A different kind of mission - Chapter 14

NOTE - You may have noticed that I previously posted Chapter 10, which was actually Chapter 14 of this story. Now the story is perfectly inflow.

The Mission - Part 4

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Marilyn decided they would make their escape attempt just before sundown. After dark, the guards would be too suspicious of any women approaching them so that was out, yet soon after a dusk assault, they would have the shelter of darkness to hide them from pursuit as they escaped from the harem. None of the girls had the slightest qualms about killing anyone or anything that supported this monstrous regime. In truth, they would welcome a chance to hurt a few of those sadists, or at least those who supported the sadistic, self-styled Maximum Leader.

Tall Carol led the way. She sashayed along in her six-inch heels with an extra dip and wiggle in every step. Marilyn followed, demonstrating the complex motion of Jell-O on springs that was sure to catch men’s eyes. They walked casually up to the guarded gate covering the exit from the harem. The arrogance of the harem mistress, along with making gruesome examples of a few escapees, had intimidated most of the women in the harem to the point where escape truly was unthinkable. This was not as surprising as it may have seemed. During the Korean War ruthless prisoner of war, policies had enabled half a dozen guards to control hundreds of prisoners, more than the number of bullets carried in the guards’ guns. If a riot had started, a mass escape attempt, most of the men would have been safe. But someone would have had to take the first step (and probably die). Similar intimidation had been used to control the harem girls and made escape unthinkable in the guard’s minds as well, especially when other thoughts filled all available thinking capacity. Marilyn and Carol giggled together, urging Vanna to hurry up and catch them, though each was exactly in position. At the key point, Carol dropped an earring and bent over to pick it up, her long legs accentuated by incredible heels and an almost non-existent skirt. The guard’s eyes followed her motion as though directly connected and probably never saw the instantaneous flash that ended with one of Vanna’s knives in his throat.

Now they were committed and speed was of the utmost importance. Unfortunately, speed was something they didn’t have. Even as Vanna retrieved her knife and took up the guard’s weapon, Marilyn was back at their starting point gathering up the gagged Jennifer. The girl was cuffed but not otherwise restricted in motion. At least she could be expected to move on her own. It wasn’t so easy with Sandy. She was still very weak from the loss of blood and from the damage to her body. Though she did her best, Jaymi was carrying her as much as escorting her, a job that Jaymi would not allow anyone else to take. Constance had returned to his Daniel persona complete with a guard’s uniform but surprised everyone other than Marilyn when he appeared escorting his sister.

"All right, everyone, listen up," Marilyn directed, "this is the real Connie McLean. She’s been our source on the inside. We’re taking her, too. Unfortunately, she’s been beaten and has broken ribs, so she’s going to need help. It’s all or nothing from here. I don’t have to tell you that if they capture us, there’s no hope. Let’s go."

With that, they left the harem building. It seemed too easy, somehow, but those in a totalitarian state get so used to using and accepting intimidation they get lazy and forget that some people will not be intimidated. The team shepherded their weaker members through the grounds to the motor pool where Jaymi soon had a van going. Daniel drove to the outer gate and said he was taking the truck to make another pickup for the harem. They let the gate guard get a glimpse of the gagged Jennifer and he accepted the authority of Daniel’s uniform as though it were a passport. Maybe it wasn’t fair, it certainly wasn’t sporting when another of Vanna’s knives carved his life away as well, but that gate guard was the only witness that could have reported that one of those leaving the compound was a man.

The death of the first guard was soon reported and the absence of several harem girls was soon discovered. It wasn’t a surprise to find that six of the girls had recently been abducted and presumably knew each other. No corresponding relationship was identified for the other two escapees, but the word went out to search for eight young women at least one of which was injured. That might have worked in a society where people were treated equally. In Maximum Leader’s country, though, those wearing the uniform of his elite guards obeyed no rules but their own, answered no questions but those from their own officers. Daniel, in his liberated uniform, was a searcher, not a searcher. He forced his way past roadblocks on the authority of his uniform alone without letting anyone inspect the interior of his van. Of course, the search was for escaping women, not for a man who might have women hidden in the back of his van. If one of Maximum Leader’s officers suspected him, they were history, but no one else could even question him. Soon they were at the border, and once across the pickup was quick.

With typical foresight, Marilyn had positioned their doctor and a support team in the neighboring country. No one not already familiar with their unique physiques needed to be involved in any medical examinations. Since the girls had never tried to hide being Americans, they were able to openly accept transportation in official U.S. vehicles, and fourteen hours after they escaped from Maximum Leader’s captivity, they were back in their Montana compound.

Jennifer knew only that one of the team, Daniel, had masqueraded as a woman to gain entrance. She thought that some team of men had actually rescued her from inside the lab, then given her to the girls for their joint escape. She was warned that if her story ever came out, Maximum Leader’s agents would pursue her even into the U.S. and kidnap her again, a more potent threat than any prison sentence for violating national security. She ended up in the witness protection program with a new identity.

The real Connie never knew the team’s secrets either. She also accepted a new identity, as did Daniel. The team was not as reluctant to see him go as they might once have been. He's aloof, coolly-amused distance had seemed to be chosen just to give all members of the team a unique persona, but it had also kept him from ever forming the depth of friendship shared by the others. Of course, the fact that he had kept a secret from those who should have been closer than family, whose lives depended on mutual trust, hurt the others as well. They still liked and respected him, but trust, well that was just too fragile to be resurrected. Those who had washed out of the training were returned to regular army units, though they were told they would be monitored for some unspecified time to ensure they never compromised security. The risk was reasonable. After all, if Maximum Leader ever realized his diabolical brew had been neutralized, he could come up with another one. Their own lives depended on keeping quiet, again a more potent threat than any prison sentence.

So it was a group of five that gathered one evening in the lounge a few nights after their return. Sandy was nearly recovered from her ordeal, though there was an image of the pain that never left her eyes now. It was heartbreaking in a way that made her seem as though some past incident had forever ripped her innocence from a young woman. Now she seemed even more in need of protection, even more, the dewy-eyed damsel in distress. Pretty close to the truth, actually. Like Sandy, the others had all maintained their cross-gender personas even after the conclusion of the mission.

"Well, ladies, we’ve come a long way," Marilyn reminisced with a smile. The nods from her team were more an invitation to continue than an interruption.

"We need to make some decisions. I say, ‘we’ because these are not orders. Consider it another chance to volunteer. We have an invitation that we can answer in three ways, the invitation is from the President. He and the First Lady want to meet us. Since he’s the Commander-in-Chief that part is pretty much of an order, but they’ve requested to meet us in our femme personas. That’s optional. The first choice we each have to make is whether or not we want to meet them as we are, or dressed like men. We don’t all have to make the same choice, either. It’s up to each of us."

"Second, even if we dress as women for the meeting with the President, each of us can choose to go back to looking like our normal gender after that. There won’t be time to complete the surgical changes before we meet the President, but I’ll arrange the necessary procedures soon after for those who want them. However, I’ve been authorized to offer you the chance to continue as you are. You obviously can’t go back to regular army units so your enlistments will be canceled with honorable discharges and we’ll provide you with new identities as we did with Daniel."

"There is a third choice. The President has indicated he would like the team to continue. He seems to think our unique capabilities might be valuable in other situations. If we choose to do this, then we’ll all remain in the army as a special force. This is not part of the earlier commitment you made when you volunteered. You’ve all met that with outstanding success. I won’t even trot out the same arguments again, about Duty, or Honor, or Country. You know them already. You also know our capabilities and can make your own judgments on whether you think the nation can use us, maybe even needs us."

"Well, that’s the situation. Our meeting with the President is set for a week from tonight. How are we going to look? What are we going to tell him?"

Once again all the girls turned to Sandy. Especially now that Constance/Daniel was gone she was the de facto second in command of the team, more for the respect the others gave her skills and judgment than for any specific authority. More than that, though, she had suffered the most in the team and had the most reason for moving on to some other lifestyle.

There was a moment of introspection in her look, a bit wider window into the pain that had held her showed for a second in her deep-green eyes. Then that pain was replaced with a sparkle of happiness they hadn’t seen much lately. The fifteen-going-on-twenty-five girl with shredded innocence became a fifteen-trying-to-be eighteen girl headed for her first school dance when she stood and giggled, "Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I saw the most darling evening gown in the catalog and I’m ordering it before the rest of you get the chance."

Then she was a bit more serious for a moment. "Marilyn, none of us are the same as we were when you scooped us up. You told us once that internal characteristics were more important than external ones in making this work. You were right, as always. Inside, I don’t feel like a man anymore, and I don’t want to go back to being a man. I also don’t feel like a woman, at least, not in all ways. We’re unique, each of us and as a group. I only know I love you and I’m not ashamed to say so. I love all of you. If you’ll have me, I want to stay part of the team."

With that, she stepped to where Marilyn was seated and urged her to stand with a gentle touch of slender fingers. They embraced in a way that was more than men could do, more than women even allow themselves to enjoy. Emerald's eyes smiled into brilliant sapphires as the rest of the team crowded around. The relationships in this team were going to play havoc with traditional military order and discipline, but any of these girls would kill or die for any of the others, and they all knew it. No one better get in their way.

It’s hard to imagine a meeting with the President being an anti-climax, but it couldn’t compare with the emotional impact of the decision the team had made to continue. Still, the Cinderfellas all had a ball at the ball. When they got to the White House they could almost hear eyeballs snap as the Marine guards watched one gorgeous woman after another climb from the official limousine. They all played out their parts in the personas that were now more real than whomever they had once been. Carol vamped the guards and got a blush from one almost as bright as her hair and a grunt of near-pain from another. Sandy managed to drop a delicate lace hanky and almost caused a riot as would-be helpers raced to retrieve it. And that was just at the entrance portico. They eventually got themselves sorted out and into a procession that would have been regal if they hadn’t all been smirking so much. Of course, Marilyn’s jiggling and Carol’s sashaying didn’t quite invoke an image of majestic dignity. Jaymi had some of that, though, and Vanna defined the term until she let just a bit of lace showing through a slit in her long gown. Only Sandy really looked royal, the perfect princess come to the palace to be presented to the king. The flowing gown she wore captured her trademark peekaboo style, promising a glimpse at a treasure more precious than "commoners" possessed. It had one unexpected consequence.

The First Lady was livid. She had heard about these troops who had made such a great sacrifice for their country and decided the properly tolerant, liberal thing to do would be to invite them to the White House in all their pathetic finery. It would show that she wasn’t judgmental about poor, misguided people that didn’t meet society’s norms. Instead, when the troop of the gloriously beautiful woman arrived she was sure she had been tricked. Someone had taken advantage of her famous tolerance and substituted a real woman of surpassing beauty to make her look foolish, not to mention rather plain. Someone’s head would roll over this. Of course, these beautiful girls must have been pawns of those who had chosen to embarrass her. The First Lady knew that really pretty women couldn’t compete in a man’s world, couldn’t possibly have a mental capacity on a par with their stunning appearance. She, herself, was just about as pretty as you could be and still be smart. At least, in her opinion. In all her planning it had never occurred to her that parading a bunch of pathetic transvestites through the White House would have destroyed the security necessary for mission success.

She whispered her anger to the President, who accepted her judgment with a barely-suppressed sigh of relief. His own response to that sort of feminine beauty had been long reported in what he considered the hostile press. It bothered him, though, that these were men and he wasn’t supposed to be attracted to men. When his wife decided they must have been real women, he felt less guilty. In fact, there might be another opportunity here, maybe five of them. Of course, both were consummate politicians so they greeted their guests just like any others at the formal dinner. Their plans for whatever would wait.

At least the President, or his aides, had remembered to maintain the masquerade at the public portions of the formal dinner. The members of the team were among a host of guests from various areas, not even identified as members of the military. No one suspected they might have earned their way into the President’s presence. Instead, they have considered part of the window dressing of glitterati sprinkled around to make things more elegant.

When the team reached the President in the receiving line, he said to their blonde leader, "You must be Marilyn. I must say, you don’t look quite like I expected."

"Indeed, Mr. President, just what did you expect?" she countered, arching an elegant brow.

"I don’t know," he stammered.

Marilyn could see the anger in the First Lady’s eyes and in a moment of clarity that would later seem so obvious it should be unremarkable, she understood why. Leaning close to the President, she whispered in his ear using her masculine voice, "You might want to tell your wife we’re no competition for her. We’re just soldiers with special skills, and we like to think we are quite skilled at what we do."

The shock on the President’s face when he heard that incongruous voice was too deep to be concealed, though he laughed a second later as though Marilyn had told him a dirty joke or something. His wife picked up on the interplay and looked at the team leader, then the rest of the team much more closely.

"I find it very hard to believe you’re what you say you are," she said coldly.

"That could be a problem, ma’am, since we’re not in the habit of revealing our ‘distinguishing characteristics’," Sandy grinned from her place next in line. She had offered her delicate hand to the President with that motion that induced a kiss more than a handshake, and he had almost found himself complying. He managed to turn that into a bow, one that seemed a little distracted since his eyes were glued to a panel over Sandy’s bosom that threatened to go transparent if she breathed, and she was definitely breathing. The fire-haired Carol that was next in line was the one to whisper in the First Lady’s ear with something that was convincing, in tone, or in content. The First Lady’s eyes went wide at whatever Carol said, then she looked at Sandy with a great deal more respect than anger, adding perhaps a little fear.

White House protocol experts had arranged suitable dinner companions for each team member, or at least suitable for their appearance. They found themselves distributed along with the table amongst bureaucrats of various agencies. Each girl was behaving quite demurely, even Carol. The lecherous old goats with whom they were paired were being forward enough, ever more so as the evening wore on. When junior officers appeared to escort the team to the President’s office, the girls turned to the handsome young men with such joy and alacrity that another layer of credibility was added to their already-impenetrable disguises as women.