If You Fall In Love, Make Sure He Wears a Uniform

About the Book

From “Red Flag” It was late in the afternoon when class finally ended. I felt completely drained of all brain matter. Captain Gordon immediately engaged the Colonel in some engineering talk and I attempted to sneak by them unnoticed. “Major Benson,” the Colonel’s crisp voice snapped. “May I have a word with you?” What could I say? I stood at near formal attention. The Captain stood also, first noticing the Colonel’s stern look and then my reaction. His eyes darted back and forth between the Colonel and me several times before he realized that the Colonel was waiting for him to leave. “I’ll be on my way,” he said. He gave me one last “you can do it” glance as he left. It was comforting that at least one person was on my side, even if it was Luke Gordon. When the Colonel and I were alone, he motioned for me to sit down and he sat in the desk next to me. He looked much more cordial than I had seen him look at anyone all day. The next conversation was not what I expected. “Major, I don’t have to tell you how I feel about putting women in combat,” he began abruptly. It was very much like his manner had been all day, though. He plowed right into whatever was to be said. I steeled myself for the fight I thought we were in for. I was smart enough to let him finish before I countered with my opposing arguments. “However,” he continued, “your record indicates that you are one of the finest pilots the Air Force has and your qualifications for this assignment put you at the top of the class. I can’t wash you out of this class just because of my hesitation about putting you in combat, but you’ll have to prove to me that you really want this.” I thought by his statement that he meant he didn’t think I really wanted to be in a combat arena. He thought I just wanted to prove that I could get the assignment. I mulled this over in my mind as he talked, thinking that maybe he was right. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I wanted the combat assignment because I thought I could do a superb job for our forces. I wanted the assignment and I wanted him to know that. I was ready to affirm my commitment to the task when he shocked me with his next words. “I know you’ve been briefed before on what you might expect if you are ever captured, but I’ve seen it first hand and I’m going to tell you what I’ve seen.” He started with a firm tone in his voice, but as he got to the next sentence, I was sure I detected a soft quiver in his voice. With the concern of a father, the Colonel proceeded to tell me gruesome stories of what happens to females who are captured. The tales made me shiver. I had heard them given as a routine training briefing, but not as a first hand account with real names and real situations. The more I listened, the more I realized that the Colonel’s concern for my welfare was real. He had seen what many had not and he was, in his own second-hand way, telling me that he didn’t want this to happen to me. It was so unlike the Colonel who just 30 minutes earlier had been barking instructions to us in such an abrupt manner. I know I stared at him in disbelief as he told me these stories, but my disbelief was over his obvious concern for me. I was stunned; he actually cared. When he finished, he was leaning forward on the desk and we were face to face. Like a school girl, I lost my train of thought looking at his handsome features. He could have been in the movies instead of Cary Grant. He continued to look at me and I knew he was waiting for my response. I shook off the girlish thoughts and straightened up in order to move a little farther from him. I was ready to answer when he pre-empted me again. “You don’t have to give me any answers. I just want you to take some time to think this over very carefully. Please do that for me Major,” he finished. His tone was very personal now and it made me uneasy. He was an enigma, first rough and gruff, then personal and concerned. “I will

About the Author

About the Author Because of her futile searches for light, short reading while on layovers at airports or in office waiting rooms, Debra Conley decided other readers might be looking for similar short stories of romantic interest, acceptable to all readers. This collection is written for those who want to spend 30 minutes reading but who do not want to have to remember the plot two weeks later when there is time to pick the book up again. Mrs. Conley is a retired teacher who now writes curriculum and textbook materials from her home in Atlanta. She and her husband of 36 years have two children and two grandchildren.