On the Afghan front, a convoy of jeeps kicked up rolling clouds of dust. Tony, fresh from pitching Stark Industries' latest products at Bagram Air Base, sat in the back with a glass of iced whiskey. Passionate rock music echoed through the vehicle as the young soldier beside him kept stealing curious glances at the legendary figure.
"Why do I feel like you're escorting me to a court-martial?" Tony, wearing sunglasses, displayed his usual sense of humor. "That won't do. What bad thing did I do? I feel like the moment we stop, you'll knock me out. What, are military officers not allowed to talk?"
"We're allowed to talk, sir," the young soldier answered shyly.
The silence inside the vehicle was broken by Tony Stark's words. The soldiers riding with him were no longer as restrained as before. This playboy had that kind of charm—he could always turn a dull occasion into something cheerful or awkward.
"Sir, I have a question." The soldier in the front seat turned around, his seemingly upright face unable to conceal his gossip-hungry expression. "I heard you slept with every cover girl from last year's Maxim magazine?"
Having hit upon a subject that interested him, Tony took off his sunglasses and said casually, "Good question. You're partly right. I couldn't fit the March cover girl into my schedule, but fortunately, December had twins."
"Anything else you want to ask..." Tony turned his head, looking carefree and unruly. "Are you kidding me? This isn't an elementary school classroom. Why are you raising your hand?"
"Could I take a picture with you?" the shy young soldier asked quietly.
"Of course." Tony leaned in beside his young fan and continued joking. "Just don't put it on your blog. Please, why are you making a gang sign... I'm kidding.