Base Fear

Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Wham!

When finally the dripping stopped, another sound rang in Lior's ears. Now instead of a small leak at the end of the faucet, a steady trickle was coming out of its base and echoed in the cabinet underneath. Lior had missed a one-punch chance of silencing the faucet that had been haunting his nightly raids of the kitchen for the past four months. Muttering abuse under his breath, he squeezed his aching hand. Its side would shine in all shades of purple by tomorrow. At least he hadn't used his right hand to punch the faucet. He couldn't afford to miss a shot if a real enemy were to manifest. As if prompted by Lior's thoughts, a bolt of lightning lit up the area outside the small kitchen window and was soon followed by roaring thunder. Winter was far from over.

“What was that bang?”

Lior turned, slowly to convey his lack of enthusiasm for the company. Ari Zaslov's tall frame, briefly illuminated by another lightning bolt, stood before him, lean, tan, and his chest heaving. Ari could not sneak up on his comrades; his labored breathing gave him away. Even after their drill sergeant himself had instructed them to stay away from bodybuilding supplements and not overdo it with the training, Ari continued to push himself harder than any soldier of the Israeli Defense Forces has ever been pushed.
Lior couldn't help but pity the 20-year-old Duvdevan recruit. The “Virgin from Virginia” had come to Israel to be part of “the epic saga of the Jews” and basically a hero. Instead, he had bonded only superficially with people who, seeing through his fleeting charms, eventually merely pretended to appreciate his orthodox views, his homophobia and his judgmental attitude toward everything and everyone not approved by the Bible. He had never learned what hardship was and would often be found fretting over the prospect of a weekend off – when he would have to wash his own dishes, buy his own food and cook it, too. His parents had not joined him to Israel. Nowadays the only thing Ari could impress with, were his good looks. Even his skills in martial arts and athletics had lost their shine once everyone at the base discovered they would most likely see those skills in the form of a temper tantrum that would not take long to degenerate from yelling to biting.

The wind howled around the corners of the base, over the earth, turned to mud by pouring rains, and through scraggly bushes and the ragged plastic canvases that covered outdoor equipment.

“And what's that dripping noise? Did you break something?”

Another wave of thunder rolled over the base.

Lior tore his gaze away from Ari's biceps to look into his smoldering black eyes. “Eyal must have passed his gonorrhea to the faucet and when I tried to cure it, it started leaking further down. I didn't even hit it there.”

“The shock must have traveled through the pipe and broke it where it was already worn,” a new voice chimed in. Maya Matalon was standing in the doorway, smirking and obviously pleased with her brilliant analysis of something only men were supposed to know. Lior couldn't help but smirk back; Maya had a sort of magic about her that enchanted people the more she would boast or scoff. She never did it without being mercilessly dry about it – which made others feel even less intelligent. Did she realize?

Propping himself on his hands, Lior lifted himself up and sat down on the kitchen counter. Rain was drumming on the window next to him and a chilly draft came in from underneath. “You know, Sherlock Maya, behind your back they call you the Führer because you always remind others of their own inferiority. Be glad you're not here after dark! Except today.”
Maya buried her left hand in the deep pocket of her army trousers. “It's a dirty job but someone has to do it. Sieg h-”

Before she could finish the gesture, her right arm was yanked back down along with the rest of her tall, plump frame. Lior could cut the air with a knife as Ari's electrical gaze pierced Maya's as he spoke. “Don't.”

Despite murder being written all over Ari's square jaw and taut muscles, there was humor and affection in his tone. Only Ari could get away with talking to Maya as if she were a child, or worse, a dog. And even though she never flinched when he lashed out or yelled at her, or even flung her across the room, Lior guessed that next to deep affection, fear was part of the reason for her tolerance. But if Maya was indeed afraid of Ari, she didn't give it away. She did give away her other feelings as her smirk turned into a less-than-intelligent grin, emphasized by flushed cheeks and glowing green eyes.
Ari's stern face was only an inch short of touching hers and Lior felt his stomach churn when he glimpsed the hunger in Maya's eyes – she was this close to drawing her tongue over that symmetrical face, the stubble beard and all the way up to the cropped, dark, hair. If Ari didn't know about her feelings, he must be even stupider than his simpleton attitude let on. And if he had noticed, he must be gay not to either drag her to the restroom and cause three dishonorable discharges, or keep her at arm's length.

Hail joined in with the drumming and the thunder.

“When you're quite done eyeball-fucking Ari, sergeant Maya, would you be so kind to tell Noam we need a plumber?” All eyes were on the door where Oleg Sokolski had squeezed his way in past Maya and Ari. “And all three of you are expected in the cafeteria in five.”

Noam was their commander. Maya tore her eyes off Ari who let go of her arm and grinned bashfully. “I'll tell Noam to fix the faucet. I hope there's food at the cafeteria.”

Lior stretched. “In five” meant “ten minutes, give or take five”. Rainy weather always made his scalp itch; it must be something about the moisture in the air. Just as he was running his tan fingers through his short ebony shag, a thunderbolt came down right on top of them. The noise, accompanied by a silly squeak from Maya who was probably delighted at the excuse to throw herself into Ari's strong embrace, lasted for several seconds. A fuse was heard popping from the fuse box by the kitchen door, and everything went dark. When Ari returned from putting the fuse back up, Oleg was gone.

“Now that's creepy!” Maya chirped; she sounded only mildly concerned. She shook her long, curly, black, hair as if it had gotten wet in the rain outside; with a tug at Ari's belt and a friendly glance at Lior, she turned to leave.

“Guess Operation Thunderbolt finally got him!” Ari joked and Lior chuckled. While Lior and Maya were the only true Israelis in this room, even Ari the American was allowed to dislike Oleg for being overly Russian: Thickset, hair the color of honey, deep-set blue eyes and a tiny nose made him just a bit too stereotypical. His accent didn't help.

Seeing his friends off to join the others in the cafeteria, Lior yanked a sandwich box from the cabinet and shoved it under the leaking pipe. This water could flush the toilet. Frustrated to see it spill over the moment his hand let go, he slammed the cabinet door and hurried after Ari and Maya.