Page 269 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 2

“Absolutely, sir.”

General Helmsley nodded and made a note on the pad in front of him. “Consider it done. Good job, Jack. We’ll let you know soon enough when you’re going back. Until then, get some rest.”

When he stood, Jack did as well, accepting the general’s handshake. “Thank you, sir.”

Leaving the office, Jack smiled when Mrs. Knoll added her two cents’ worth, again reminding him of his mother back home. “You are far too thin, Jackson. What you need is to find yourself a good girl to take care of you.”

“I’m working on that,” Jack assured her, even knowing that when he did find that girl, he was the one who would spend the rest of his life caring, loving, and making sure she knew that he was the one in charge—no matter the changing ways of the world.

Jack fingered the letters he’d just received at mail call. The hoots and catcalls from his fellow soldiers at the lingering floral fragrance and the soft violet color of one envelope didn’t bother him at all. His lips curved into a grin as he imagined Jane perhaps deciding that pretty stationery could dissuade him from what she believed were his terribly old-fashioned beliefs. The next possibility had his grin disappearing. Was the perfume supposed to soften the blow as she broke off further correspondence because as a modern woman who felt the need to live her life as she saw fit, she was informing him that he was nothing more than a Neanderthal and she had no desire to pursue a relationship?

“What does she say?”

Jack looked up as he entered the building housing the officers to see Bill Walton in the common area.

“Don’t know yet. What’s in the tube?”

Bill grinned, giving a wolf-whistle as he unrolled the poster. “Just a little something to brighten my quarters.”

Jack shook his head at the photo of Rita Hayworth in what he considered far too revealing clothing. As other men gathered around Bill to admire the poster, Jack sighed. Perhaps in today’s world he was expecting too much from a woman. He’d seen other posters in the barracks depicting starlets such as Betty Grable, Ava Gardner, and Marie McDonald. He had to admit the alluring pin-up girls did tend to bolster a man’s flagging spirits with their sexy poses, all wearing nothing but a swimsuit and a smile. Hollywood might be doing their share to remind men what they were fighting for, but Jack wasn’t buying their claim that these women represented the “All-American Girl Next Door”. Besides, those weren’t the only posters he’d seen.

With the enlistment of so many men, gaping holes in industrial jobs needed to be filled. Even his own government was encouraging women to throw off their aprons and join the workforce. Rosie the Riveter with her red and white polka-dotted kerchief and her curled arm showing her bulging bicep told women that “We Can Do It”. Women were proving that indeed they could. While he appreciated their efforts, he admitted that he wanted his future wife to allow her husband to “do it” and to know that he considered it his honor to support her. And he didn’t mean simply to put a roof over her head, food in her stomach, or clothes on her back. No, he wanted a woman who needed him on a much deeper level. His wife would know that even though she might contribute to the family coffers, when she stepped out of line, she’d be flipped over his knee to have her bottom warmed. Of course, once her punishment was done, he would make sure she knew exactly how much he loved her as they shared the endless pleasures possible between a husband and his wife.

He’d not wish for his wife to work once their children came along. Having been raised as the oldest of ten children, he knew that raising kids was quite possibly the most demanding job on earth. Hell, he thought leading battalions of men into battle had to be easier than trying to get ten children up, dressed, fed, and off to school on a daily basis. Once a battle was over, soldiers were generally allowed at least a short reprieve. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen his mother having nothing better to do than to sit with her feet up and read a book that had words and storylines meant for an adult to enjoy instead of a simple picture book with short captions to be read to one of her many children.

No, he would not have his wife coming home and having to deal with the everyday needs of their children, too exhausted from some job to enjoy time with her husband once the kids were asleep. Both parents working might be fine for some couples, but he was stitched from a different cloth. Once they had children, his wife would stay at home. Call him a Neanderthal, but that was just the way it was going to be.

Jack grabbed a cup of coffee and retired to his room. It was time to find out exactly how Jane had responded to his last letter.

Sliding his knife under the flap, he allowed himself one last pause to enjoy the fantasy that she would state she had given up all other men and was ready to explore a far more serious relationship with him. Remembering reading her tales of movies, carnivals, long walks, and romantic dinners in the company of various men, he knew that was highly unlikely. Still, he couldn’t find it within himself to regret deciding that he needed to know her thoughts on whether she saw them having a real future together. That was the reason for the purposely firmly worded letter and his thinly veiled promise of a spanking if she didn’t toe the line. He admitted he was getting tired of the dating game. What he truly desired was to find the one woman who was able to stir his heart as well as his soul every time he opened a letter to read her words, thoughts, and dreams. Sighing, he slid the folded stationery free.

Dearest Jack,

How does a girl respond to such a firm letter as the one I have before me? Shall I simply pretend that I am too naïve to understand your words? Shall I giggle and remind you that you told me you are a huge fan of baseball? I’ve enclosed a clipping from the newspaper about the All-American Girls League—teams that have become quite popular while you big, strong men are away. It seems that it is becoming quite common for a female to play the game and run the bases.

Or shall I confess that your thinly veiled promise to turn me over your knees and attend to my naughtiness with a firm hand has my heart pounding, my tummy fluttering and my unmentionables… Forgive me, I just remembered that my sharing of what lies beneath my lingerie is what earned me such a reprimand in the first place.

To use your own turn of phrase, while I can’t speak for all women, I fear that the lack of strong, stern men in my small town has led to a bit of naughtiness in its female inhabitants. I can only wonder if our servicemen are quite prepared to handle their women with firm and loving guidance or if perhaps our sudden interest in baseball will continue. For now, all I can do is promise to keep my feet firmly planted on home plate until a certain US Army Major makes his feelings crystal clear.

In answer to your question, sir, I too wish to have a future which includes love and guidance. My question to you, Major Jackson Novak, is are you truly wishing to step up to the plate and “play ball” or, sir, are you the sort who is all bluster, who threatens to take your bat and go home when faced with a bit of trouble?

As always, I pray my letter finds you safe and well. I can’t even imagine the difficulties you face so far away from home. I listen to the radio and hear of things that make my heart hurt. Do you enjoy reading as I do? Whether it is a book or a radio program, I pray that you have some escape from this awful war if only for a little while. I hope you know that your family must be so incredibly proud of the service you continue to do for our country. May God keep you safe from all harm until you return to Texas.

With my affection,

Jane

PS: The ball is now in your glove, sir. I shall eagerly await your pitch.

An imprint of a pair of pursed lips was centered along the seam of the flap on the back of the envelope. What the hell? Jack actually looked at the face of the envelope to assure himself that he was the intended recipient even with his name appearing within the text. Yes, it was his name on the front and the return address was one he could rattle off from memory. Though it was signed with a name he was accustomed to seeing, there was something definitely off about this letter. The Jane he knew might wish him well, but she’d never mentioned loving to read, nor included tidbits as innocent as hoping he also had some form of escape from the impact of the war. Rereading it did nothing to change his mind. He simply couldn’t picture a woman who spoke of kisses and supposedly accidental fondling sitting by a radio, listening to news that made her heart hurt. In fact, his suspicions grew, and he opened his desk drawer, removed a stack of letters—not a single one lilac colored—and slid one free. Placing the two side by side, it took him but a moment to discover his thoughts had proved correct.

Not only had the stationery changed, the penmanship had as well. While he had a stack of letters with the writing slanting to the left, this newest missive had the letters slanting to the right with a great deal more loops and swirls. Was that an actual little heart drawn above the letter ‘i’ in affection? Though unnecessary, he flipped the stack of letters over and rifled through them until he found the one he remembered. Placing the envelope alongside the purple stationery, he compared the two imprints of what signified the letter having been sealed with a kiss. Again, the difference was obvious. Whoever had written this latest little note was definitely not named Jane Kennedy. The question was, who had assumed her identity, and why? He didn’t need to be seated in the bleachers of a game to instantly understand the reference to running the bases. He heard his own men boasting of knocking it out of the park, rounding third, and heading for home on countless occasions.

Allowing his mind to ponder, he opened his other letter and read it quickly. Was this some type of joke? This letter definitely matched those of Jane and negated the words written across purple paper. Whoever the fake Jane was, she was certainly a little minx, and he found his palm itching again. Could this stranger truly wish to find a man to take her in hand? Well, there was only one way to find out. Sweeping the letters from the real Jane into the drawer, he spotted a card. Pulling it out, he grinned and reached for his pad.

“Okay, little minx, shall we play ball?” he asked as he put pen to paper.

Chapter Four

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