and can do no wrong. Then, when he does fuck up, there’s three or four times as many men have to pay for his arrogance.”
Booker stared at Mulroney. “Sergeant, I do believe you’re serious.”
“I’m serious as a heart attack, sir. It’s a noncom’s sacred duty to knock sense into a young officer’s head. And sometimes that means standing by while you set your marshmallows on fire.”
“How crispy do you think my marshmallows are this morning?”
“Not all that bad, really. So, you, and the boys, had a little too good a time last night. It’s not like the local ladies are going to complain. They appeared to be the primary instigators. They’re menfolk don’t look upset. In fact, I think they were in on the plan all along.”
“So, I noticed.”
“And, I doubt colonel Shaylton’s going to mind, under the circumstances.”
Booker sighed. “Colonel Shaylton’s not who I’m worried about. What am I gonna tell my wife?”
“Oh.” Mulroney considered that difficulty. “Well, this is all top secret. You’re not really supposed to tell her anything.”
“She knows me. She’s gonna know something happened.”
“Could try the truth.”
“That some hot blonde cavewoman from another universe got me drunk and helped herself to my sperm?”
“When you put it that way, I can see the issue, sir.”
Booker rubbed a hand over his face. “Alright. First things first. Round everybody up, and get the platoon ready to roll. I want to get back to the gate site before anything else wacky happens. We’ll postpone sorting out who’s to blame for what once we’re all safely back on Earth.”
“Yes sir.” Mulroney saluted and headed off toward Gonzalez Who seemed to be waking up and disentangling himself from a leggy redhead and a well-endowed brunette.
Booker frowned and knelt down to tie his boots. Once that chore was completed, he stood and looked forlornly at the empty coffee mug on Fred’s hull. He should’ve asked Mulroney where the pot was before giving the platoon sergeant his marching orders. Because another cup of joe sounded like just what the doctor ordered this hungover morning. The coffee pot was probably over by, or in, Barney, Mulroney’s tank.
Booker reached out to retrieve the mug, but movement at a hut’s doorway across the village commons derailed his plan for additional caffeine. Muñoz stood there, holding the hide flap aside with one hand, and clasping onto to a naked cavewoman with the other. The couple was engaged in bidding a fond farewell, locking lips together and some manual appreciation. Booker experienced an odd mix of annoyance at Muñoz, and embarrassed guilt at himself. Not long ago he had engaged in a similar activity with Nohfa, albeit drunk out of his gourd at the time.
Presently, Muñoz and his partner parted. She ducked back into the hut. Muñoz crossed the commons with a spring in his step. On the way, he paused briefly to converse with a tribesman who was on a perpendicular course. There was some jabber, and finger pointing toward the surrounding caldera walls.
Booker reasoned that Muñoz would be heading for the tank lager. And he was right. Waiting for the green beret did not improve his mood.
“Do you have something to say to me, lieutenant?’ Muñoz asked when he got within a few paces of Booker. “Because, whatever it is, it’s leaking out of your eyes already.”
“Very funny.” Booker tried to keep his voice level. “You knew this was going to happen. Didn’t you?”
“By this, I assume you mean the fraternization which occurred last night.”
“Occurred? You make it sound like something random, like a lightning strike. Instead of a conspiracy.”
“Booker, Nohfa came right out and told you she wants to make a baby with you.”
“I thought she was joking. You could’ve warned me that we’re dealing with a whole tribe of...swingers!”
Muñoz snickered. “I don’t think that’s the proper term. Swinging is a civilized habit, indulged in by hedonists. These people are isolated in a dangerous world. When the chance to broaden their gene pool comes along, they take it. Nohfa was just doing her civic duty. If it makes you feel any better, there likely wasn’t anything personal to it. Your genes are just so different from hers that it makes you a prime target. If she ends up with her brown brown baby, it'll help the tribe. And boost her social rank in the bargain.”
Booker seethed. He was angry at Muñoz for not being completely honest. He was also irritated at himself for the undeniable disappointment that Nohfa only saw him as a means to an end. That stung. The degree to which it stung surprised and worried him.
“This will all go into my report.” Booker warned.
“You sure about that?” Muñoz asked. “If I was you, I’d let what happens in Bedrock stay in Bedrock.”
“Well, you’re not me, Mr. Muñoz. You’re not technically in my chain of command. The people who run the project will decide what to do about this, and what to do with you. The sooner we get back home, the better. I plan to be on the road as soon as the platoon is ready to roll. We should make it to the gate site by early afternoon, and back on Earth shortly after that.”
“Yeah, about that.” Muñoz smirked. “I just got some bad news on the way over here. I don’t think we’re getting back to the gate site anytime soon.”
END.
Tune in next time for Part 12 - Migration
Find the rest of the Containment Protocol tale here: https://raytabler.substack.com/s/containment-protocol-serial
Part 1 (the beginning), ... Part 10 (last episode), Part 12 (next episode)
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A Grand Imperial Heir (sequel to A Grand Imperial War)
And visit my website, https://raytabler.com/, for Science Fiction You Can Enjoy!
What happens in Bedrock stays in Bedrock!👍😁
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