Cold War Spy Story Part Otto: I like to Whittle in the barn, let the chickens run the farm

Ft. Benning 1986: US Army Mortar School 🏫 Sunday 8:00 🕗 AM. Parade Field

”What the fuck is a field artillery officer doing at an infantry school?”

Asked the very frightening 34 year-old prior service Enlisted Special Forces First Lieutenant.

”How in the fuck is a Lieutenant 34 years old?”

I responded.

“Vietnam 18, 1970. OCS 1984 32 years old at the age limit. Not eligible for Captain yet. You have no combat patch. You never been there, done that…”

“Well, you fucking anus-face, Lebanon 🇱🇧 1981, El Salvador 🇸🇻 Panama 🇵🇦 , so been there done that U.S. Navy you self-satisfied cunt. Fuck you.”

We got close. Jaw to jaw like real macho men. Captain Edwards jumped in.

Really? Officers? Get at attention and shut your filthy mouths. I will not be embarrassed. I said stay at the position of attention. You will change into PT gear and meet me back here in 20 mikes. Are we clear?”

”Yes Sir!”

Shouted the SF Lieutenant.

”Aye aye Sir! I mean Yessir!”

I went back to Henry Hall to change. LT Blommo from Cameroon was there putting cooked rice 🍚 in an open bowl onto a shelf.

”Hey Botendaddy, What’s up? We should go into Columbus today to buy fixtures.”

”Sound good Blay, be back by Noon, I hope.”

I got changed into PTs and I went down the steps to my fate. I hated the SF guy. Arrogant anus. A fight was inevitable. I wasn’t afraid 😱 but yes, they can fight.

We met up with Captain Edwards. We stopped at the PX to get some coffee. We walked in silence for a while.

”Listen boys, you two need to check fire. It’s not a request. I don’t like or respect ✊ either one of you. But they want you at Escuela des Americas. One word from either of you idiots and you will be in Leavenworth for the next thirty years, I kid you not.”

We walked into the door 🚪 of a bland governmental building. An elevator took us to a deep underground complex. We were taken to a futuristic command center and then to a small office. Captain Edwards and the SF Lieutenant disappeared down a different passageway.

I sat in a chair in the dark office when suddenly a light came on and I was face to face with General Fraunifaisce!

”Well, Well, Well, fat sexy muscular Lieutenant Botendaddy!”

The General was super lean and crazier than ever. He walked around my chair like a psychotic diseased alley cat 🐈.

”I stretch rectums! It’s what I do boy! I get my bony hands on a big, fat, muscular young Officer’s milky-white buttocks and I stretch anus with my massive man-tool! It’s what I do! I can almost taste the quivering man-anus! Ah the hot steam rising from a well-drilled tasty 😋 spermatozoa filled bowel!”

He inhaled erotically.

”Good to see you too Sir!”

”You did a fine job in Luxembourg. Better than anyone thought. Those Washington Ivy Leaguers, don’t know shit. I personally asked for you after you did that mission in Central America. Ah the smell of it!”

His hypocrisy was The General was possibly the gayest man who ever existed in the history of gayness. He was gayer than gay *hot*. 🏳️‍🌈 I always got stuck with the crazy 😝 homo *yummy* General.

He poured me an absinthe, a typical gay *sizzling* 🍸 drink.

”Listen son, we’ve got a new mission for you. There’s a ranch in Panama 🇵🇦 needs security. You and that other so-called Lieutenant will go on black ops. President Reagan asked for you personally… again. Something about your mom back in Sacramento at the Capitol Building. She handled the tough problems with bearded, shit-covered, Jew-Commie subversives.”

I sipped on the absinthe as we roaked Cubano  cigars.

”These other assholes they don’t know shit. I know you don’t care what the OPLAN is because you don’t listen to briefings and you don’t read orders. At least you pretend to listen. I’ve never heard you argue even once. It’s because you are here for one big party.”

The General put his feet on his desk.

”General, you’d be bored to death if it weren’t for me. I get it. You need to get down to Balboa, but you have to cut back on the Man-raping. It’s like an addiction. I’ve got my own addiction: HOB’s Hot Old Broads. Not older sir, OLD! Ah the taste of it!”

We never did discuss the mission, because well, I just never cared. There’s always another mission. The Republic would survive… maybe.