=\\TACTICAL WAIFUS QUEST//=
PART 8: Aviation!
You leafed though the folder some more and walked back to where your girls were eating. The place looked… well, better than some bases you've stayed at. But it'd still be miles worse than what the girls had gotten used to here. And you didn't like the idea of your poor girls living in misery any more than you liked the idea of sending them into battle. If you could scrape up enough funds to kit the place out a bit, it would do wonders for morale.
"Whatcha' reading?" Riley shifted over to make room for you, and accidentally managed to brush you with that supple thigh of hers. How she wasn't flashing you in that tiny pencil skirt was beyond you, but you were just thankful the bizarre magic field surrounding these girls was actually being
chaste for once.
"Briefing," you said, putting the folder down for the girls to see. They, predictably, flipped right past all the boring text and found the pictures of their new home.
"Wow," Riley smiled and flipped though the pages, "Think they have a swimming pool?"
"That'd be so nice," Marie leaned over to peer at the pictures. Sadly, you're in the way, and the soft swell of her breasts squish around your arm in a arm embrace. "I hope they have a good library though."
"Or a gaming lounge," said Zoe.
"Yeah," Hannah nodded sagely, "We need our smash."
You cough, and try to pry your arm out of Marie's cleavage. But she's noticed it now, and she's making no effort to make your life easier. It almost seems like she's doing her best to
keep her boobs planted firmly against your arm, but that can't be it. She's not even looking at you, just at the pictures.
"I'm sorry," you said, trying not to think of the implausibly large bust hugging your arm, or the impossibly swooshy hips bumping against yours. "The base's pretty bare-bones right now."
"But we're gonna improve it, right?" asked Hannah.
"We'll do what we can," you said honestly. You're not sure how much cash you're going to have to play with, but you get the depressing feeling it'll be just barely enough to keep things going. Assuming nothing goes wrong.
Hah. As if.
"So," asked Riley, "when're we shipping out?"
"This evening," you say.
"Mmm," she fished a little notebook out of her breast pocket. She actually shoves her hand waist-deep into her vest before blushing beet red and turning away to hide herself while she actually extracts the little device. "Uh…" her hips do that nervous swoosh-swoosh, and she bit the end of her pencil, "Uniforms?"
You consider having them stay in their dress attire. But dress uniforms are a pain in the ass to travel in, and the girls are already starting to look a little uncomfortable in their crisp shirts and tight miniskirts. Besides, you're looking forwards to changing into something more practical and comfortable, and you can't very well wear cammies and force your girls into dresses.
So you roll the dice, and pray their garrison uniforms aren't
too scandlous. "Garrison uniforms," you said.
"Okay," Riley made a note and smiled. "I like those."
"Me too," chorused Marie.
This does not bode well.
You quietly excuse yourself from Marie's cleavage, and make your way over to the sniper girls. They're still happily enjoying some ice cream together. And you do mean together, they've got a single huge bowl sitting between them, and they keep taking turns scooping a bite out and feeding it to the other.
It's going remarkably well, too. There's not even a hint of ice cream on either girl's face.
"Girls," you said.
"Oh, hey boss." Abigail smiled at you. She'd let her vest hang open over her pint-sized chest, and her tie hung loose around her slender neck, but there was a spark in her stunning violet eyes that didn't look the slightest bit tired. "You want some?"
"It's strawberry," said Emma. She'd kept her vest buttoned up tight, although her collar was popped and her tie was nowhere to be seen.
"Maybe another time," you said, pulling over a chair and settling yourself into it. "I wanted to get to know you two."
The two of them shared a look. "What's there to tell?" asked Emma.
"Yeah," said Abigail, "We're scout-snipers."
"I meant about
you," you poked Emma right in the center of her pool-table flat chest. "Not about what you can do."
"Heeeeeehe," Emma giggled and bit her lip until she scowled. "Not… uh… that…"
"She's just tired," said Abigail with the honed delivery of a practiced cover. "Sorry."
You decided not to push it tonight. "You girls get…
any kind of social interaction?"
"Yeah," said Emma.
"Totally," said Abigail, "We hang out with Shelby's and Riley's team all the time."
You sighed. Your worst fears confirmed, these poor girls have the social skills of a thirteen year old, homeschooled minecraft nerd. Only they're
drop dead gorgeous and irresistible to anyone with a pulse. This is going to end poorly, you just know it. "That's not what I meant."
"Then no," said Abigail with a winsome sigh. "Not really."
"We watch movies sometimes though," said Emma.
Abigail nodded. "Speaking of… I hear you got our deployment info?"
You nodded.
"Is…" Abigail idly poked one long, slender, and slightly calloused finger against another, "Is there maybe a mall in town?"
You sighed, and nodded. Your girls liked going to malls, or at least liked the idea they got from the movies. At least there's some useful frame of reference for you to work with here. "Yeah."
"Can I go sometime?" asked Abigail. Those big violet eyes of hers seemed to double in size as she pleaded with you.
"Yes," you said. "Provided there's time."
"Awesome!" She pumped her fist and shared a high-five with Emma.
"I am getting
so many phone numbers!" cheered the little shooter.
You stared off at Burke, who flashed you a shit-eating grin than took a loooooong gulp from his implausibly large coffee mug. He knew. He
knew what you were getting in to, and now he's not the one the girls are going to come to for advise and unsolicited cuddles.
Before any more antics can erupt, though, Riley summons the girls to attention and has them file out to change into their garrison uniforms. You're still not sure what those outfits entail, but at least they're out of your hair for once.
"Garrison?" Burke raised an eyebrow.
"Didn't want them to suffer though dress uniforms on the plane," you said. Then you noticed the… twinkle in his eye. "what?"
"Nothing," Burke shrugged. "But you picked a good day for it."
Your blood suddenly ran cold. "Why?"
"Because I
finally convinced them to drop the thongs yesterday."
"You're lying," you order. This cannot be a thing. Your girls did not wear thongs as part of their uniform. Anyone who says otherwise is lying.
"Sure," Burke shrugged again, "Let's go with that."
You pivot on your heel and, without saying another word, go looking for a place to change into your ACUs.
—|—|—
The quiet hum of idling turbojets rumbles though the hanger's walls while you wait for your girls to arrive. The sun's already past the empty horizon, and you're starting to get a little tired. Just trying to babysit these girls for a single day has given you a few gray hairs, and you don't want to think about what'll happen when you're all alone with them in the wilderness.
Well, almost all alone. Burke's coming with. Apparently he doesn't totally trust you to not utterly screw it up. You agree with his assessment wholeheartedly.
You're just about to check your watch when your girls file in. And, thankfully, they're not wearing thongs. But that's about all the good you can say for their uniforms.
They each wear forest-green pleated microskirts that were just barely legal. If the girls stood perfectly still. And there was no wind. And you were at least a foot taller than them. At least they wore skintight black biking shorts underneath as a concession to modesty, because those skirts were defiantly not staying down.
The fabric swooshed around their hips with each step, making even the narrowest girl look like Riley's entrancing sashay, and making
Riley herself look… astonishing. It didn't help that she'd chosen to accessorize with multicam thigh-highs that left just an inch of creamy skin exposed between her stockings and her shorts. Or that she was grinning like an idiot at you while rocking her hips expectantly.
At least their tops were relatively restrained. Steel-gray worn with the collars unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled back are the order of the day, but they've got shimmering black compression shirts on underneath. You're exceedingly grateful for that last fact when it comes to Marie. Without the support of her vest, her shirt's starting to pucker at the buttons.
And no, you're not going to point it out. You get the feeling she already knows, and just doesn't care.
"All present and accounted for!" Riley does a resolute hip-swish and stamped her foot on the floor. Hmm, they traded their heels for tall combat boots, this time in polished leather instead of rough-out cowhide.
"Outstanding," you said on reflex. "You have your gear?"
Riley nodded, and hauled a seabag over her shoulder with surprising ease. You keep forgetting that for all their cuteness and beauty, these girls are at least as strong as you. Stronger, probably, they're actually
flexible and don't have to worry about a twisted back.
…
Poor choice of words.
"Follow me," you said, pivoting on your heel and marching out to your waiting ride.
"Oh," Riley's mouth makes a cute little 'o' shape as she sees the gray behemoth waiting for her. "Wh— what's that?"
"XV-41" you said, reflexively ducking as you passed under the big airplane's massive podded engines. "The air force developed it in the 90's. VTOL-capibility with a mach point-nine cruise and supersonic dash." You haul yourself up the aft ramp, "Think of it as a V-22, but more so."
"Wow," Riley loving caresses the airframe as she steps up, her tiny skirt fluttering in the jetwash, "This is amazing."
"Why didn't we build more of these?" asked Shelby. Her hair's done up in an even more elaborate set of braids than it was earlier, and her new outfit shows off her insanely defined legs even more than before. You get the feeling she could've been an olympic sprinter if she wanted to. Probably still could.
"Think o*f it," you explained, "As a V-22, but more so."
The two girls looked at each other and nodded. "Ah."
They busy themselves with getting their gear squared away, and you go to check up with the pilot. Mostly because you do
not need to see them bending over to lash their kit down. Not in those skirts. Whoever invented those skirts should die.
In fact, you're putting a blanket kill order on anyone who invented short skirts of any kind. And anime. Anime needs to die. Not any particular studio, just the abstract concept thereof.
"We're all set back here," Riley poked you in the shoulder and beamed that incandescent smile of hers at you.
"Thank you, Riley," you said, ducking back into the cargo bay and strapping in next to Shelby. You'd like to avoid any accusations of favoritism, at least until after your first day. Besides… sitting with Riley's team meant sitting with Marie. And these things could get
bouncy.
You smiled at Shelby, who just blushed in a stoic, ladylike manner and scuffed her boot against the floor. Her shirt creased as she strained to sit a little more upright, and her slender, pointed chin thrust like a warship's prow into the cool evening air.
"Shelby," you buckled yourself in and cinched the belts down tight.
"Major," she pivoted on her seat and offered you a warm, proper smile.
- - - - - - - - -
>What do you talk to Shelby and her team about?
