Postcards Ch. 03

Author's Note: Kwajalein is a real place, as is the battle, the sunken Prinz Eugen, even the two pine trees. I encourage you to google the island.

Chapter 3

Depart: 8:20 a.m.
Arrive: 5:40 p.m.
Tues., May 29
Tues, May 29
Guam (GUM)
Kwajalein, Marshall Isl (KWA)

One stop. Time on ground 0.45

Travel Time:
7 hr 20 mn

Distance:
1,590 miles
Flight:UA755
Aircraft: Boeing 737-800
Fare Class: United Economy (Y)
Meal: Breakfast
No Special Meal Offered.

Sheila:

The previous night had a surreal quality. For one thing, it was the middle of the day in New Jersey. Sean can fall asleep any time, anywhere, which is a skill I envy. He says he needed to learn it in the Army. While he slept, I lay awake, considering where we were and why we were there. The flights added up. Over six hours to LA, six more to Honolulu, then almost eight to Guam. Counting boarding, taxiing and offloading, that is more than a full day inside airplanes, with more coming.

Sean had not told me why we were flying all this way. I knew he had served in the Army, which seemed to be relevant. There had been an occasional mention of our destination, but nothing that would explain spending half a honeymoon in crowded airplanes. I fell asleep wondering.

Kiku got us up, dressed, fed and to the airport. She was so different from Christine, yet the selfless attention to detail was the same. Kiku made me feel at home and I would miss her. The airplane did not improve things. On this flight, everything was Economy and crowded. Many of the travelers were US military in uniform. Sean knew the ranks and service designations. He chatted easily with an Airman and a couple of Marines. I tried to disappear.

Presently, we were cleared to take off. It was interesting to watch the safety lecture in a language other than English, though I had no idea which one. Sean explained that English is always used on American flagged airlines, which this was, but also the country of origin or destination. It did not sound like Japanese, so I would guess the island tongue where we were going.

I had never flown before Saturday, but I was beginning to feel like a seasoned traveler. While I wanted to pull out the laptop, I knew there was no point before the flight attendants finished serving the meal. It was worth the wait, because breakfast was unusual to my taste. I ordered the french toast and tea. Sean ordered sausage and eggs with coffee.

My toast came with a side of Spam, macadamia nuts and a fruit salad. I gave the Spam to Sean. The bread was sweet, even before adding the coconut flavored syrup. Green tea made a nice counter point. It was an enjoyable breakfast. Sean's sausage and egg were served on a bed of sticky rice. He also received a fruit salad and nuts. Sean told me the sausage was derived from Portuguese cooking. In Hawaii, it could be found everywhere, even at McDonalds. I was happy to let him have it, though I tried a taste. It was nicely smoky.

After breakfast, the trash was collected and another round of drinks distributed. Sean pulled out his PDA, only to find there was no reception. Inquiries were made. Internet access was not available on this flight. My Teddybear grumped and growled for a while, then asked for some magazines.

I pulled out my new laptop and started the process of reviewing the CDs Aaron Aldermann sent. It soon became clear they were victims of their own ambition. The director had put too many things in the scenes. This forced long camera shots, to get everything in the frame. Details were too small and attention was divided. It came out a confusing hash, difficult to follow even in slow motion.

It was a familiar issue, but on a larger and more expensive scale. The cameras in my studio have motion tracking, but it is never precise. Choosing the correct angle, focal length and time is critical. In this case, I needed to do all that and also create a place holder in the larger image. Worse, these were not stills, but video. Unlike a lipstick shot, I needed to retain the action. It made for an interesting problem.

One asset was that the video was already discrete shots. I could easily pull out one every five or ten seconds. Those I could crop and enlarge like I always did. That seemed like a plan. I selected one chase sequence and began cutting it up. Before I was half finished, the flight attendant was telling me to put away the computer and fasten my belt for landing. Almost four hours had passed.

Sean had given me the window seat. Since I could not work, I raised the blind and looked out. The tops of clouds looked very much like they appear from the ground. Sean was hiding a smirk. He knew that the ground was not visible and had not told me. It should have been irritating, but his childlike delight was infectious. I shook my head and called him Teddybear, which made him grin wider. About then, we dropped down into the clouds.

Clouds are much more interesting from the inside. We were moving through a blanket of gray, while raindrops made wet lines on the window. Almost before the novelty wore off, the plane popped out of the clouds for a moment. I could see a vast expanse of water, before we plunged into more gray. This pattern repeated almost to the ground. We emerged from a cloud with the runway clearly in sight. Within moments, we touched the ground. It was thrilling.

Sean:

After we lifted off from Guam, my first impulse was to check my messages. I resisted, because the flight attendants were passing out drinks. Kiku had efficiently gotten us breakfast, but I needed a coffee fix. Soon after, the meal cart came down the aisle. I was pleased to recognize an Hawaiian menu. Sheila was having the French toast, so I took the other option, which turned out to be egg, sausage and rice. As always, fresh fruit was provided.

Sheila was rather taken by the effect sweet bread has on French toast. She had eaten half before adding the coconut syrup That was another treat. She gave me her fried Spam. My own meal was disappointing. Rather than a fresh fried egg, it was a rubbery sheet. The sausage was not bad, but they managed to get the sticky rice wrong. Not enough vinegar perhaps. At least the fruit salad was good and there was more coffee.

Once breakfast was cleaned up. I decided it was time to do something useful. I pulled out my phone, only to find there was no reception. Sheila was working away at the Columbia Pictures project, so I had no complaints about her productivity. I found this profoundly ironic. Of the two possible vacation problems, the more annoying is when things run better in your absence.

I went to the commode, alone. I asked for magazines. I did a number puzzle. I played 2048 on my phone. In short, I fidgeted. This was a familiar situation, though I was years out of the Army. "Hurry and wait" is the expression. Hurry to be ready, then wait until scheduled. Since the Army was metaphorically dragging me out to the South Pacific, there was a certain symmetry. It did not calm my fidgeting.

Instead I found a peace watching Sheila work. Most people hate being watched, but she did not seem to notice. I could see why. Even I found her work engrossing. The studio supplied video clips, from several angles, of a foot chase in some sort of industrial space. There were two groups chasing, with Will Smith and Ben Affleck running. All three groups interacted, so it was hard to follow what each group was doing. Multiply that by the number of cameras.

Sheila stopped one video and started pulling stills out by the time stamp. Smart. Reduce the problem to a manageable scale. Once she had broken the sequence into about twenty stills, she started cropping segments out of each still.

During the catalog work, Richard expressed awe at Sheila's ability to find, without pausing, exactly the right crop. This was my first chance to witness her doing it. To my eye, Sheila spent more time working the interface than she did deciding what was important. The obvious place to focus was the actors, but she also focused on the effects of their passage. One nice cut showed a pile of boxes falling, with the pile beside it bowed out, ready to collapse.

It was not until final approach that I realized I had spent three hours watching Sheila work. Holy flaming shit Batman. Once again, I was reminded that I married up.

Sheila:

Landing at Majuro was like waking from a pleasant dream. It had been some time since I had been able to throw myself into a project. Sean's catalog was a project, but there were many different threads I needed to track. This was simple in concept, but rich in detail. The creation fugue was exhilarating, but left me feeling drained.

When Sean made no move to get in the exit flow, I asked what was going on. He told me we had a forty five minute stop in Majuro, the national capital. It was like a bus stop. Some would get off, while others got on. The rest of the trip was a short hop. When I asked how short, Sean laughed, "New York to DC, plus a little. Maybe Stamford to DC. Out here, that means next door. There's nothing between but water." My stars.

It proved to be a good subject. I had looked up Kwajalein and the Marshall Islands, but Sean had been there. He talked about how the islands were very different from my conceptions. From the air, they looked like shoestrings dropped on the floor in a vaguely closed pattern. This atoll was one of the largest in the world, as was the enclosed lagoon. Wet was larger than dry by well over a hundred to one. It was like stretching out our little city and wrapping it around Delaware. Our city limits cover a fair amount of farm land, but still.

I noticed that almost everyone boarding the plane was in Army uniform. Sean explained that Kwajalein was almost completely US Army, with a sprinkling of other services. We had permission to visit from the Pentagon. I almost asked how Sean managed it so quickly, but he was already explaining. He had been wanting to visit for years. The necessary approvals had been obtained and maintained. Adding a spouse was simple. It made me wonder what else Gerald had in his locked files.

Getting off the plane put us in the grips of Army Intelligence. Sean had military ID and his permits—they referred to them as orders—plus the marriage certificate. No one ever spoke to me, except to ask for photo ID. Eventually, things came to a head over my laptop. The Army wanted to know why I was carrying such sophisticated image handling software. Sean gave them one of my business cards. That led to another discussion. I was surprised to hear Gerald's name mentioned several times.

Calls were made. Time passed. More calls. More time. Eventually, Sean was scolded for bending regulations, but we were allowed to leave—without my laptop. It would be returned when we boarded the plane. It was dark outside. I was very glad they provided a car and a driver, named Sergeant Johnson, though perhaps spy was closer. He had something of Gerald in his carriage.

Whatever his other duties, Sgt. Johnson took us to something like a motel, helped check us in and carried our luggage to the room. I was politely, but firmly, told not to touch anything. Once inside our room, I let Sean give me a long hug. For a little longer, I leaned my head against his chest. When we broke it was for a quick, chaste shower. I was hungry, which meant Sean was probably starving.

The street outside our motel reminded me of Atlantic City in July, except for all the uniforms. Most of the uniforms were of the PT variety, i.e. black shorts and a gray T-shirt, both with the Army logo. Beach togs were likely a violation, but every other soldier was wearing them. Civilian clothes tended to be loud. My Hawaiian beach bunny dress would not have not fit in, quite. I considered the potential impact of putting Christine in it. It made me wish we brought the chest, until I considered what the spooks would have thought of its contents. Better not to have it.

Sean inquired after the nearest PX. It turned out there was only one, but it was nearby. That answered one of my questions. We were on a military base, beach footwear not-with-standing. The PX turned out to be a three building cluster near, the air strip. Surrounded them was in a sort of mini-mall. The only open stores were Pizza Hut, Burger King and a coffee shop called Green Beans. We stopped at the Pizza Hut long enough to place an order, then went to the PX.

I did not know what to expect. It was sort of like a Target split between three buildings. There was a PX, a PXtra and an Express, whatever that meant. We never went to the Pxtra. Sean said it would have tlarger, more expensive items, like weight training equipment, furniture and elctronics. The PX had a little bit of everything from soft lines to books. We went there first.

In soft goods we acquired two beach towels, two pair of beach togs and a wide brimmed fake-straw hat for me. The next aisle was assorted "tactical" gear. Sean opted for something called a boonie, which was a rollable hat made of digicam fabric. The sunglasses they were in a locked case, so we had to wait for help. Sean selected two pairs of Oakley's. At over $100 a pair, I would never have considered them for myself.

From there we went to the Express, which was like a Walgreens without the pharmacy. One row was a selection of magazines, mostly up to date. At the end of the row was a standing rack of postcards, one of which caught my eye. It was a condolence card. I was unsure whether to be sorry it was there, or glad that no one had needed it. Sean noticed where I was looking. He said, "I know. You never forget flying with a flag covered coffin. It changes you." There was nothing to say to that.

One wall was cold storage, mostly drinks and ice cream, but also frozen dinners and meat. Sean grabbed a bottle of juice, two bottles of water and a frozen Snickers. In sundries, Sean added suntan lotion, zinc oxide and a box of razor refills. As we waited to check out, Sean grabbed some refrigerator magnets, with pictures of aircraft and the names of Iraq bases. They were marked down from $1.99 to $0.25.

Outside there was an area of picnic tables. Sean put the bags on the table and left me to watch them. He had only been gone a minute or two when three soldiers decided to hit on me. A small shake of the head was enough for two of them, but the other was bolder. I let a little of Cynthia into my gaze, which sent the boy stumbling back on his friends. Behind me, Sean said, "Is there any trouble, Ma'am?" I said, "No trouble, Sergeant. They mistook me for someone else." They scattered so quickly that Sean snorted. It was his good, "That's finished" laugh. Spare me the other one.

Given my recent meals, American style pizza was a welcome change. Sean told me that The Exchange owned the world's largest Burger King franchise. Nothing says USA like a burger and fries. After a month outside the wire, that taste is like coming home. His point could be made for pizza as well. Conversation drifted to the subject of MRE's, about which little good is said. Sean's expression was, Meal, Rarely Edible.

By the time we made it to our room, it was almost midnight local time. Sean was dragging and I was dead on my feet. Sean had me strip and lay face down on the bed. As his massages went, it was a quickie, but he untied knots where I did not know I had muscles. Pausing, with his hands on my ass, he asked, "Do you think they are listening?" I turned completely pink, but answered, "Would that be good or bad?" Sean chuckled and gave my fanny a quick slap.

Sean:

I had forgotten how anal the US Army can be when they set their mind to it. I had proper authorizations and valid orders, but our last minute change of plans raised flags. Add to that the brand new marriage and security noses began twitching. Before we arrived, the intel guys had decided to keep an eye on us. The fancy laptop with fancy software was icing on the cupcake.

The worst of it was that we passed the sniff test. Once they had met and talked to us, the hackles went down. That was where the Army's anal retentive nature kicked in. Once we were flagged, they had to follow through. Someone, somewhere would ask questions. So they kept Sheila's work computer and gave us a nanny, but they threw us a bone. Sergeant Johnson was probably neither a Sergeant nor a Johnson, but he had a car.

He took us to our room, which was likely for mid level VIPs. We were not allowed to touch our bags while they were in transit, but they were left with us when the door closed. I was not sure what to make of that. It made no difference, because I wanted food and a shower.

Showering with Sheila can be a lot of fun, but this was purely a quickie. Once we were ready for the street, we stepped out. As expected, we had a shadow. My guess was that things were slow, so they were practicing. We went to the PX and food court. I ordered a pizza, then introduced Sheila to one of my benefits. The PX is never cutting edge, but they go where the military goes. One can be a slice of home when you need one.

As expected, I was able to outfit us for fun in the sun. I was tempted to get a left side thigh holster for Gerald, but decided that it could wait. Even though it was marked down to a buck, I did not want the spooks seeing me buy it. Not yet anyway. I did pick up some picture magnets.

When we made it back to the Pizza Hut, our pie was ready. I ate most of it, of course, but Sheila managed two slices and part of a third. For her, that's a lot. I made sure she drank plenty of water. Kwaj is equatorial, so dehydration is always an issue. Every soldier and most athletes know you can sweat faster than your gut can handle new water. Prior hydration is key and I expected a lot of sun the next day.

By the time we reached our room, Sheila was about ready to fold. I told her to strip down and lie on the bed. Sheila replied to command voice like a trained recruit, quickly and without emotion. She had shown the red silk clear back in Hawaii. It seemed a long time ago, but this was not an appropriate venue. Still, something could be managed. It gave me something to think about while my hands put her to sleep.

When I woke, it was dark outside. By the time I finished with the latrine, that had changed. The sun rises quickly in the tropics. Sheila was still asleep, which gave me a chance to find a few things. Not the scarves. I wanted her to hand me the scarves. I needed a waterproof cover for the bed, some towels, shaving cream and a good razor. When all was assembled, I threw back the sheet and popped her ass with a towel. Sheila is so fair skinned, you can see her whole body blush. It was a shame to let her tan, but what would a trip to the tropics be without one?

Once she was fully aware, I told Sheila that I had seen one of her scarves, but not both. She understood that this was an instruction, so she stopped acting shy and went about her task. That transition is one I treasure whenever I see it, which is surprisingly often. It can be very useful in business. Employees want to understand their duties. Simply making the duties plain has a calming effect. The trick is not to overdo it.

Sheila, being Sheila, also understood my other point. There was a good chance the room was monitored. If so, they would get audio but no explanation. While Sheila was fetching her restraints, I put a garment bag on the mattress and covered it with towels. The situation was far from ideal. I could use the headboard, but there was nothing at the foot, not even legs. The bed was on a solid pedestal. Oh well. Needs must make do.

Just as I turned, Sheila threw her arms around me and gave me a big kiss. Then she stepped back a pace, lowered her gaze and presented the scarves. No. I was not a master and she was not a slave. I lifted her chin til our eyes met. Far from fighting it, Sheila may have had a twinkle in her eye. I stepped out of character a bit and embraced her man to wife. She stiffened with surprise, then melted into my arms. Sheila claims I give the best hugs, but I privately disagree. Hers are the best and only I get them.