Kozak thought that Supply Sergeants in line-units, especially those in Infantry Companies, weren't likely to anticipate the need for such an item and wouldn't have packed any "Feminine Hygene" products in the sundry packs that he'd loaded on his truck two days ago for his soldiers' personal needs (which is exactly what Staff Sergeant Marty Flynn considered them all to be, "his" Soldiers). She figured that the stuff he'd pack in them was more likely limited to things like writing paper, envelopes, pencils and pens, a dozen pairs of cheap sunglasses, boxes of travel-sized sunscreen, lip balm, bug dope, toilet paper, band-aids, soap, disposable razors and shaving cream, depilatory (for black troops who couldn't use razors due to shaving profiles), foot powder, and a couple dozen other little but handy items, etc.. But no, not a chance of something that specific to females. And she sure didn't want to have him dig up a box just for her from the bed of a combat-loaded truck on the side of the road, in front of the male dismounts in the Bradley's troop compartment. She was having enough trouble fitting in without having THAT take place.
If Kozak had put aside her embarassment about it, engaged her brain-housing group, and simply asked Sergeant Flynn if he could help her out, she'd have discovered that he did indeed pack sanitary napkins, but not because he was actually that prepared, but rather because he knew that those items were excellent at absorbing blood, and as one of the only two NCOs in the company that was a combat veteran (First Sergeant Felton C. Griffin being the other), he expected blood, and a lot of it, in the next few days and wanted to make sure that "Doc" Dykstra, the platoon's medic, had more than just the dozen or so field dressings for his aid-bag.
Kozak called out on the Bradley's ICS to Specialist Mark Talbert, the Bradley's driver, to break convoy and pull into the little Circle- K she'd spotted from the up in the TC hatch. "Driver, right turn, head up the ramp." Talbert gunned the M2 and drove up the ramp of Interstate 35's frontage road, where they pulled into the parking lot, noting the surpirsed exspressions on the faces of the people who were there getting gas, grabbing some beer, milk and bread, or whatever they needed to pick up on their way home from work, not knowing yet that the soldiers were on their way to war.
"Have the dismounts stay in the track, Sergeant Wilkes.", Kozak dropped down inside the Bradley and then lowered her voice a bit and talked directly into the Sergeant's ear, "I'll be back in a minute. I gotta get something kinda personal." She noted Wilkes initial puzzled expression, and then said in an even quiter voice, "My 'Aunt Flo' just showed up, unannounced." Staff Sergeant Marty Wilkes, a native Texan, and the only married man in the squad, immediatley recognized the "code" from Kozak. He quickly nodded his understanding and answered, "Yes Ma'am, but make it quick or we'll have a helluva time getting back where we're supposed to be." Kozak doffed her CVC helmet and grabbed her cap, then dismounted the Bradley.
In the back of the Bradley, the dismounts were talking (now that their "Lady El-Tee" was out of earshot), as grunts do, about her and why she suddenly had to break convoy, stop, and run inside a C-Store they'd come across.
Private First Class Nick Mannelli was an 18 year-old, smart-azzed Italian kid from New York, New York, "The city so nice they named it twice", he always said to anyone that asked him where he was from, as if his accent didn't tell you right away. Mannelli was a good soldier, but hadn't yet developed the tact that was now being required of all the males in the company (and the entire battalion for that matter) since the arrival of the first female Infantry Officer in the entire U.S. Army some six weeks ago. He also didn't care who heard him either, so he'd spent a lot time with a floor buffer in the Orderly Room, and the Old Man's and First Sergeant's offices.
Wilkes remarked, " Manelli, you dope... I'll make it simple for y'all to understand. The El-Tee is on the rag and needs some Kotex." Manelli answered, "Ah.. So that's what that smell was." Some laughter broke out and his buddy, Specialist Bobby Smith, a big, bear-like, likeable kid and the squad's SAW gunner from some little farm-town in Nebraska and whom everyone, even the First Sergeant, called 'Smitty', said to Manelli, "What, Brooklyn? You ain't never smelled a b*tch in heat before?" Even more laughter broke out, at Mannelli's expense, since he (alone) considered himself a "real player" and a ladies man. "Yeah, sure. Lots of times, Manelli retorted. "But never in a Bradley..."