Foxtrot Unicorn Charlie Kilo

My friend needed to quit smoking to become a royal Baby Sitter in one of the Sarahan countries which are very dry but have many children to watch. 

She slept the first day and then promised everyone at the club that she was done with fags/harpies/cancer forever. Most of the folks went about their business with darts and dry martinis but it seemed that this friend was too confident and would go over to Africa and then get deported as soon as she asked the young Prince or Princess for a match. 

“How do you know you’re _really_ over?” 

Kelko admitted it was probably a phase of sobriety and wanted to find a sobriety club to get her first coin of obedience. It is a coin that is very coveted by some people with court appointments and whatnot. I had a different idea. 

“We should have sex, you know… to see if you really quit.” 

The sex was terrible but Kelko did not leave for a cigarette like I imagined and so I had to admit that she had passed the first test. Again, it is really terrible to be kicked out of a country that wasn’t even a caravan stop ten years ago, a country that uses the currency of others and only pretends to have a royal house because they found lithium in their rock crops. Very dangerous. 

I asked Kelko if we might continue her tests? She put on her garter belt and gun holster and said she was ready for war. We walked over to the bad part of town and the Navy Recruiter was still open because the battle against the trash circle in the Pacific had been called off. It was another false warning. 

This guy’s name was something like Gunny Sergeant Steve Ricks. Or Gunny Ricks, or maybe the title came from the Army Chaplain next door who was barely sober enough to receive us. I took the lead because I spoke a little military and explained to Ricks that we needed a stress test. 

“An ASVAB?” 

I shook the hand which indicates “no” in military talk. A hand to the brow means you give up and three fingers means that Kelko will shoot me if I don’t hurry up. 

“Do you have some kind of mortal combat simulator so that my friend can be tested?” 

Ricks had to think about this because Space Camp was closed, hazing was now illegal in California unless they had signed papers of commission and suspended the constitution. Soldiers, even Naval Soldiers, can be worked for 24 hours each day without overtime pay. They can be forced to stay up for three days in a mud storm and barbed wire and then be asked to recite poetry in High English if they want to join the diplomatic/S.E.A.L. Core. You must know how to talk to these people without signing your life away because Kelko wanted to be an Au Pair. 

He brought us to the back of the rifle range and asked if Kelko wanted to see if bullets could really pierce steel plates an inch thick? “You just stand or sit behind the plate there and your friend will try out a few of our toys.” 

This was very stressful but I worried that Kelko would have a triggered response and take that pistol out of her garter and fire back. So the test was obviously stress-response therapy but not necessarily the correct test to see if she had stopped smoking. 

“Can you maybe waterboard her or poke bamboo under her nails? “ I heard of a cage which dunked people into a cold river and I couldn’t figure out if that was a thermo-static test or if there was stress response involved to the rush of the muddy river, the pull of the current and the way the cage wouldn’t give away.

Gumby Ricks said that psychological stress was more important than physical stress. The body has muscle memory and might remember to just relax, to chill; wasn’t very useful to quit smoking, right? “Right.” 

He walked us over to the surveillance room and asked Kelko where she was born and how many siblings she knew she had. 

“Now who’s your favorite?” 

She admitted that she liked her brother, Trevor, who had always remembered her birthday and went out of his way to often compliment her choice of clothing. The Ricks punched in some commands to the old-styled computer, the display screen showed us a teenage boy using a bicycle to jump over a cone using a ramp on a street in black and white. It was tough to make out the exact face of the bicyclist but the red crosshairs on the screen were very bright. 

Ricks said, “If I press this button your brother dies. How do you feel?” 

Then he took out a sidearm and pointed it at my head like we do this all the time. “Smoking is worse than cocaine for addiction, you know.” I understood and walked closer to the red button to kill Kelko’s brother, Trevor, but Ricks didn’t say if it was a missile, a rail gun, or the new lasers out of Ukraine. (I speak a little military). 

Kelko looked entirely unmoved as I touched the button like it was her nipple. She had pink nipples but the button was red, I swirled counter-clockwise because I am left-handed, waited for a reaction…

There was no reaction. 

“Good.” 

In fact, the Sarge had me swirl over the button for more than a quick moment, he cocked the gun (which is purely for drama because technically a gun only loses 1/100th of a second with advanced cocking) and I even leaned closer to the red button so that Kelko might believe that I could push it ON ACCIDENT but this did nothing. 

Sarge was confused, “You like this brother?” 

Kelko said she liked him very much. 

“And you don’t want to see his arms dislodged from his torso by a fragmentary explosion right as he tries to jump that cone?” 

She admitted that she had no desire to see Trevor die at the moment he had succeeded in jumping the cone. 

I gave up. 

Reese smiled and said that the human immuno-nicorette system desired cigarettes directly AFTER the conflict and not during. “Can you imagine if a mother bear stopped for a smoke before swatting the hunter? Wouldn’t work.” 

So we were walked into the next area of the recruitment center which smelled like fresh Cubanos, drying Nicotiana of the Solanaceae, and it was exhausting to read all the packs of manufactured tobacco all over the table. I cocked my head and raised the hand. No need. 

“We had to test smokers during the Biden administration. Can’t have smokers down in Submarines anymore because most of the ships are below the water and the oxygen is recirculated.” 

That made sense. Kelko sat down in the pile of luxurious tobacoos and was given a Zippo lighter which is always more fun to light a cigarette. Reese was not impressed. 

“Go ahead and put a stogie in your mouth. Be sure to choose the one you used to like.”

Kelko took a Marlboro Red. I didn’t see that coming. She seemed more of a Virginia Slims/Benson & Hedges kind of girl. The cigarette dangled from her mouth and Srg. Reese brought a nice little flame closer but Kelko didn’t bend or inhale. 

“Wow. Just like Clinton. He never inhaled.” 

We sat around and Reese and I lit up, opened a small vent which secretly expelled the after-drags to the street, and talked about whether he was going to hit his recruiting goals that year. “Yeah, it’s a doozy. The new face of soldiers for the last four years has really yucked out the traditional kids we get from the bible belt. I think we need another moral war. “ 

I couldn’t help him but Kelko patted my buttocks to get off her lap. Her lap was very comfortable because she postured like stone as we sat there joshing about world problems. Reese wasn’t allowed to talk trash on the current Commander in Chiefs but simply said he didn’t want to see the military audited by Elon. Some guy had bought up all the parts companies for planes and tanks and ships and was totally raising the prices since only a few manufacturers had security clearance. Ricks feared the days when Navy bell bottom pants were primary flotation devices again. 

“So what do you think? Is she ready?”

Ricks smiled because if she got stuck by a minor African government we could still send Kelko a rescue. “Just make sure you register with the State Department and they will give you a safety checking device. It’s like an Air Tag. Don’t worry.” 

We walked out of the recruiters unsigned with the promise to send Trevor when he was ready or any of the younger people drinking too much in the bars. It was kinda cool to walk next to a victor as we returned to our part of town and I offered to give her a ride to the airport since she was obviously ready. 

“I mean if you did sneak a smoke, they wouldn’t behead you or anything, right?” 

Kelko didn’t know. They had different laws outside of the United States. 

She packed three sets of clothing, gave me her weapon, her garter, and said I could have the g-strings if I wanted. Not really my thing. When she was all folded, packed, and brought a single framed photo of her mom she was ready to tell the landlord that she wouldn’t renew but I said I would take care of the lease. 

We drove to the small metropolitan airport with gentle music (just in case), the window down, avoiding bumps, and trying not to say anything political. Kelko promised to get home if she felt the smallest necessity to sneak a smoke. Her life wasn’t worth the risk even though this job paid tons and would set her up for a long time. 

“You can handle waiting in the hangar for hours?” 

She said she had gum. 

“Cool. Cool.” 

I parked in the back lot and walked with her because exercise is supposed to minimize cravings. You should never leave your kids alone with a strange man and should not believe a professional smoker of ten years had been able to quit like that, cold turkey. Also: Dogs are part wolves, don’t trust them with meat warming up on the counter. 

We walked to the entrance and Kelko dropped her bag like we were supposed to hug each other away. Yep. 

We were just going in for the hug when her phone rang loudly and it could not be ignored. Kelko’s mother was calling because she was texted about the situation. Kelko didn’t even flinch but pressed the green button to hear the woman’s grumbling, took a cigarette out of my pocket, and walked away.