Author: Pink
Keywords: .
Summary: Jenny uses her special talents to try to try to settle the Bosnian conflict.
Twenty-millimeter lead slammed into the belly of the flat-black UH-60 Blackhawk. The helicopter banked wildly to the right, and Jenny slammed hard against the olive-green metal of the left hull. Her legs flew up, and five Special Forces Commandos, harnessed to the opposite wall, got an eyeful of her bushy blonde pubic thatch. The six copters sped straight ahead, ignoring the flack which soon was far behind.
At 4am that morning in her ratty Bubrovnik apartment, a shrill ring from the ancient telephone had shook her out of bed and onto the cold wood floor.
"Jenny, we've got an emergency assignment for you! Might have a chance for a settlement, and you're the closest State Department negotiator!" The call from Washington had forced her to rush, skipping underwear and throwing on a light cotton spring dress totally inappropriate for the season and the weather.
The choppers were now settling down in a large field near the no-mans land of the Serb/Bosnian border. A crosswind buffeted the vehicles, making them sway and making Jenny's stomach queasy. Hard rain drove against the windows. A soldier cocked his M-16, levelling it towards the door. Another soldier released the lock and slid the panel open. Several Serb soldiers knelt about 20 feet away, protecting their heads from the rotating blades.
She was hustled inside a single-story wooden building, then down a hallway to a dimly-lighted room. A long table had been set with pitchers of water, tablets and pencils. Jenny sat down, and felt her soaking-wet dress make a squeegie-like sound. Four Serb soldiers walked in. Their combat boots tracked mud, and their uniforms were dripping. They each dropped an automatic rifle on the tabletop, then stared at Jenny's chest. Looking down, she realized that the cold, wet dress and lack of underwear clearly delineated her breasts and nipples for everyone. She hastily crossed one arm over her breasts, and began reminding the commanding Serb colonel of the latest NATO surrender conditions.
An hour later, no agreement had been reached. "American bastards!" the Serb colonel yelled, pounding his fist on the table and storming out into the hallway. Jenny, used only to a desk job, became flustered. A soldier called her aside. "Call for you from Munich, ma'am." He handed her the headset of a satellite telephone. She explained what had transpired so far to a NATO official in Germany.
"Damn it, Jenny, this may be our last chance before we send in ground troops! If we can't come up with something, thousands of American boys and who knows how many Albanians and Serbs will die!" The NATO official paused for effect, lowering his voice. "And your career will be over. Come through for us, Jenny. You're all we've got!" Her face pale, she handed the wire back to the commando. She walked back to the table, drank a swig of water, watching her hand shaking.
The door banged open as the Serb colonel stormed back in. Jenny spun around involuntarily. Her wet dress didn't co-operate, and split down one side. Her left size 36C breast spilled out, stopping the Serb colonel in his tracks. His stare and those of the other soldiers in the room woke her up. In desperation, she allowed the torn dress to fall away altogether from her chest.
Jenny walked boldly up to the colonel, grabbed the soiled olive collar of his fatigues, and brought his unshaven face within six inches of her wet, jiggling breasts. The white sheen of their soft curves reflected the stark bulbs in the ceiling, and the freckles sprinkled across their surface lent them a living, swelling animation.
"Let's go to the map, sir, and mark up a cease-fire line, shall we?" she purred. The colonel stammered. "Bu... bu... but the President has ordered us to accept nothing but the present lines of advance!"
"Oh, really?" she asked, grabbing his hand and placing it over her stiff red right-nipple. She then moved it quickly down to the map, over central Kosovo. "This area must be emptied of your troops. Do we have a deal, or shall I button this back up?" she slowly gathered up the material of her dress, drawing it upwards.
"NO, NO! Perhaps we can find a compromise, American Jenny." His eyes and those of the other American and Serb soldiers in the humid, cold room watched her hand stop, then release the material.
Jenny didn't stop. She gave the material a light push, and her dress dropped with a wet PLOP to the dirty wood floor. The colonel's eyes were big as half dollars now. Jenny grabbed a pencil, and outlined the Kosovo/Serb border. "ALL your troops back behind this line within two days, and you may have this dress." She picked up the wet cotton, held it out to the colonel.
After just a moment's hesitation, he grabbed it. During the next half-hour, a detailed plan was outlined. The soldiers gathered around her, staring and smiling as she shook her hair out and scratched her full rear nether-globes, setting them in motion. She pressed her hairy pubic mound up against the edge of the table and ground it in as she drew lines on the map. Calls to Munich, Washington, and Belgrade on the satellite telephone brought affirmations from the highest levels of government. A makeshift agreement was signed by her and the colonel with verbal approval from the leaders.
When she ran outside through the rain again, she was dressed only in a camouflage soldier's rain poncho. The helicopter pilots gaped and asked what was wrong, grabbing their M-5 submachine guns. "No, no, it's okay. Let's get out of here. We've got our agreement," she replied. She strapped herself into a seat next to the commandos, crossing her long legs. "Nope, the only problem is what they didn't teach me in Poli Sci 200!"