Free Joint Task Force #4: Africa by David E. Meadows Page B

the hell are you talking about?” Razi said, his mind coming back to what he was doing. “No one steps in dog shit without knowing it.” Razi stood and tapped thetwo aircrew members sitting directly across from him. “ Either of you two step in dog shit?”
    “Not us, Chief,” they said in unison, small smiles crossing their faces.
    Out of the corner of his eye, Razi saw the two sailors from Naval Research Laboratory turn to watch.
    “I don’t believe you. Check your flight boots.” He pointed at Lacey. “You too, Lacey.”
    “Chief, I’m the one who smelled it—”
    The ensign stopped, unable to get by because of Razi and Lacey.
    “Which means you’re the one most likely to have it on your shoe. Quit arguing and check.”
    Behind Lacey, the ensign leaned forward watching the sailors check their shoes.
    “Not me, Chief,” one of the operators said.
    “Me either, Chief,” the other echoed.
    “And, as I told you, Chief,” Lacey said, drawing out his words. “It ain’t me, either.”
    The new flight engineer bunched up against the ensign and Lacey. She leaned around the two, forced her way to the right near the boarding hatch, stopped, and watched.
    Razi noticed her breasts first, but that was his job: Notice the finer details of his fellow chief petty officers and make sure they appreciated it. He glanced up at her face to meet hooded lids over sparkling eyes. She smiled. Well, at least she knows she got my attention.
    “Chief, you haven’t checked your flight boots. You must have stepped in it.”
    Razi sat back down on the arm of the chair. First, he lifted his right boot, showing everyone there was nothing there.
    Then, he slowly lifted his left flight boot, the sole facing toward the Lacey, the ensign, and the female flight engineer.
    Lacey burst out. “There! I told you so, Chief. You’ve got dog poop all over the bottom.”
    Razi raised his hand and waved Lacey down. “Now, now, now,” he said patronizingly. “Just because you say it is doesn’t necessary mean it’s dog poop.”
    “I can smell it. Can’t you?” Lacey asked the ensign.
    The ensign shrugged. “I don’t smell anything.”
    By now, others in the aircraft had gathered to watch.
    Razi leaned forward, getting his face as close as he could to the offending boot-bottom. “Well, Lacey, it does look like dog poop.”
    A chorus of agreements came from the onlookers and Razi smiled when he heard the ensign agree. Wow! This is going to be the best one this year.
    With great show, Razi raised his right hand, held up his index finger, and ran it through the pasty, brown peanut butter, coming up with a large dab of it on the end of his finger.
    “Looks like dog poop.”
    A chorus of “It is dog poop” and “What the hell did you think it was?” and “Damn it, man, don’t put your fingers in it” roared from the growing number of aircrew who were working their way aft. Laughter filled the fuselage.
    Razi looked around the aircraft. Lieutenant Reed opened the door to the head, stepped inside, and pulled it shut. Aircrewmen in the back, stretched their necks, trying to watch. Most of the eyes were on the ensign. The ensign stared directly at Razi’s finger.
    Razi raised the stuff near his nose. “Lacey, you may be right. I’m not wrong often, but it sure smells like dog poop.” He looked at the two sailors manning Dragnet. One grinned while the other looked awfully pale. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the new flight engineer move toward him, easing past Lacey and the ensign, but not blocking the ensign’s view.
    Razi opened his mouth, moved his finger down with its offending dab, and suddenly the new flight engineer leaned over with her finger, swiped the dab off his, and jammed it into her mouth.
    The ensign’s eyes widened and “Oh, my God’s” filled the air as she rolled the stuff around her mouth a couple of times. Razi turned toward the NRL sailors just as the palefaced one power-vomited, the mixture hitting