The Zero Dog Compound 1st Floor Great Room 2031 Hours PST April 10th Captain Sanders turned out to be more of a problem than I thought. He stood at ease near the wall in our great room, next to the projected image of a grungy building. Problem was, my mind kept drifting off the mission-briefing details and onto stupid, inconsequential things. Like how warm his skin had been when I’d shaken his hand. Those intense eyes. How well he filled out his fatigues. Bankruptcy. Yeah. Bankruptcy tended to crush the desire like a boot heel on a cockroach. I was tired, but that was no damn excuse, and my unprofessional thoughts made me furious. I had responsibilities, and I couldn’t let my people down just because I felt a little horny. I wouldn’t shirk my duty for anyone, and especially not for some FNG Army eightball. Fucking New Guys, they should come with a product warning or something. The projector hummed, connected by a USB to Sanders’s laptop.
