Feb 3, 2011
In 1986, for the first time in history, the United States government allowed women to serve in the armed forces. Shortly after there was a growing need to add Gynecologists to the roster of military doctors, surgeons, and nurses. In 1991 President Bush deployed 10,000 soldiers to the harsh climates of the Middle East to try and neutralize a growing threat in Iraq. This effort was called Operation Desert Storm; it called for a special type of soldier and special type of gynecologist. This is where I came in.
Part shooting range, part science lab, ‘Judgment Day,’ as we called it, was where the elite forces practiced the complex war tactics that even God prayed won’t be attempted. This is where I met Betty, a lifelike animatronic soldier with an artificial nervous system. She was sitting in natal position on a metal slab in the back of the shooting range.
Before I even had a chance to put out my cigarette, my commanding officer threw me into a tactical exercise. “You got exactly fifteen seconds before the air strike comes in and Betty over there’s gotta get mobile or else her pretty little tits are gonna be in different zip codes. Do you hear me soldier?”
Without hesitation, I reached for my firearm, locked in on my target and showed my superior just why I was the best in the business. “Oh I hear you, Sarge, I’m just wondering when you’re gonna shut up and let me do my job,” I retorted.
With unequivocal marksmanship, I aimed for Betty’s bionic vagina and pulled the trigger. The rubber bullet soared through the air and crashed into the large vaginal piercing that hooked Betty to the table. The force of the bullet shattered the contraption and sent Betty flying backwards.
“I think this soldier’s gonna live” he said. We shared a laugh before he handed me a folder containing the medical records of a one Rihab Fahard, a mistress in one of Sadam’s inner harem. Apparently she’d been having irregular feminine bleeding and her doc was gonna be out of town indefinitely thanks to discret sabotage on the part of Uncle Sam’s inside man. It was my job to implant a tracking device and turn Rihab’s fun box into a GPS transmitter. I’d been a gynecologist for about as long as I’d been a green beret, and I knew the in’s and out’s of a vagina like the damn middle eastern cave system, but hell, even I didn’t think this was a task any human could pull off.
To be continued…