Bombora

By Crash Froelich

The People’s Republic of Sarangong is reeling from the fallout of a failed act of nuclear terrorism. The goons running the show have lost the support of the ChiComs and the rebel insurgency has found new life. Major Dave Douglas, with wife Debbie and the outlaw girls, Kat and Billie, will infiltrate the tropical island country under codename Bombora.

Bombora’s mission is to break the grip of the ruling party and move the government toward the Consortium of the free world. On the way to accomplishing their goal, the Douglases will be betrayed by a lifelong friend, Billie will play a dangerous game of treason with an army officer attracted by her “exotic” looks, and they will attempt to run to ground the leader of the rebel movement, who has possession of a biological weapon genetically keyed to destroy the clans holding power, but which has the potential to create a deadly pandemic that would devastate all the nations of southeastern Asia.

Bombora must succeed before the Consortium unleash the overwhelming power of their military to stop the rebels and their weapon of mass extermination.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crash Froelich
• Release date: Oct 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301437979

Crash Froelich

I’m from Kansas City, both of them. My folks lived in Gladstone but the nearest Hospital was Providence, in Kansas.When I was two, we moved to Saint Joseph, Missouri and an apartment across the street from the Krug Park Lily Pond. I’ll be forever grateful to my parents because growing up in that place was magic. The magic lasted until I was in fourth grade, when the family, now including two younger siblings, moved into a split level ranch on the east side of town and the wilds of a partially developed area with woods, creeks, and construction all around.Exploring and baseball took the place of magic. Soon the wildness of the place became tame and well-ordered. So did I. High school was followed by a few frustrating years in college. Restlessness prompted me to join the Army. I traveled the world, drank deeply from the cultures of Germany and Korea, but the magic called to me in a weak voice and stirred me.I graduated with a Master of Science in Applied Mathematics from Missouri University of Science and Technology. Years in aerospace and defense contracting were fulfilling and rewarding, but the magic still whispered its siren song.Finally, after years of struggling, I set the magic free. Stories took shape, guided by characters crafted with care. Characters that live with me always, because they are my children.Children burst from my brain as Zeus gave birth to Athena. Now they live for you, dear reader. Enjoy with my compliments.

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Bombora

By Crash Froelich

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Crash Froelich

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords License Notes

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgments

I'd like to thank Keby Boyer, Susan Elizabeth Curnow, Sharon Ramirez, and Dorothy Winsor, my colleagues on the On-line Writers' Workshop who supported me throughout the development of this book.  Special thanks to Jeanne Haskin, with whose support this story became a reality.

Chapter One

The late afternoon sun peeked through the closed blinds and dazzled the woman with her every movement. Her hands were folded in her lap and legs crossed. She faced the unoccupied high-backed chair behind the desk. An ornately carved, teak nameplate standing on the polished mahogany bore the engraving, James. F. Napolitano, Director, Pacific Operations.

She kept a straight face and avoided studying her surroundings. The gleaming paneling smelled of oil soap and the carpet felt luxurious through the sole of her shoe. Interrupting the paneling to her right, a mirror ran the length of the wall. She pointedly ignored the glass.

Decoration consisted of portraits of the chain-of-command of Homeland Defense, several framed citations, and a stand displaying the flags of the Asian Commercial Defense Consortium member nations. The screen saver running on the display of the Director’s computer showed different scenes from national parks. Yellowstone, Yosemite, Monument Valley, Mount Vernon, Mount Rushmore, the Badlands, and several others she couldn’t identify. The ruins of Anasazi cliff dwellings, ancient redwood rain forest, El Capitan, pandas at play, Old Faithful, herds of bison, coy wolves peeking over tall grass, and sites she had visited in the District, all flashed onto the flat panel built into the Director’s desktop.

A small pop-up floated in a corner. The reminder stated, Today, 3:30 PM, Interview with Willa Bishop.

For the uncounted time, Billie checked her skirt to insure the hemline fell over the angle of her knee. The pinstriped, blue business suit she wore represented a deliberate choice. A white blouse, crimson cravat, opaque gray hose, and navy Mary Janes refined the impression of transcendental fashion. Her perfectly arranged blond pageboy and undetectable makeup reinforced the effect.

She discreetly glanced at her watch and felt the heat of resentment through the chill of obedience. Slowly and decorously, she uncrossed and recrossed her legs in the opposite direction. She smoothed her skirt.

An undetectable door in the wall on her right opened to admit the Director. The large man in a tailored suit unhurriedly walked to the desk and gracefully sat. His eyes regarded her over a dramatically cultivated moustache and below massive eyebrows. An aquiline nose and thick onyx curls confirmed the heritage suggested by his surname.

I’m Director Napolitano. Thank you for coming, Miss Bishop.

She looked directly into the imposing man’s eyes. Thank you for seeing me, sir.

Billie subtly emphasized the words seeing me. The Director didn’t react. He opened a fat file folder on the desk, obstructing the computer display.

I need not tell you that your inclusion in Operation Bombora is due to the voluntary cooperation of Major and Mrs. David Douglas.

No, sir.

It is also unnecessary to repeat the fact that their patriotism will enable you to clear the unfavorable information against your DNA on the Homeland Defense intelligence network.

I understand. My obligation to the Douglases is absolute. I will obey Major Douglas’ orders and support the mission to whatever extent required to insure success.

The Director shifted in his seat.

Miss Bishop, on behalf of The Consortium, I’d like to express our regret concerning the circumstances that led to your, er, condition.

Couldn’t be helped, sir. I’ve accepted responsibility for the events that resulted in my condition. I harbor no resentment and understand my complicity. Thank you for not telling Major Douglas the whole story in that regard.

The information isn’t relevant to mission accomplishment. We have no intention of violating your privacy, if it can be avoided. You’ve adjusted to life as --?

Completely. I am who I am. You see a person with an identity and purpose. My life has changed in ways I couldn’t have imagined. I’m happy with myself, content in my skin. She smiled for the Director. I am who I am.

We have contacted your family, interviewed them concerning your past. Because they believe you are deceased, we didn’t make them aware of your presence in country. A psych agent who participated in the interview constructed a profile. The Director locked her in his gaze. It’s unlikely they would be willing to accept things as they are.

That doesn’t surprise me. They’re not compassionate people. I couldn’t expect them to accept a pious freemartin as their child returned from the grave. That’s something beyond their capacity to understand.

You’re a fair-haired, blue-eyed child of Minnesota, raised in the best political traditions of the upper Midwest. There’s no shame in socialism or the dream of a workers’ Utopia, is there? How do you reconcile what you were with what you have become?

The hint of a smile flickered across her lips. I’ve learned to love the men who wanted to destroy me.

She couldn’t read the Director’s expression and he made no comment.

That is, I’m able to forgive. My sin is no more or less bloody than anyone else’s. The militia, who injured me so badly, put me on the path to understanding the cause of my suffering. I threatened their families, their way of life. What else could I expect, except the least common denominator of summary justice?

The Director briefly looked at the mirror, used his keyboard for a few seconds, and waited for a response to appear on his terminal.

You’ve petitioned to have your citizenship reinstated. Why should we consider you a good risk?

Sir, I’m willing to do whatever is necessary to bring the Consortium’s operation to a satisfactory conclusion. The liberation of Sarangong is my only concern.

"Why?’

Because my adopted family lives there. The most important person to me in the world lives there, and, when this is all over, we intend to live out our lives together on the island.

You don’t need US citizenship for that.

True. I belatedly came to appreciate the real value of my birthright. I’d like to have it back, please.

That decision will be made at the appropriate time by another office. Your cooperation will weigh in your favor.

I’m grateful for this opportunity, sir. I won’t let you down.

Director Napolitano leaned on his elbows and his features softened.

The reports from your fitness evaluators have been positive. Your unique knowledge of Sarangong should prove an invaluable asset to Major Douglas. We’re optimistic about the outcome of operation Bombora.

He stood and reached his hand across the desk. Billie rose and shook it.

You’re a pleasant and intelligent young lady, Miss Bishop. Perhaps we’ll meet again under happier circumstances.

Thank you, sir. I hope so.

Billie appraised the steel in the Director’s expression and decided against charm. Better to behave in accordance with the solemn nature of the business at hand. She felt a bit lighter stepping out of Napolitano’s office than she had entering.

In the corridor, she came under the watchful eyes of a security patrol. The pair regarded her coolly. Each uniformed man grasped the sling of a machine gun with one hand and hooked the thumb of the other over a web belt heavy with loaded magazines. She walked leisurely and avoided their stares. They were just kids, but they weren’t merely acting rugged. Their manifest horniness wasn’t an act either. Billie could practically smell testosterone.

As she passed, Billie flashed them her brightest smile. Disarmed of their professional scowls, both young soldiers grinned at her. She continued to the elevators above the lobby. The large atrium served as waiting room on the interior side of the security checkpoints and processing area on the foyer side.

When she stepped off the elevator, a man came to his feet and watched her approach. The well-tanned figure wore an army major’s dress uniform, had brown hair, a straight and thin nose, piercingly bright hazel eyes, and a lean and powerfully built physique. His raised eyebrow asked a tacit question.

I think it went pretty well. He actually called me ‘young lady.’

He made a pass at you? Didn’t I say you look terrific in that outfit? Don’t blame him.

Why, David Douglas, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. We could hold hands, if it didn’t creep me out.

I’m pretty certain you were good to go before Napolitano quizzed you. I got the high sign as soon as I walked into Operations and Deployment for my final briefing. This job couldn’t happen without you. So what did he want?

We talked about my past and my chances for reinstating my citizenship. He seemed positive, but admitted that a different office would handle the process. If he puts in a good word for me, will it do the trick?

Hard to say. The Director is a power unto himself in Homeland Defense, a golden boy. I believe he has influence. We may never know how much. Anyway, we’re playing in his yard with his toys. He can do whatever he wants to make sure the investment pays dividends.

That’s not exactly reassuring. Still, it’s hard to imagine getting the shaft for cooperating. Billie sighed. I felt like a bug on a hotplate. He’s a scary guy.

Don’t be too impressed. It’s not muscle. I hear he loves linguini.

I think we’d better leave before someone hears this conversation.

They maneuvered through the throng in the lobby to reach the single exit. The heat of the autumn day had dissipated and a breeze felt cool on her skin. Clever landscaping diminished the parking lots’ intrusion on nature. Despite the sea of cars and constant traffic, the place seemed quiet and parklike.

Billie breathed deeply of the smoky air. Autumn is really pretty here. I’ve never lived in a place where there were four seasons that came right on schedule. They had snow on the ground in Winona last month and there aren’t any seasons in Sarangong, aside from wet and not-so-wet.

There’s no hurry to get back to the house. Want to take the GW and look at the scenery?

Can we stop by Murphy’s, have a snort, and smoke a cigarette?

Dave held out his sleeve and Billie touched his wrist with the tip of her index finger.

If you’re going to twist my arm like that, I’m at your mercy.

I’ll tell Debbie you resisted heroically.

They traveled northward, through the Fort Belvoir military reservation, and then turned off old Route One and onto Mount Vernon Memorial Highway. Easy driving against the early rush. Billie quietly watched the scenery.

You okay, little buddy?

Just thinking.

Yes?

Napolitano told me it wouldn’t be a good idea to go home. I thought I’d let go of my past. Blindly following my old ways almost got me killed. Strange to realize there are still some feelings about home and family.

You miss your folks?

She sighed. Not really. It’s regret mostly. No one wasted any love on me while I grew up. I adopted a bunch of loony ideas to get my parents’ approval. It didn’t work. Even so, I violently resisted any attempts to convince me of my silliness. I ran all the way to Sarangong to find a place where idiocy passed for normal. As you know, that didn’t work out so well.

Except for Kat.

She’s the main reason I’m still walking around. Charlie, too.

There’s definitely a bigger plan in effect. We’re going to liberate Sarangong. Pretty soon you guys won’t be making a living as criminals. You’ll be leading the economy back to a market-based system. Once the comrades are out of power, natural forces will take over. Goons with guns are the real criminals. We’re going to change all that.

Wow. You should think about going into politics, tough guy.

Smart aleck. Will you look at all those buses? It’s easy to tell when school’s in session.

The stream of pedestrians in the crosswalk, flowing between the visitors’ lot and the entrance to Mount Vernon, parted. Dave drove through the intersection and around the circle drive. They continued parallel to the Potomac on the George Washington Parkway.

We’ve had a very nice time here. I’m going to miss this place.

Why? You can come back any time you want. Our home is your home.

Billie couldn’t stop the tears spilling down her cheeks. Dave’s surprised look made her smile. I knew you’d say that, but I’m glad you did.

Nothing is too good for the girls who helped me get Dad out of a jam. Now turn off the waterworks or somebody will think we’ve been fighting.

Not possible. You wouldn’t look so good.

While Billie dried her eyes and blew her nose, Dave made an orbit of the block and found a parking space. After a short walk they reached the narrow, brick front of a pub. Both the street door and the entry leading from the tiny vestibule into the bar had been blocked open, a concession to the unusual warmth of the day. The regular, after-work crowd had begun to collect and the mood was relaxed. Billie led the way to a couple of seats at the end of the bar.

She waited until their drinks arrived before breaking out her cigarette case and offering the contents to Dave. He took one and waited for her to light it. They exhaled lungfuls of smoke into the air.

Surveying the other patrons, Dave remarked, I sometimes wonder how you can stand to look at this oblivious bunch.

Billie pouted. That’s not a tolerant attitude. Besides, that’s why I like to look at them. Here I am, sitting in a public place, enjoying my drink and my smoke without fear of arrest or harassment by the authorities. No one even pays me any attention. I fit right in, just like everyone else. It’s wonderful.

The blond, blue-eyed outlaw sticks out like a sore thumb among the Sarangongese?

Billie wistfully considered a jumble of memories clamoring for her attention. Once in a while, some granny would pat me on the head and tell me I was pretty, like a Dutch child she looked after before the Revolution. Other times, I became the object of propaganda-driven anger from some poor dupe or the unwanted attention of a man attracted to my ‘exotic’ looks. Yeah, I must say, being ordinary is refreshing.

It’s a pretty good cover, too.

Cynic.

Nope, just realistic. Nobody in the place would guess who you were in a million years. How could they? You’ve been through stuff most of these fat, dumb, and happy civilians can’t conceive, let alone survive.

She sipped her drink before speaking. I remember a couple of occasions when I was as helpless as a baby. If you hadn’t been there, some bad things would have happened.

We all need a hand now and then. It’s a privilege to serve.

You’re Charlie’s boy all right. She grinned. Before I met your father, I thought sentiments like that were platitudes. Your dad broke through my prejudices. Billie tapped her temple. You made a different impression. She patted her chest.

I gave you heartburn?

She mashed out her cigarette. Not until now.

What say we finish these off and go find the two cutest wahines in town? Dinner ought to be ready soon.

That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day. Billie swallowed the last of her drink. Let’s go.

Chapter Two

Kat switched off the screaming blast from the blow-dryer and inspected her reflection. The dye job turned out all right. Her hair had become a mass of flaming red down to the roots. She picked up comb and scissors to finish bobbing her Dutch boy. Satisfied with the result, she washed the trimmings down the drain and padded into the guest bedroom. Billie, dressed in a nightshirt, sat at the bottom of the bed and brushed her hair. At the same time Kat noticed the grin on Billie’s face, she recognized the Hawaiian music softly playing on the stereo.

Where did you find that album?

On the web. Think Auntie Nahu will like it?

As if you didn’t know. That’s very thoughtful.

Kat walked across the bed on her knees, took the brush from Billie’s hand, and stroked her companion’s hair.

You don’t have to do that, Sweetie.

She started the bristles at Billie’s crown and used her free hand to smooth the tresses as she brushed. Her partner’s hair grew thick, fine and silky. The lingering perfume of shampoo made the sweetness of honeysuckle in Kat’s nose.

I love to touch your hair. Pretty soon it will turn back into the perpetual ponytail. Who knows how long you’ll wear it that way?

If you brush it, I’ll wear it any way you like.

Kat wrapped her arms around her companion’s neck and leaned over Billie’s shoulder.

Are you feeling frisky, big girl?

Billie pressed her lips to Kat’s.

The sight of you wrapped in a towel always drives me crazy.

Good answer. Kat returned Billie’s kiss. When Billie’s arms rose over her head, Kat nimbly evaded the embrace. Behave. I want to rub more of that scar treatment on you.

Tease. Can’t that wait until later?

With you there is no later, only exhaustion. Now take off that shirt and lie down.

Yes, Mother.

Billie pulled off her nightshirt and stretched luxuriously on the satin comforter. Kat fetched the tube of ointment and returned to the bed, kneeling beside Billie.

Want me to take off my panties?

I should say not. Lie still and keep your hands to yourself.

Party pooper.

Smearing a dollop of cream between her palms, Kat inspected the vestiges of Billie’s old wounds. My goodness, this stuff works wonders. Even the long scars are hard to see. Your skin is as smooth as a baby’s.

Kat’s fingertips skimmed across Billie’s abdomen. An involuntary gasp escaped Billie. Kat massaged the cream onto Billie’s thighs, stomach, and ribs. Billie closed her eyes and melted from pleasure at Kat’s warm touch. Responding to a gentle nudge, Billie rolled onto her belly. Kat continued the treatment. Her fingers found the traces of each injury from memory. A pinkish hue remained where the ointment had been applied,

How do you feel?

I owe you about a thousand foot rubs, Sweetie.

Your color is pretty. I look so brown by comparison.

A smiling eye and half a grin peeked out from under a tussled blond mane.

I know how to make you glow red.

You are a wicked creature, aren’t you?

Kat lay down and Billie cuddled with her.

Are you cold, big girl? Should I close the window?

Not now. It’s just cracked open. The air smells fresh coming off the water. A little like home, except for the temperature. Of course, you could lose the towel and share body heat with me.

Quit rushing. You must feel well. Kat held Billie’s face in her hands and lost herself in the pale blue pool of Billie’s eyes. You’re as full of it as a teenager.

They listened to the music for a few moments before Billie spoke. Poor Auntie Nahu and Uncle Twanda. Finally we can do something big for them, for everyone on the island. I can’t wait to tell them the good news.

I miss them, too. Dave and Debbie are the best and we’ve had a lovely time here. Kat hesitated before saying, I’m a little homesick.

You know, I can’t remember you saying more than three words about your mom since the last time you visited Saint Elizabeth’s. Are you going to see her again before we leave?

Tightly hugging Billie’s neck, Kat whispered in her ear. No. It won’t help her and it might hurt me. Her mind is poisoned, twisted. Sometimes she says things that make me want to run and hide. She’s not my mother. Since Papa and my brothers died, Auntie Nahu has been my mother. She’s Colonel Mukalunyana, a cold, hard imitation of a mother. That’s all.

I’m sorry to hear it. Looks like we’re in the same boat.

This boat suits me fine.

While Kat admired Billie’s glow, Billie began to fidget and her eyes wandered away from Kat’s. She distractedly plucked at the bedspread.

Sweetie, don’t you ever think about --?

Hush. Don’t say it. I’m completely satisfied with what I have.

But --

Don’t be such a hard-headed Norwegian. There’s only one thing about you that I’d change, if I had the power.

What’s that? Billie asked in a small voice.

You don’t age properly. It’s embarrassing. In a few years people will think I’m your stepmother.

Billie quaked with laughter and nipped Kat’s bare shoulder. Sweet enough to eat.

Ouch! Silly thing.

Kat placed her right hand on her own chest and her left on Billie’s. These two are one.

This one is grateful.

Well, I didn’t make too much of an adjustment. You’re not that different. Cuter and softer. Cute and soft are good.

Cute and soft definitely are attractive on you.

Where are your hands, big girl? Who gave you permission to violate the sanctity of the towel?

I’m cold, Sweetie.

So I noticed. Why don’t we get under the covers?

***

The Coach’s Corner went to a break. Dave’s attention shifted to his wife. At the beginning of the program, Debbie started with two, empty bags and the couch buried under an array of clothes, personal care items, grooming appliances, and cleaning materials. The collection had mostly disappeared into a suitcase and duffle. Rejected items found themselves in a lonely pile on the coffee table. She had reached the point where difficult decisions were needed to allow the luggage to close. Debbie stared in silent argument with the remaining items.

When the show returned from