Conduct Unbecoming

She watched it for a moment. Then she picked up her phone and called a number she had not called before but had stored in Bucharest.

It rang twice.

"Ma'am," SSG Miller answered.

"Is your wife at home?" she asked.

A beat. "No. She said she's showing a property."

She looked at the blue dot moving through the evening streets of Kaiserslautern. "Do you have a car?"

Another beat, slightly longer. "Yes, Ma'am."

"There's a cafe on Steinstrasse," she said. "The one with the yellow awning. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

She ended the call before he could answer.

She was ready in three minutes - joggers, a black hoodie over her t-shirt, her hair under a cap. She stroked the cat's head as he finished his meal, licking the bowl to a shine. He pressed his head against her palm.

When she looked at the app again, the blue dot was in Kirchheimbolanden. Moving slowly through a residential street.

She put on her shoes and left.

________________

The cafe had its awning down but the outdoor tables were empty in the evening cold. She stood beside it with her hands in her pockets and her chin down and watched the street.

He pulled up in nine minutes in an old and dark SUV she was seeing for the first time and she got in without looking at him directly.

"Drive," she said.

He got on the road.

"Where are we going?"

She had the app open on her phone. She showed him. "He said he was working late. In his office. On base."

Miller glanced at the screen and continued driving, saying nothing. If he was curious about the cat's face above the blue dot, he showed no sign.

She directed him, left and right through the KMC evening traffic, to the blue dot's location.

"You said she's showing a property," she noted, after a few minutes.

"Yes," he said. "That's what she said."

"On a Thursday evening."

"Lots of people can't go looking for housing during working hours," he explained.

It made sense. So she nodded.

She directed him onto a residential street in Kirchheimbolanden. The blue dot had been stationary for a while now, about a block ahead. She told him to slow down and she looked at the parked cars as they moved past them.

Graham's car was neatly parked on the left side of the street, facing the way for the return journey.

Miller pointed to the right side of the street. She turned to look and saw a four-story apartment building. There was a small hybrid hatchback in front - it had a logo in a decal by the license plate. The printed sign in the lobby window featured the same house icon logo - with the words 'Moblierte Wohnung Frei' and underneath that, in English - 'Furnished Apartment Available.' Phone numbers, a URL, email addresses and social media handles followed.

"That's her office car," Nathan said. He kept driving at the same unremarkable speed, past the car and the building.

She saw it and understood it all immediately. She looked at the building in the side mirror. Four floors of lit and dark windows, anonymous, indifferent - one with curtains drawn.

Miller reached the intersection at the end of the street and drove on without stopping.

She didn't need to tell him to take her back to the cafe where he had picked her up, seven minutes from her home.

They were two minutes away when she said, "Turn left here."

He turned.

The alleyway was between a hardware store and a dry cleaner, both closed for the evening, the entrance shadowed and unremarkable. He turned into it without asking why and drove to the end where the alley widened slightly. He stopped the car.

The alley was dark. The sounds of the street behind them were muted and distant.

She looked straight ahead through the windscreen for a moment.

Then she unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed across the center console into his lap.

It was not tender and it was not meant to be. A car was a difficult space and they negotiated it with efficiency rather than grace, her knees on either side of his thighs, her hands on his shoulders, his hands finding what they found in Bucharest and knowing where to go this time.

It wasn't necessary for him to render her completely naked but he did, and she helped him when she realized that was what he wanted. She let out a cry when she came, a moment before he erupted inside her and buried his face in her neck.

Afterward she pressed her forehead against his and they both breathed for a moment in the dark, still joined, his member softening inside her.

When she tried to get off him, his hands tightened around her. "No," he said. "Stay."

She stayed. Naked except for her socks. In his arms. Until her breathing calmed.

Then he helped her get dressed, and she climbed back to her seat and he started the engine.

He drove on to Steinstrasse and stopped outside the cafe with the yellow awning. The street was quiet. She had her hand on the door handle.

"Miller," she said.

He looked at her.

She leaned across and kissed him. Not briefly. His hand came up to her face and she let it stay for a moment before she pulled back.

She got out of the car and walked away without looking back.

________________

The next morning she took an old car phone charger, went outside and entered her husband's car.

He had returned after 0100 and headed straight into the shower. But she could still smell another woman's floral perfume on him as she pretended to sleep.

She found the tracker under a rear floor mat, the flat design making it easy to miss. She found the charging port meant for the GLA's rear passengers in the rear center console, connected the tracker and closed it in with the charger.

She had never seen Graham open the rear console. He was always behind the wheel.

The app said the tracker's battery was down to six percent. Problem solved.

She went inside to make breakfast.

________________

It happened five more times in the next month.

The pattern established itself. Graham working late, some screw-up he had to address. Brenda showing properties after working hours or staying in the next town for an early showing. The blue dot moving in the wrong direction. A call. A location.

A car she was beginning to intimately know.

The second time was in a car park behind a supermarket, late on a Wednesday. He brought a blanket for the third time, in the alleyway again, so he could keep her naked in the backseat for longer while calling her 'Ma'am', making her gasp and cry out as he used his hand and fingers on her.

The next time was at a 'gasthaus' thirty minutes from base that took cash and asked nothing. She had found it online and booked it under a name that wasn't hers and had paid in cash at the desk under a blonde wig. She'd kept face slightly turned from the camera above the reception counter nonetheless. The habits of operational security transferred without effort.

In the guesthouse there was an actual bed. They hadn't bothered to follow the blue dot to see which unrented furnished apartment or hotel their spouses were meeting in so they had time.

And, like in Bucharest, behind closed doors, having Nathan Miller concentrating all of his attention on her was an experience all its own.

Literally stripped and shorn of rank and status, she was his to overwhelm and dominate. There was a playfulness to it as he called her Ma'am and she ordered him to do things to her but she was not in control and she knew it.

There was no mistaking that as he yanked her body into position with full ownership and confidence, as she invariably found herself with an enlisted man's penis in her mouth and how natural it felt to swallow his semen.

The next time, he had found another 'gasthaus' for them and she had joined him in another wig, face down as she made her way to the room with the number he had sent.

She hadn't bothered with panties and he had been inside her within a minute because she had lifted up the skirt to show him. She hadn't worn a bra either and that had made him even happier.

She was glad. She found that she liked making him happy.

She sat between his legs afterward, her back against his chest, and she found herself just talking, telling him about something that had nothing to do with either of their marriages, about a deployment she had done in her second year, something that had gone wrong and then right and then wrong again.

He listened to her and asked questions that told her he was listening, paying attention even as he stroked her belly and played with her breasts and kissed her every time she turned her head, lips puckered and seeking.

He had her on her hands and knees soon after and when he entered her again, she had decided that there was no reason the blue dot had to be somewhere it wasn't supposed to be before she met with him.

With continued OPSEC and military discipline, no reason at all.

She cried out loudly as he slammed repeatedly into her vagina, grunted as he molested her breasts and grasped her hair. When he came, she grinded herself back against him to make sure she had gotten it all.

She made it back before Graham and was sitting on the couch with Leftenant on her lap when he came in, Nathan Miller's semen still inside her as her husband kissed her on her lips.

He'd showered at the motel he'd gone to with Brenda Miller before coming home. But she could still smell her on him.

________________

The maintenance bay smelled the same as it always had. Oil, metal, hydraulic fluid and the low hum of the new coffee machine. The old Mr. Coffee still had pride of place because it had lasted so long and produced such terrible coffee that it had become iconic and no one wanted to throw it away.

Nathan finished the pre-flight check on CW3 Bennett's Apache, signed off on the form and handed it to Specialist Kaine, who had been rotating through the maintenance element since Romania and had settled in with minimal friction. He was a good soldier with an eye that missed almost nothing. Nathan had already put in word about keeping him assigned to the unit.

They were replacing a worn rotor blade grip on the second bird when McCord appeared at the bay door.

"Give us the room please, Mr. Kaine," McCord said.

Kaine stiffened to attention and left.

"How's she looking?" McCord asked, nodding at the Apache.

"Good now," Nathan said. "Grip was developing a stress fracture. Caught it on inspection."

McCord came to look. He ran his thumb along the new component the way he always did - greeting the aircraft. "Kaine catch it too?"

"He caught it," Nathan confirmed. "Hairline, but he caught it."

McCord nodded. It meant Kaine was staying - some things just couldn't be taught. He leaned against the workbench and crossed his arms. "Got a call from Knox this morning."

Nathan looked up.

"Board met last week," McCord said. "Your packet made it through the last batch. One more meeting and orders start being cut." He paused. "My buddy says you're looking strong."

Nathan looked at the rotor grip in his hands for a moment. "That's good to know, sir."

"That's very good to know," McCord said. "Don't minimize it." He studied him for a moment. "You seem good."

"I'm fine, sir."

"I didn't say fine. I said good. Happy, even." McCord tilted his head slightly. "You seem lighter than you did before your... TDY."

Nathan shrugged. "It was a good one."

"I'll say." McCord agreed. "CO wants to see you at 1400. Haskell will be there."

Nathan looked up. "Any reason?"

"It's a good reason," McCord said. "So don't look like that."

He didn't ask what he looked like. "Copy."

McCord straightened up from the workbench. "You told your wife yet?"

Nathan kept his eyes on the component in his hands. "Working on it, sir."

McCord looked at him for a long moment. Nathan felt the look without returning it.

McCord made a sound that was not quite a sigh. "If you're having problems, you'd best sort that shit out before you get to Rucker and IERW. You need to be a hundred percent. Clear?"

"Crystal."

McCord stared at him some more before he walked back toward the bay door. "1400, Miller," he said, and left.

________________

Colonel Brian Moore's office was on the second floor of the support group headquarters building, a corner room with a view of the flight line that Moore apparently never used because his desk faced the door. He was a compact man in his mid-forties who made taller men want to obey him. He was standing when Nathan entered. Haskell was already there, seated to the left.

Nathan came to attention and saluted. Moore returned it and gestured to the chair across from his desk.

"At ease, Miller. Sit down."

Nathan sat, opposite Haskell. "Sir."

"Miller," Haskell acknowledged.

Moore sat and looked at him with an expression he imagined all COs were secretly taken somewhere to be trained in. "So. Romania."

"Yes, sir."

"I was briefed on your actions at the FARP and at the downed aircraft's position." Moore leaned back in his chair. "Let me hear it from you."

Nathan recounted everything sequentially, plain and precise, exactly as he had written in his report. Cameron's transmission. The CW3's assessment of hydraulic or actuator damage as he went down. Haskell's authorization. The flight back out with Reyes. Getting Cameron and his crew out. The repair in the field. Flying the compromised aircraft back. Kowalski blowing up the C4 behind them.

Moore listened without interrupting. When Nathan finished the CO had a statement that was a question. "So you can fix 'em and fly 'em."

"Yes, sir."

Moore nodded. "McCord says you took lessons here in Germany. Out with Heligruppe."

"Yes, sir."

"Expensive," Haskell noted.

Nathan's eyes fell to the aviator badge on the Colonel's chest. "Worth every cent, sir."

Moore's lips quirked up, understanding. "Yeah. You're probably right."

"Well," Moore continued, "CW3 Cameron has submitted a formal commendation for your actions. From his hospital bed at Landstuhl. The XO is endorsing it."

"Corporal Kowalski was with me, sir."

"He got a commendation too," said Haskell.

A silence.

"Anyway, I heard your Warrant Officer packet is at Knox," Moore said.

"Yes, sir."

"I'll be sorry to lose you." Moore looked at him steadily. "But I've added a letter to it. Based on what I've been told and what you've just told me." He paused. "I thought you should know that."

Nathan held his gaze. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me. It's an accurate account of what happened." Moore glanced at Haskell briefly, then back. "You're a good soldier, Miller. You've been a good soldier on this line for two years. I should have put in something sooner." He said it as a statement of fact, of regret. COs did not apologize. "I'm correcting that."

Haskell leaned forward slightly. "The board convenes again in a few weeks, Nathan. The Colonel's letter and Cameron's commendation both go in before then."

Nathan looked at the Colonel. "I appreciate that, sir."

Moore nodded once. "That's all." He stood. Nathan stood and came to attention.

"Miller," Moore said, as Nathan moved toward the door. "What you did out there - you went out and brought home a twenty million dollar bird." He paused. "That was awesome. Make sure you get there and kick ass."

"Oorah, sir," Nathan said.

Haskell answered for both officers. "Oorah."

He saluted and left.

________________

McCord was waiting in the corridor outside.

He fell into step beside Nathan without asking how it went. They walked the length of the corridor and pushed through the door into the gray November afternoon.

"CO put a letter in," Nathan said.

"I know," McCord said.

"You knew before I went in."

"I suggested it. Haskell backed me up," McCord said. "He agreed. He doesn't need much suggesting when the facts are in front of him." He walked with his hands in his pockets. "Cameron's commendation carries weight. Moore's letter carries weight. My recommendation carries weight." He glanced sideways. "You're getting in, Miller."

Nathan looked at the flight line ahead of them. Two Black Hawks were down and being serviced, Otieno and two other soldiers moving around them with purpose. One of them - Cameron's bird - still had repair patches on the tail section that Batiste had put in at the FARP before they flew it back.

He looked at it for a moment, remembering a woman staring at him as he stepped out of it.

"Sir," he said. "Thank you. For everything."

McCord glanced at him. "Don't."

"I mean it, Danny."

"I know you mean it, Nate." McCord stopped walking and turned to face him. "But you worked for it and earned it. You even fucking paid for it instead of waiting for the Army to do it for free. Don't thank me."

Nathan looked at him. "Roger that. But thank you anyway." He smirked. "Sir."

McCord snorted, and studied him for another moment, eyes serious. "Romania agreed with you," McCord said finally.

Nathan said nothing.

McCord looked at him for one more second. Then he nodded, turned, and walked back toward the maintenance bay.

Nathan stood on the tarmac in the cold and looked at the flight line. He imagined sporting the wings McCord and Moore wore so naturally on their uniforms.

It was coming closer, becoming real. Enough that he was thinking 'when' instead of 'if.' Enough to make him finally think of moving to Alabama as something to prepare for.

Everything was falling into place.

Except for the wrinkle of a woman who wore a blue uniform and was rapidly becoming part of the architecture of his life, whatever the Uniform Code of Military Justice had to say about it.

A woman who was another man's wife - her husband an O-5 in his own service, no less. A woman he had to salute and obey if he met her outside and in uniform. That he still called 'Ma'am'.

He couldn't imagine that Moore or Haskell, or even McCord would be quite so friendly if they knew what he was doing with a brother officer's spouse.

Even if their brother officer had started it all by taking his wife and shattering his marriage, discovery would destroy both their careers.

But she came when he called, and he went when she did.

They had spent the weekend in a summer cabin he had found in the countryside - just outside Trier, affordable for being out of season. Her clothes had come off as soon as she stepped inside, and she had not worn them back until the next morning. And then he had stripped her naked again. He had kept her warm though, and she had smiled and laughed in his arms without complication as he held and enjoyed her without his wife once crossing his mind.

They had the weekend because Graham Palmer had told her that Thursday that he had been selected to attend a series of meetings in Berlin. By coincidence, that same evening, Brenda had come home and informed him that she would be attending a three-day real estate convention in Potsdam.

The events were real. But the cities were only minutes apart and the blue dot showed that the Lieutenant Colonel's nights were spent in the Babelsberg neighborhood of Potsdam, miles away from the embassy at Pariser Platz.

She had sent him a screenshot of the Pawsition app - no caption, just the blue dot. He had sent her a GPS location and a picture of the cabin the next morning, by 0530, and she had come.

"Sarge!" he heard one of his mechanics yell.

He went back to work.

________________

The PT track ran two kilometers in a loop and Diane Russo ran it with easy familiarity and little apparent effort, her stride even, her breathing controlled.

Kayleigh kept pace beside her and said nothing for the first kilometer, which was normal. They had been running together on Tuesday and Thursday mornings for eight months. The first kilometer was for warming up. The second was for talking.

Diane spoke first. "You look good."