Author’s Note:
This story was published a few years ago under a different pseudonym. It contained many glaring research errors, most of which have hopefully been corrected. It is all fiction, including all military references; actions, equipment, tactics, storylines, and character history. The Frigate ‘Isle of Man’ is imaginary as is ‘Powers Island’.
I hope you enjoy it.
TK
The Beach
Amelia Stephanie Powers was dozing, laying naked in her favorite place in the world — a half-mile stretch of sandy beach along the southern shore of her family’s ancestral summer home and island, roughly in the center of Delaware Bay. It was a shallow island — a series of undulating dunes, formed by countless millennia of winter storms rolling in off the Atlantic.
A stranger would be hard-pressed to guess Amy’s age, lying here in the sand; her breasts no longer those of a teenager, but still firm and classically sculpted in shape. The flesh of her limbs and buttocks was firm and muscular — her stomach flat and hard. There was an occasional strand of gray in the thick honey-blond hair, falling to her shoulders. Shallow crows’ feet at the corners of her eyes now appeared when she laughed or frowned. Depending on the light, she might be mistaken for her mid to late 30s. In fact, she was 46 and in remarkable physical health for a woman her age.
Her whole life, Amy had preferred laying directly in the sand, rather than on a towel or beach blanket. After swimming, she liked the feel of the hot sand between her buttocks and grinding into her belly, breasts, and nipples when she lay on her stomach.
Now in the mid-afternoon sun, she rolled onto her back and squirmed, her shapely buttocks and shoulder blades molding into the sand. She could feel the heat of it, radiating up into flesh and joints. The overwhelming worries and stress of her life and career seemed to melt away as she teetered in that delicious zone between wakefulness and sleep, barely aware of her surroundings. A naval ship slowly steamed westward, a half mile or so offshore. She could hear an aircraft circling the island — a fast-moving military jet of some kind.
Many years ago, her family had developed a trick of stretching a large square of white gossamer-like material between four corner posts driven into the sand. Then they would lay under it — the material reflecting the sun’s hottest and most damaging rays. Enough sunlight still penetrated the material that a pale-skinned visitor might still burn, but it would take longer. It also helped hide naked sunbathers from low-flying aircraft, which had become a minor problem over the past couple of decades, and a much more serious issue recently. Even satellites were a concern now.
Amy and her husband Liam had been laying here for a couple of hours now — napping most of that time. She glanced at him beside her, smiling at the clumps of sand clinging to his muscular tanned buttocks. Liam was a big man, his torso, arms, and legs well developed, and thick with ropy muscle — a man who spent a lot of time in the gym keeping himself in top-notch condition. He and Amy were pretty close to the same age.
Being utterly naked under a hot August sun felt perfectly lascivious — the warmth spreading deep in her loins made her squirm even more as her thoughts wandered. They had this section of the beach entirely to themselves, so Amy was confident they wouldn’t be disturbed. There were still a couple of hours of wonderful loafing remaining before returning to the real world. With the temperature in the low 90s, she could feel the skin of her thighs, her flat muscular stomach, and her breasts cooling slightly as a gentle breeze off the bay evaporated the light sheen of sweat covering her body. The breeze also caused the white reflecting cover above them to gently undulate.
Nudity here on the southern beach of Powers Island had been a way of life for the past seven generations of her family. Family legend suggested that distant ancestors on her father’s side had skinny-dipped the very first day they’d visited the island while having a picnic lunch right on this very beach. Amy hoped the story was true. There was no question that each generation since had spent many hundreds of hours socializing, swimming in the cold waters of the bay, and laying naked in the white sand. There were decks and a pool up at the compound, where the more prudish could spend their time.
Over the years, Amy had grown up on the beach in full sight of friends and family. She had advanced through childhood, blossoming into a truly lovely young woman while swimming, sunbathing, and beachcombing the full length of the island, exactly as her maker had brought her into the world. She had her first kiss here, her first awkward fumblings with a series of boyfriends, and lost her virginity not a hundred feet from this spot, just after midnight, wrapped in a beach blanket. The memories of that night made her smile.
On this long strip of sand and scrubby saw grass, she had grieved the loss of her grandparents, then several years later, her parents. She had convalesced here from her injuries sustained in Iraq. She had suffered through the failure of her first marriage and celebrated the utter success of her second.
Her movements were enough to awaken Liam, and he glanced at her, shading his eyes from the sun.
“You were snoring,” he said, grinning.
“Oh bullshit, I don’t snore”, she replied also grinning, knowing full well that she snored like thunder.
“I’ll bet I can prove it; they probably heard you up at the house.”
She ignored him; a few minutes went by.
“I was dreaming about this place, Liam. Did I ever tell you the full unvarnished story of how our family acquired the island?”
“You’ve touched on parts of it, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard the entire story. Yeah, I’d be delighted to hear the full version.”
Amy thought about it for a minute and began. “It’s all quite fascinating. In the early 1800s, my great-great-great-great-grandfather won it in a poker game — that’s four ‘greats’ by the way, so pay attention — there’s a quiz at the end.”
“You’re shitting me — he won this entire island?”
“I shit you not. We’ve carefully researched the story and I’m convinced it’s true. Late one night in early 1827, Alexander Basil Powers was playing poker in Philadelphia with a group of very wealthy men. This was a very high-stakes game. Another player at the table was a French aristocrat whose family had been granted the island for their support and contributions during the revolutionary war. This Frenchman called Alexander’s hand and tossed the deed for the island into the pot — then failed to draw the last card he needed to complete his flush.”
“The Frenchman had never set foot on the island and considered himself lucky to avoid the $500 or so dollars that he owed the pot. He told people later that he doubted the island was worth 100 dollars, much less $500, and he was delighted to be rid of it.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Liam.
“The story goes that Alexander Powers and his pretty young wife first visited the island on a hot summer day later that year, in a sailboat they’d chartered in Cape May at the southernmost tip of New Jersey. It was breezy that day, so the captain stayed aboard at anchor in the northern lee, while the couple rowed ashore in the lifeboat. They were not impressed at first; there was no harvestable land or permanent water supply — just a small brackish pond near the western end that dried up during the heat of the summer. There was no protected harbor to moor boats. He estimated it to be a mile long and a half mile wide.”
“While he couldn’t see any immediate opportunities for the island, he was smart enough to see future potential. He wrote that there was also something about it that they liked — a special ambiance. They felt invigorated, just being there.”
“It still has plenty of that,” said Liam.
“But the next part of the story is my favorite. According to Alexander’s journal, right about where we are now, out of sight of the charter vessel, he and his wife for the first time in their lives removed all their clothing and swam naked in the bay. After their swim and still naked, they sat on a blanket and enjoyed a picnic lunch she’d prepared. Before the picnic was finished, they made love and enjoyed a short nap. Then still naked, they walked the southern shore in both directions, until late afternoon. It was almost dinnertime when they packed up, walked back across the island, and rowed out to their chartered sloop.”
“That’s amazing,” said Liam. “He definitely started a trend in your family. So y’all have been skinny-dipping here for almost 200 years.”
She nodded.
“Old Alexander was getting a bit ‘long in the tooth’ when the Civil War broke out but he was sharp enough to lease the island to the Union for a small garrison and gun emplacement to guard the entrance to the Delaware River. It was largely ineffective — Delaware Bay is so large that the Southern navy simply sailed by Powers Island to the north or south, well out of range of its battery. The lease required that all traces of the garrison with all its associated guns, bunkers, and living quarters, be removed at the end of the war and the island be left as pristine as the day they arrived. The Yankees agreed. They’d considered expropriating the island and likely would have, except for the lack of fresh water and a protected harbor.”
“No doubt you’re glad they didn’t.”
“Yes, all past generations of Powers were thankful that they didn’t. Alexander II was born in 1836, exactly nine months after his parents spent a week camped on the island — they believed he was conceived here. Alexander III was born in 1860 and lived on the island for years after the civil war ended. He built a cabin on the little hill in the center of the island. The story goes that his first son was conceived on this same beach after he and his wife spent a day swimming and sunning. The Powers’ all prospered; they and their descendants spent most of their free time vacationing here.”
“It was my great grandfather Alexander IV, born in 1885, who eventually put our family on ‘easy street’ for subsequent generations.”
“Okay, I’ve heard about this guy and his exploits during the first world war,” said Liam.
“That’s right,” said Amy. “In his mid-twenties, he enlisted in the US Navy, attending an officer training school of the day. When we entered the war in 1917, he was assigned to convoy duty in the North Sea as the Commander of a 200′ ocean-going tugboat. While towing a damaged freighter, he was attacked and badly damaged by a torpedo fired by a German U-boat. A second torpedo struck his tow, which was now taking on water and slowly sinking behind him. While laying slack in the water, much of his afterdeck ablaze from spilled bunker fuel, a lookout spotted the U-boat surface a half mile away. It began stalking Alexander’s floundering ship, apparently to administer the coupe de grace”.
“Great Granddad really should have ordered ‘Abandon Ship’, but instead, knowing that he still had steerage and steam in his boilers, he decided to play dead. When the U-boat was approximately 100 yards away, it turned broadside to finish them with its deck cannon. Alexander ordered his engines full ahead and a simultaneous 90-degree turn, ramming the U-boat amidships as it frantically tried to dive. He cut the bloody thing in two and then hauled a dozen prisoners out of the North Sea. With the assistance of their German prisoners who were given the choice of fighting fires or jumping overboard, he limped back to a dockyard in Aberdeen, Scotland.
Some men under pressure are brilliant tacticians and leaders. The Navy realized right away that Great Granddad was such a man. Within weeks, he was decorated and given another much larger command, this one a 14,000-ton Dreadnought. For the remainder of the war, he waged a campaign of terror against enemy U-boats and shipping throughout the North Sea.”
Liam was impressed. “I’m beginning to sense why you enlisted in the Navy.”
“That was part of it, but you haven’t heard the best yet. So, while Great Granddad was on leave in Scotland, he looked up some family and was welcomed like the long-lost prodigal son. They still remembered stories of the original Alexander who’d immigrated to the US almost a hundred years earlier. They all stayed in touch after the war — many of the Scottish Powers traveled to the US to visit Great Granddad’s family.”
“Do you still have family there?”
“Oh sure, all kinds. They were quite wealthy thanks to their numerous whisky distilleries. Can you see what’s coming here?” she asked, grinning.
“Oh, good Christ,” said Liam. “Don’t tell me….”
“You’re jumping ahead, my oh-so-clever-and-hunky-husband. The Powers family has never admitted it, but the genesis of our family fortune was associated with Scotch whisky. After the war when ‘Uncle Sam’ so foolishly snatched away our beloved spirits, millions of thirsty citizens immediately began searching for new sources. Many public-minded entrepreneurs leaped into the breach to keep the tipple flowing.”
“For Christ’s sake, your ancestors were rum-runners…” said Liam, laughing heartily.
Amy laughed with him. “Please… scotch runners; not rum. I know you’ll keep this part between us — it’s not widely known. Anyway, during that first month of prohibition, Alexander received a telegram suggesting that at his earliest convenience, he should visit Scotland for a business proposal. Six months later, Great Granddad was at the helm of a deep-water trawler he’d just purchased in Rotterdam. It was financed by a Scottish bank owned by one of his cousins who’d made a fortune in whisky. In Alexander’s holds were a thousand cases of high quality, single-malt scotch whisky — around 20 tons of it.”
“A few days later, the entire cargo was hidden in a concrete bunker that Alexander had commissioned, right on top of the little hill in the center of Powers’ Island. From there, he arranged for deliveries in the dead of night, to various secret landing sites along the Delaware River. He had spies stationed at strategic points who lit signal fires if Government boats were sighted. In the 12 years that Great Granddad quenched the thirst of countless wealthy whisky connoisseurs, he was never caught. He and our overseas Scottish family became stinking rich. By carefully investing his profits, Alexander’s net worth was over ten million dollars in 1933, when Prohibition was repealed.
Liam let out a long slow whistle. “Unbelievable — that’d be like a hundred million in today’s dollars?”
“Closer to a quarter-billion,” said Amy. “With his new fortune, he had a cove dredged on the northern shore of the island. During the previous decade, all of their illegal cargo had been brought ashore in long, shallow-draft speed boats. After the dredging was complete, Alexander’s new 120-foot yacht could slip into the protected cove, and tie up at his new deep-water wharf.”
“Then he began construction of an 8,000 square foot manner, built partially atop the old concrete bunker that had hidden and protected so many thousands of cases of whisky. The bunker was waterproofed and turned into a cistern to store water from the estate’s complex rainwater catchment system. Thanks to wild Atlantic storms, the cistern was full in two years. Since the late 30s, we’ve never run out of water, even during blistering hot summer months. He even had the swimming pool installed, although the family didn’t use it much, preferring the beach and ocean.”
“Well, I’ll be Goddamned,” said Liam. “I thought the cistern had been designed and built, specifically to store water. That’s amazing.”
“Yep,” said Amy. “And Great Granddad wasn’t the last of the Powers warriors. My grandfather, Alexander V, was born in 1905 — also having been conceived on Powers’ Island, by the way. In 1937 with war imminent in Europe, he followed in his father’s footsteps and enlisted in the US Navy officer training program. Over the next four years, he rose in rank to Lieutenant Commander and was commissioned to a 1,400-ton Tacoma class Frigate called the Isle of Skye, serving in the Pacific theater. Being his father’s son may have influenced the promotions board somewhat.”
“Ya think?” asked Liam.
Amy smiled. “He was second in command. On the evening of December 6, 1941, his CO was on shore leave, pissed to the gills at a fancy party hosted by the Territorial Governor at his mansion in Honolulu. Granddad spoke to the CO by phone that evening, strongly advising that they sail — something was happening that didn’t smell right. His CO had forbidden it, suggesting that he would have Granddad’s ass thrown in the brig if he heard another word of this bullshit.”
“Granddad had been sitting for hours in the communications room that day and evening, listening to Allied reports from all over the central Pacific, the radio operator continuously scanning hundreds of radio frequencies. What he was hearing and some sixth sense, told Grandad something was seriously fucked up. He felt that the entire fleet being moored there in Pearl — like sitting ducks — was an error of incalculable magnitude.”
“So just before midnight on December 6, 1941, Granddad risked his entire career when he ordered their mooring lines cast off and piloted the Isle of Skye through Pearl Harbor and out to sea. Early the following morning, his badly hungover CO was getting orders cut for another ship to chase the Skye and have Granddad clapped in irons. He probably would have too, except that at that moment, the first wave of Japanese aircraft appeared on the horizon. His CO was among the first to die, the victim of a bomb crashing through the roof of the headquarters building he was standing in.”
“Holy shit, I can’t even imagine what it would have been like that morning,” said Liam.
“Me either,” said Amy. “Granddad was now the temporary CO of his ship. As the first reports of the raid were broadcast, he sounded ‘General Quarters’ and set a reverse course for Honolulu, now eighty nautical miles south-southwest of their position. Cruising at maximum speed, thirty minutes later they spotted stragglers from the last wave of Japanese bombers flying in formation back to their carriers. The enemy’s bomb racks were empty of course, but most of them had machine gun rounds left in their magazines. Several of them peeled away from the formation, apparently to strafe his ship. Granddad ordered his anti-aircraft crews to open fire and they shot down four of them, even rescuing one pilot, and taking him prisoner. The Spirit of Skye took several hundred 50mm rounds along her superstructure and decks, but none of his crew were killed or even seriously injured.”
“Instead of being charged with mutiny, Granddad was decorated for his initiative and valor under fire. If his CO had survived, Granddad likely would have been court marshaled. He served the rest of the war with distinction, commanding his ship through many historical Pacific sea battles, and earning numerous decorations and commendations. He was quite a guy and he was my hero when I was a little girl.”
Amy was a little misty-eyed as she finished this part of the story, wiping away tears with her fingers.
“I think you know the rest, Liam. Before enlisting, Granddad had graduated from the Yale School of Law. When the war was over, he returned to a Washington DC firm where he’d articled before enlisting. Five years later he started his own firm. Over the next twenty years, Powers and Associates grew to be the largest, most influential law firm in the city. He’d used some of the family fortune to finance his start-up, and by his fortieth birthday, he’d doubled it. And doubled it again by his fiftieth. Our family was now into some serious dough.”
“I didn’t know most of that,” said Liam. “The story of him bugging out of Pearl is legendary, of course…”
“Yeah, he was quite a guy. But there’s one last chapter to the story. My dad was born in ’41. He was the first Powers born right here on the island in the family compound. Right in our master bedroom. He was a bright young man and like many previous generations of Powers, loved his time here on the island.”
“Yes, I recall hearing that before. Your grandmother was very brave, giving birth that far from a hospital. Thank God nothing went wrong…”
“Yep. She had a midwife she trusted and was examined at Walter Reed a week before.”
“In his late 20s, Dad was paying a lot of attention to a war developing in Southeast Asia. As the USA became more and more involved, Dad knew he was going to be drafted. He’d graduated with honors from the Yale school of law in his early 20s and now practiced with the family firm.”
“Dad could easily have found a way to avoid service, or enlisted as a JAG lawyer, but instead, two years later, he was flying an F4 Phantom II. He was shot down twice over Vietnam, each time ejecting and parachuting to safety. Once in friendly territory; the second behind enemy lines, with a dislocated shoulder and concussion. He managed to dig in with his good arm and hide for two days until he was rescued. Probably by a bunch of guys just like you.”
“The Navy decided that the war was over for him. He was awarded the Distinguished Service Medal and a Purple Heart. He and Mom spent a month on Powers Island as he rested and recuperated before returning to the family law firm. Mom eventually told me that one hot sunny afternoon, after lazing and swimming naked most of the day, like many previous Powers’ generations, they made love on this very beach.”
Liam was amazed. “Your mom told you that?”
“Well in her own way, she did. She kind of let me figure it out for myself. But the funny thing is, nine months later, the great-great-great-great-granddaughter of the original Alexander Powers was born in the Providence General Hospital. And guess who that little girl turned out to be?”
“Well let me see…” said Liam, as though deep in thought.
Amy laughed. “I was the first female oldest child in a Powers’ household for the past 180 or so years.”
Liam was spellbound listening to this last part. He’d heard many snippets of this story before, but never completely pieced all together as Amy had just told it.
“Baby, it seems you’re going to leave the biggest mark on your family history of all the Powers before you,” he said. “That is quite a story. Have any Smithsonian historians been in touch with you, to get this all carefully recorded?”
“They have… and of course, you’re going to be an important part of it, too.”
“Oh, bullshit… I was just along for the ride,” said Liam.
“And a big steaming pile of bullshit right back at you, baby… I was there too, and that’s not my recollection. Hey, it’s been over a decade now; just exactly how do you remember that night?”
“Well, I recall you telling me that your ‘ex’ was likely the reason for it. Maybe I owe him a debt of gratitude. If it wasn’t for my team’s assignment that night, you and I might never have met.”
Liam was smiling at the memory of their first meeting. Few couples are introduced the way they had been — under fire in an enemy POW camp. “Do you ever hear from Greg?”
“It’s been a couple of years now, but we’re okay. We reconnected and patched things up to avoid uncomfortable press coverage. As you know, my current job makes it pretty much impossible to socialize with old friends.”
“Yeah, I get that…” he said. “That’s one of my many duties; to keep you amused with my lively conversational skills.”
Amy laughed out loud. “Those are not the skills that I like the most. You have some other talents I enjoy considerably more.”
In the back of Amy’s mind, she was thinking about her ex — she and Greg had been married for six years. She’d gained access to her trust fund the year she turned 30; overnight worth a half-billion dollars. Family lawyers had insisted that Greg sign an ironclad ‘prenup’ when they’d married. While attending Ivy League schools in the east, Amy had earned two degrees; a Bachelor of Political Science, then a Bachelor of Law, while he’d struggled with his Bachelor of Arts. He’d been a good husband and friend but had become overwhelmed with her successes and wealth.
They had a common love of flying. Amy’s first name was in honor of Amelia Earhart, an old friend of her great-grandfather. Amy bought and sold several light aircraft in her teens, and became a highly competent pilot before joining the Navel Reserves in her mid-20s. Her father had served in the navy in Vietnam, her grandfather in WW2, and her great-grandfather in WW1 — she felt it was her duty to carry on the line of Powers’ warriors. After graduating with her second degree and working for a couple of years at the family’s DC law firm, she entered Officer Candidate School, and two years later became one of the country’s first woman fighter pilots, promoted to the rank of Lieutenant.
The year she graduated from the Navel Officer Training School, Lieutenant Amelia Powers spent most of her summer on Powers Island with Greg, before shipping out to the middle east on her first assignment. That had been her final summer of youthful carefree innocence.
Liam had been mulling all of this over. “I recall that you were deployed to a carrier, the USS Enterprise, patrolling in the Persian Gulf. And right about then, you learned through your company’s private cops that Greg had taken a mistress. That must have sucked the life out of you.”
“Yeah, it sure did. I’ve used it as an excuse for what happened but that’s bullshit — it was all me — I fucked up. About a week later, I was flying a F/A-18C Hornet on what should have been an uneventful patrol over northern Iraq. The flight was so routine, I got obsessing about that cheating, no-good bastard Greg, and didn’t react as quickly as I should have when alarms started going off. It was a SAM bearing in and I was seconds late dumping chafe and evading. It exploded a hundred or so feet behind me and shrapnel damaged my airframe so badly, I had to descend. At 5,000 feet my wingman could see leaking fuel and hydraulic oil and informed me that this bird wasn’t making it home. So just as I ran out of fuel, I pulled the fucking handle. When the ejection seat exploded out of the cockpit, a piece of the canopy fouled my parachute cords so I fell faster than optimal.”
Liam looked pained. “Jesus Christ Amy, that must have been terrifying…”
“It was. I hit the ground hard and knew instantly that my back was injured — maybe seriously. My left arm was fractured just below the elbow. A half-hour later, before a rescue mission could be launched, a small band of ragged-ass Iraqi soldiers, waving and shooting their assault rifles into the sky like a gang of fucking Keystone cops, came roaring up in a battered Toyota Tundra. With my broken arm and possibly back, I couldn’t pull my handgun out of its holster; I didn’t even try to resist.”
“When they discovered that the pilot was a young woman, the Iraqi bastards immediately ripped away all my uniform and underwear and were working themselves up to gang rape me right there on the spot.”
Amy was having difficulty telling the story now. Liam was fuzzy on this part and was getting angry, just hearing it again.
“I recall you saying that their officer; an older guy, stopped them. Maybe he had a daughter around your age.”
Amy shook her head. “I think he understood the repercussions of sexually abusing a woman pilot. The American vengeance would be cataclysmic, possibly escalating the war to a new level. He likely didn’t want that on his head, but he did allow them to beat the shit out of me. They smashed my nose and blackened my eyes until they were swollen shut. Three of my front teeth were knocked out; my lips split open where a rifle butt connected.”
Liam was nodding. “I remember the first time I saw you; your nose was still as crooked as a snake and there was a big gap in your front teeth. I still thought you were the most gorgeous woman I’d ever laid eyes on.”
Her face relaxed and she smiled. “Ahhh Liam, you are such a wonderful liar. One of these days, I might actually believe that horseshit.”
“As you know, I bullshit you all the time darlin’, but that particular factoid is the Gospel truth.”
She smiled at him, then frowned as she carried on with her story. “They took me to a compound on the outskirts of Duhok and threw me into a filthy rat-infested cell with a stone floor and an equally filthy tin bucket for a toilet. There was straw for bedding. The fuckers ignored my injuries and let them heal on their own with no examination by a doctor. I was humiliated daily; often paraded in front of the guards and officers, and occasionally in irons, marched through an adjacent village and market, dressed in a filthy prison uniform. Some days they stripped me naked in my cell and all the guards took turns leering through the barred opening in the door. I didn’t mind the nakedness — I’ve been seen naked throughout my life. It was the fact that they forced me to do it that made me fucking crazy with rage, although I was careful to never let them know that.”
“Six months later, someone quietly unlocked my cell door a few hours after dark. At first, I was sure this was going to be an attack and made ready to defend myself, thinking this might be the end. But whoever it was, slipped a package inside and relocked the door. It was a burlap sack containing a tiny Maglite, a bottle of water, a half-dozen energy bars, and a semi-automatic handgun with a spare clip attached to the barrel with an elastic band. At the bottom, I found a tiny recorder with a coiled earbud. Five minutes later, after listening to the coded message, I knew you guys were on the way. I hid all the stuff under the straw. They hadn’t searched my cell for several weeks, so I was sure I’d be okay for 24 hours.”
“The next night at 3:00 AM, I was wide awake and shocked when I suddenly heard the ‘whomp whomp whomp’ of your helicopters. They just seemed to arrive out of nowhere.”
Now Liam smiled. “It was a hell of a ride, baby. We descended three miles at the same approximate speed as a falling anvil, so like you, the prison only became aware of our presence seconds before we landed in their compound. There were eight of us, poured out through the side hatches. Helo #2 circled the compound, hosing the place down with devastating waves of machine gun fire into anything other than us SEALS. It launched missiles into the gun emplacements positioned around and on top of the prison, blasting them to rubble. It was a hellscape.”
The telling of the story faded; each lost in their thoughts and recollections.
Inside the prison, the lights came on in the corridor outside Amy’s cell. She was ready when she heard a guard running down the hallway towards her cell — this guy had been a particularly sadistic bastard who especially enjoyed leering at her naked body through the opening in her door. As the guard rushed in, he was shocked to see her grinning at him, in a two-handed stance; a large-bore handgun leveled at his chest. Six months had gone by, and while her arm had not healed perfectly straight, it felt just fine as she pulled the trigger, instantly feeling the recoil. The bullet caught her tormentor in the center of his right eye; he was dead before his body hit the floor — a good portion of his brain splattered against the cell wall. Another guard appeared behind the first; she dropped him, too. She remained where she was, rather than trying to run out on her own, maybe getting in someone’s way. Then she heard an American accent down the hallway yelling her name — the troops had arrived.
The next man to fill her cell door wore Navy SEAL battle fatigues, festooned with grenades and other implements of war, carrying a space-age-looking weapon with an infrared scope. Amy lowered her handgun. The SEAL looked carefully at Amy’s face, instantly recognizing her from the hundreds of photos he’d studied.
“Good evening, Ma’am,” he said. “And how’s your day going so far?” He was beside her in an instant, his arm around her waist, nearly lifting her off the floor. “Can you walk, Ma’am?”
“Yes,” she replied, euphoric that she was being rescued. She sensed this guy was big enough that he’d physically carry her if need be.
“Master Chief Petty Officer Liam Brodie at your service Ma’am; might I interest you in a pleasant stroll out to our awaiting limo?”
Amy understood from his rank that he was the CO of this team. She turned and looked at his face, astonished that he was teasing her, trying to put her at ease. While he was smiling slightly, she could see in his eyes that he was tense and that the route to the helicopter outside was going to be perilous. The sounds of fully automatic gunfire and explosions were all around them now, inside and outside the building. But his relaxed nature was having the desired effect — she felt much of her tension dissipate. She couldn’t help but notice that he was a good-looking son of a bitch, too; his pale blue eyes drilling into hers, evaluating her mental capacity to survive the next few minutes.
“Thank you so much for this lovely visit, Master Chief,” she said. “I would be delighted to take that stroll.” She managed to smile back at him.
He crooked his arm as though inviting her to accompany him out onto a dance floor. She hooked her arm through his and they walked together out the cell door into the corridor, her gun still clenched in her left hand. He instantly had his arm around her again, supporting and propelling her forward. Now there were heavily armed SEALs in front of them leading the way, and behind, covering their backsides. A minute later, after scrambling through a ten-foot hole blasted through the compound’s two-foot thick masonry wall, they all dove through the side hatches of a Blackhawk helicopter hovering light on its landing gear.
As the two helicopters rose and raced away from the prison, an order was relayed to a USAF light bomber flying 40,000 feet overhead. The pilot immediately released two 10-ton bombs which began homing in on a radio beacon left behind by the SEALS. After falling for almost two minutes, both bombs impacted less than fifty feet apart in the prison compound. At first light the following morning, all that remained was a crater 200 feet in diameter and 50 feet deep, with no identifiable structure remaining within a hundred yards of the rim — just enormous piles of fractured concrete and smoldering rubble.
*****
Despite the heat here on the island beach, a tear leaked from Amy’s eye. “Did I ever tell you you’re my hero?” she asked Liam, who was borderline emotional himself.
“Yeah baby, you did. But remember, this is what they call a mutual admiration society. You’re my hero, too.”
A few minutes later, Liam arose and announced that he was heading up to the house to fetch a couple of cold beers and a snack of some kind. He slipped on a pair of cargo shorts and a tee shirt — there were several staff working up there. He slapped her buttocks playfully and a few seconds later was out of sight. Amy’s mind continued replaying the year after her rescue.
She was a month in the hospital, recovering from back surgery to correct the damage done after ejecting over Iraq. She’d also had extensive plastic surgery to repair the facial scars and flattened nose, from her beatings at the hands of her captors and jailers. Her broken arm had been rebroken and straightened — this operation caused the most pain over the following month. A skilled dental surgeon fit new embedded teeth, replacing the ones lost or beyond repair.
But it was the mental wounds that seemed to linger the longest.
As she recovered, her most frequent visitor was 38-year-old Master Chief Petty Officer Liam Brodie, the SEAL team leader who’d first entered her cell during her rescue. It had been his last assignment before retirement after 20 years in the Navy. He’d registered a little start-up company in DC, providing specialized protection and security to anyone who needed and could afford it. Amy’s family firm already had an extensive security group, but she hired Brodie’s company anyway — it might help him get established a little quicker — he sure as hell deserved it.
After being discharged from the hospital, Amy took a helicopter over to Powers Island to recover. It was early June and she spent almost three months there, lying naked on the beach every warm day, swimming in Delaware Bay, and walking for hours on cooler days. The sun, sand, and the powerful memories of her family and their ancestors, had been more therapeutic than a year of talking to the ‘shrinks’ at Walter Reed. By the end of the summer, the swelling and scars from her facial wounds and other surgeries had almost disappeared, thanks to the therapeutic healing power of the sun and salt air.
Although there was very little threat to her security on the island, Brodie spent much time there that summer, ensuring that she was safe. At night they sat together near a small driftwood fire, drinking beer, as she relived her time in the Iraqi prison. He was one of the few people in the world who could understand what she had experienced, and the effects it was having on her in the months afterward.
After recovering, she returned to work at the family law firm in DC. Her grandfather had launched it back in the 40s; her father had inherited it and worked his entire career there, and now she was the majority shareholder. Having dropped Greg’s last name after their divorce, her maiden name was already on the door. She prospered there; the sensitive work came naturally to her. She’d known and understood the firm’s wealthy, connected, and entitled clientele, all of her life.
Her foray into politics came naturally, too. She was retained by a Republican presidential candidate, to sue a newspaper for libel for something they’d printed about him. After some investigation, she learned that much of what the paper had printed was true. She’d convinced her client not to sue, but instead, to make a short statement about the situation, at his next stump speech — she wrote the bit herself. It was hilariously funny, mostly self-deprecating humor, but also telling an anecdote about the reporter who’d written the offending story. Even the reporter had laughed when he read the transcript the next day. But the trick worked — reduced to ridiculousness, the issue was quickly forgotten by both parties.
The candidate was eventually passed over for a run at the presidency, but no one forgot how efficiently a nasty situation had been neutralized by an emerging power broker named Amelia Powers.
Over the next few years, she was courted by both the Democrats and Republicans, to join their ranks. She eventually did, choosing the Democrats, although secretly, she leaned a bit further right than her party. She started as a backroom fundraiser and power broker, to chairing a committee that developed party policy and direction. Within five years, she was still not a household name, but certainly well-known and respected on both sides of the aisle on Capitol Hill. She had appeared many times on CNN and FOX News, offering opinions on a range of complex subjects.
To say that Liam Brodie and Amy Powers became ‘close’ during her summer of recovery would be wild understatement. Two summers later during a romantic weekend at Powers Island, both of them naked and sunbathing on the beach, Liam rose, positioned himself on one knee, and officially popped the question that they both knew was overdue.
They married a few months later, right in the same spot where he’d proposed. It was one of the rare occasions when everyone there was fully clothed, although it was casual beach attire and bare feet. Amy wore a form-fitting white sun dress with a big floppy white hat covered with flowers, and Liam an oversized Hawaiian shirt, white cotton pants with the cuffs rolled up to mid-calf, and a Panama hat. The Justice of the Peace wore white cargo shorts and an untucked yellow sport shirt. There were perhaps a hundred close friends and family there, to share the day.
Liam’s best man was the pilot of the Blackhawk helicopter that had flown Amy and Liam’s SEAL team away from her former prison. Every member of the team who’d participated in the raid was there. She posed for several pictures with them; her favorite with the team all around her, holding her like they were all her big brothers. In the years that followed, she would tear up every time she looked at it. In her current job, she kept her massive oak desk clear except for two telephones on one side and this photo on the other.
Liam fit into the Powers’ family and their island retreat like he’d been there his whole life.
*****
Amy had been asleep and awoke to movement at her side. Liam was back with a little cooler. He peeled off his shorts and shirt, opened the cooler, and brought out a couple of ice-cold Coronas and a plastic-sealed box containing a selection of very tasty-looking sandwiches. She sat up and they chatted while sipping the beer and enjoying the elegantly prepared food.
“We wouldn’t want it to get out that you’re drinking Mexican beer,” said Liam.
“So who’s going to tell?” she asked, laughing. The house staff was sworn to secrecy about anything that happened here on the island.
As they ate, Amy slowly shifted her body until she was sitting in the sand, directly facing Liam, her legs slightly spread, and her elbows on her raised knees, so he had a nice view of her breasts and privates.
Gawd, he was so easy, bless his heart. He was an absolute sucker for an unobstructed view of her lithe little body; she could see his cock, tanned as brown as the rest of his body, gently expanding alongside his inner thigh. Whenever she felt like a little lovin’ might be in order, all she had to do was flash him a bit, and he was putty in her hands.
They didn’t need to talk; he just moved to her and they lay back, side by side in the sand under the center of the gossamer sheet above them, waving gently in the breeze. He had a quick look around, just to make sure there were no people in sight. There shouldn’t be. He’d left instructions up at the house — they were not to be disturbed or even approached unless it was a life-threatening emergency. And there was to be lots of ‘calling out loud’ for at least thirty seconds before they were approached.
“Amy, have I told you lately how fucking hot you are?” Liam asked, smiling lustfully at her.
“No, it’s been too long. My goddamned job is getting in the way of your compliments… Please go ahead and tell me whatever you like, baby — and take your time…” Smiling, she batted her eyes at him seductively.
He laughed back. “Even though it’s been — what is it now — 10 or 11 years? Every time I look at you, my heart stops a little bit. Now in your mid-40s, you are getting hotter every day. You are the sexiest fucking woman I have ever laid eyes on. Brace yourself, baby… I’m gonna have my way with you, right here and now.”
“Enough talk, big guy; let’s see a little more action…,” she said, smiling lecherously at him.
He immediately rolled onto her, his weight transferred to his elbows so he didn’t crush her, his lips grinding against hers. Their tongues seemed to have minds of their own, darting back and forth. Both were breathing heavier now and Liam was fully erect and hard; pressing urgently against one of her hips. Her hand slipped down, finding him, caressing him, and feeling the heat of his member in the palm of her hand.
He broke free of her embrace and began moving down her body, spending a minute licking and suckling her hard little nipples. It looked like she was making a slow-motion snow angel in the sand as her limbs writhed in pleasure. Now his face moved down across her stomach.
Up until a couple of years ago, every ten days she had visited a discreet little spa not far from their home, where various beauty services were offered. She had her legs and nether regions waxed until the entire area around her lady bits, right back between her buttocks, were rendered shiny pink and as smooth as silk. She did it because Liam loved it. Nowadays there was no time for such frivolities and it was too dangerous to go on her own, so she’d given it up.
But due to the years of waxing, only a fraction of the hair grew back, and what did might have been created by a silkworm. A few gentle strokes with a safety razor in the shower and it was mostly gone. Liam lingered here, licking gently and deeply while providing stimulation to the tiny bud in the center of her with his fingertips and tongue. After five minutes of his undivided attention, her entire body was undulating as stabs of pleasure rebounded through her nervous system like little lightning bolts. She moaned continuously and suddenly stiffened; her eyes tightly clenched shut.
Now he moved back up her body revisiting her breasts and ultrasensitive nipples. Then she began to move down his body, kissing everything she encountered along the way. The fire was lit in her and she wanted him desperately, but by God, she intended to pay him back for the excruciatingly powerful sensations he’d just provided her.
The sensations were overpowering for him too, as his rock-hard cock slipped between her lips, her tongue constantly massaging his glans from within. It felt both cool and hot inside her mouth, and he laid back in the sand, almost overcome with the waves of almost painful pleasure coursing through his body, thanks to her special talents. He knew he couldn’t last much longer with this much erotic stimulation, and he gently pulled back, letting her know she should move back up.
“I don’t know about you baby, but I’m ready,” he said, looking directly into her eyes, as she moved alongside him, rolling onto her back, pulling him to her.
“Do it, baby… so am I.”
Now he mounted her. In their bedroom, they might have spent an extra half hour or longer with their foreplay, but today it wasn’t necessary. They had learned the hard way, that too much rolling around on the beach while making love, might cause sand to accumulate uncomfortably in certain areas. Their bodies were slick; shiny with perspiration as their temperatures rose from the exertion and excitement and the heat of the sun baking into the sand.
Amy looked at Liam now in a push-up position above her and ran her hands up his powerful forearms and biceps; then across his chest, marveling at how hot he was. His body was just as good today, as when he’d still been an active SEAL. A drop of sweat dripped from the tip of his nose onto her breasts, and she took his face in the palms of her hands, rubbing the beads away from his forehead and cheeks. Every time they made love here, she was overcome with how perfect it was and didn’t think they could ever match the excitement and fever. But the next time, they always did.
“You are so fucking hot, Liam… Oh my God, that feels so fucking good…! Give me everything you’ve got, baby…!” She raised her legs and pulled her knees back to her shoulders, stretching the flesh of her buttocks and loins taunt and presenting her glowing labia to his view.
Amy could be the consummate refined woman in the real world — a perfect lady. But when she was naked and her hair messed up and her face glowing pink from the building sexual tension, and she let loose with her graphic dirty talk, she was so outrageously erotic that Liam occasionally lost control, and he did now, pounding into her with all his strength.
It is possible that their cries and moans and his pounding might be overheard by staff members up at the house, but if so, none of them would ever say a word. It only took another minute and it was over — Liam making more noise than Amy, with his deep guttural groans as he finished. The look of sublime ecstasy on his face had driven her over the edge too, for the second or possibly third time. Then they just lay there, arms and legs entangled, their sweat intermingling with the juices of their lovemaking, running down their bodies into the sand.
Amy thought she might cry — her sense of contentment and happiness was nearly overpowering. The lovemaking had been so powerful and all-consuming, with this amazing man whom she loved so much, and who’d risked his life to save hers. After another minute, Liam rolled onto his back beside her, and they lay panting, her head in the crook of his arm; the breezes off the bay evaporating the sweat on their bodies. Soon they were both asleep.
A half-hour later, Amy whispered to Liam. “It’s time baby… Damn, I wish we could have stayed for another couple of days…”
They pulled on their shorts and shirts, collected their things, and headed up to the house. Inside, they both consulted with different staff members, with different areas of responsibility. There was movement outside — men ranging out from the house to their various posts around the compound. She and Liam headed for the master suite and showered together, which almost resulted in further delay.
“Five years ago, we’d have been here for another hour,” said Liam, smiling as he reached around from behind and soaped her breasts. The floor of the shower was gritty with sand that had washed out of their hair and various body crevices.
“Five minutes ago, we would have stayed…” said Amy, leering back at him. “But they tell me we have to get moving — something’s up back at the office. Our ride’s on the way.”
She was another half hour, drying her hair, applying some light makeup, and slipping into a summery business suit which felt terrible, having been naked all day. Liam was quicker, now dressed in a custom-tailored suit cut from a light summer fabric, a pristine short-sleeved white shirt, and a yellow patterned tie. When she came out of her dressing room, Liam stopped what he was doing and stared at her, fanning his face, suggesting that the sight of her was making him hot. She came to him, taking him in her arms.
“Oh Liam, you are such a magnificent bullshitter. Thank you for putting up with me. Does that suit feel as awful as mine? My God it looks good on you… actually, you make it look good.”
“It’s not so bad, baby…” he said as he hugged her back, smiling. “And it ain’t bullshit… You’ve still got it… you are the hottest damn woman in public service.”
“Thanks for that lover, but there are thousands of good-looking young women coming up through the ranks. I’m getting a bit long in the tooth to compete with them in the looks department, I’m afraid.”
“Well, none of them are going to argue with you about it…” They both chuckled.
Now they could hear the helicopter to the west, as it approached the small landing pad a hundred yards from the side of the house. It was air-conditioned inside the house and would be in the big chopper, so it was just a quick, short walk in the late afternoon heat. As they neared the idling helicopter, Amy and Liam now heard a military aircraft of some kind, circling the island — Liam smiled and pointed at its rapidly moving contrail, just to the north.
“One of your buddies?” he asked. She had a special soft spot for military aircrews; especially fighter pilots. They were a breed that she understood well.
Just over an hour later, the helicopter began its descent. Liam and Amy sat together in a plush upholstered seat at the front of the cabin; both reading and catching up with e-mail and texts on their IPADs. Four staff members were also busy on PCs and IPADS in the rows of seats behind them. Below was a huge emerald lawn in the center of the city — a towering granite obelisk just to the south. As the helicopter landed, three people who’d been standing off to one side of the lawn, started walking briskly toward them. A door hatch was opened from the outside and a minute later when the rotors finally stopped, Amy headed for the exit; Liam several steps behind her. As she descended the stairs to the freshly cut grass, two young marines in immaculate starched dress uniforms, stood at rigid attention at either side. She saluted the young men as she passed.
A middle-aged, balding man wearing a suit approached her; an expensive leather attaché case in one hand. He fell into step beside her as they headed briskly towards the large white building a hundred yards away.
“Welcome home, Madam President. I trust you and the First Gentleman had a restful visit to the island?”
The End