Page 6 of Confessions of an Apache Pilot

“I don’t know what he did to earn this, but I’m not going to be the one that lets him out early.” She looked at him as he rotated around again. She glanced back at me. “Santos is a big boy, he can handle himself.”

She stepped forward and grabbed my arm, pulling me away. “Come on, I’ll show you where the lockers are.”

I followed; I don’t know why. I could have shaken her grip and cut the kid loose. But her nonchalance at the whole situation had me walking away with her. Santos didn’t seem overly concerned either. When a man wrapped in duct tape looks at you like you’re the unreasonable one, it sort of shakes reality for you.

I just hoped the Apache guys didn’t include the other crews in their practical jokes. Not that I couldn’t take a joke, but I wouldn’t care to be taped to a chair. It was more likely I’d just get used to their pranks and come to find them funny. In time.

It was best to observe and figure out the way they did things here, while making as few waves as possible. Knowing what happened to the prior crew, but not why, the last thing I wanted was to cause more issues between our two communities.

We were about to step out of the hangar when six or seven more men came in, one of them naked. I froze in the doorway, eyes wide as the scene unfolded in front of me.

“Oh. I see. Yeah, we want to get out of here before it gets worse,” Laura said, giving my arm a tug.

“That guy is naked,” I said, stating the obvious, mouth hanging open.

“Where’s the Birthday Boy?” they were shouting.

“Birthday, obviously. Yeah, let's go,” Laura said. She was acting as though this were a common occurrence. As if guys wandering around the base bare assed was something that happened often.

“None of this makes sense. What…” I gestured back at the hanger. They had surrounded the kid, spinning him around, and laughing. The naked one was standing on a toolbox…helicoptering. My voice trailed off in surprise as the guy whipped his dick around.

What the hell is wrong with these guys?

Laura laughed at me. “Sweetie, these are Apache guys. They’re... unfiltered. And borderline insane. They’re free out here to be themselves fully...and that means you’ll end up seeing some seriously weird shit. You may as well get used to this.” We were nearly out the door.

“Unfiltered?” I squeaked.

“There’s no women around to keep them in line. I mean, seriously, this place is dripping with testosterone.” She looked at the ground and shuddered. “Even in the showers. Especially in the showers.”

“Gross,” I said, curling my lip as my brain conjured up a mental image of the showers. She started to lead me to the next area, but I grabbed her arm. I could hear them singing ‘Happy Birthday’ behind me. I dared not look again. “What do you mean ‘no women’? What are we?” I asked, gesturing to her and then back at myself.

Laura laughed at me. “Welcome to deployment.” She squared off with me. “Look, no one here is going to follow you into the showers or anything like that, but don’t expect them to stop being themselves just because you sit down to pee.”

“You sit down to pee.”

“Yeah, true enough. Look, these men are killers. By necessity and definition. Being in charge of them and holding their respect, some basic femininity has to be sacrificed. It’s much worse if you’re around the Special Forces guys.”

I thought about it, then wondered if that was actually accurate. Her explanation made sense, though. Back in the U.S. things were more civilized. Out here, there was less management and more boredom. And combat. No women to keep them in line, she had said. I’d never thought that idea through before.

She continued, “They have to blow off steam somehow. You can’t work under this kind of stress, constantly attacking or being under attack, and not have a way to blow off steam. They can’t drink or fuck the stress away, so instead they…” She let the sentence hang as she pointed over her shoulder. I finally dared a glance, the birthday boy had broken free, and now they were all wrestling. The naked one was in the middle, and everyone was desperately trying to put someone else near him. I scolded myself because I nearly laughed at the sight.

“This isn’t stress relief, it’s hazing.”

“Maybe, but I keep a close eye on it to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand. I had the same reaction you’re having now when I first saw it. But I’ve also seen what happens when there’s no outlet. Trust me, it can get a lot worse.” Laura gave my shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. I saw something new in her eyes. Fear. For now, I’d take her word on all this. The seriousness in her face wasn’t something I saw often.

She must have realized I sensed the change in her tone, because she perked back up, almost artificially happy. “Besides, if Santos didn’t want to be duct taped to that chair, then he would have fought harder.”

Whatever alternative thought had scared her was now buried under her ridiculous logic. We’d talk about the more serious things later. “I guess it makes sense. Whatever it takes to cope with what we do and see out here.” I glanced over my shoulder. They were cutting the duct tape off his wrists now and helping him up off the ground. Maybe Laura was right…at least with this group. Stress relief. I shook my head in bemusement. It was going to be an interesting year.

“What do you do for your stress relief?” I asked her. “You fly and fight just as much as these guys.”

“Have sex,” she said, face a mask of seriousness. I choked on a laugh as she said it. “What?” she asked. “My husband is in 3rd group Special Forces; he’s stationed sixty miles west of here. He comes through at least once a month. Sometimes once a week. When I can, I take missions out to his FOB, too.” At least they had it all figured out.

I hadn’t thought about the fact that her husband was deployed at the same time. “Must be nice,” I admitted, still trying to process the nightmare birthday party behind us.

“If you want to keep your sanity and not get all wound up, you’ll do the same.”

I stared at her in amazement. I couldn’t just sleep my way through the base. Well...I could, but I wouldn’t. It wasn’t the kind of woman, or leader, I was. “What did they do to you? When did you start thinking like a guy?”

---