to her cheeks. “I can live with where we are now. And a year from now,
things will be different.”
He stared at her, hope growing in his heart. “You mean that?”
“You’re an idiot, Tombstone, if you can’t see that I do,” she replied
tartly. “If I’m allowed to call the Admiral an idiot, that is.”
“Sometimes the Admiral is,” he answered softly. “And he’d like to do
something idiotic right now.”
“Then I’d better be leaving before I compromise your reputation,” she
said, abruptly standing up. She held out her hand. “We have a deal, I
believe.”
He unfolded himself slowly from the chair and took her hand. For a
second, the urge to pull her close to him, to feel the lithe body mold itself
to his, was almost unbearable. Then he focused on the sharply pressed
uniform, the rows of combat medals on her chest, and the empty spot marked
with two little holes in the shirt above the ribbons. He released her hand
and crossed over to his desk in one step.
“I believe you’re out of uniform,” he said gravely, and handed her the
wings.
“It’s customary for a senior officer to pin the wings on,” she said,
closing her hand over his.
He slipped one hand inside her shirt, feeling the silky softness of her
breast on the back of his fingers. He positioned the wings above her ribbons
and pressed the two prongs through the holes already in her blouse. Fumbling
under her shirt, he slipped the two retaining clips, commonly known as
nipples, over the back of the prongs, firmly attaching her NFO wings to her
uniform.
“There,” he said. “I don’t know how many times I could stand to do that
on a cruise. That’s the last time I ever take my hand out of your shirt
without getting a hell of a lot more physical. You ever try to quit on me
again and I’m going to charge you with sexual harassment.”
Tomboy laughed. “I won’t quit on you again, Tombstone. Especially not
now. Hell, with what I’ve got to look forward to in a year, I don’t want you
flying with anyone else!”
“Then get the hell out of here and let me get some work done,” he snarled
in mock ferocity. “And by the way–stop by air ops and see if you can get on
the schedule for tomorrow. Among other things, I’m real overdue for five day
traps.”
“And we’ll talk about the night traps later,” she said.
1400 local (Zulu -7)
Kawashi Mara
“What the hell is this all about?” Third Mate Gringes asked the master of
the ship, waving the radio message in his hand. “Since when did we start
taking on Navy helicopters?”
“Since they decided one of their people wanted to have a little chitchat
with us,” the master replied. “Evidently our complaint about the fly-overs
got some attention. And there’s no reason why they couldn’t land here,” he
continued, pointing out to the broad, empty expanse of deck. “When we were in
the Navy, we had helicopters setting down on a lot smaller deck than that.”
“Guess I’d better dig out that emergency gear,” Gringes replied. “It’s
been a while since I was an LSO.”
An hour later, following a hasty FOD walk-down, Gringes saw the
helicopter appear on the horizon. The SH-60F made two exploratory circles of
the deck, getting a look at the area, and got an update on relative wind from
the bridge of the massive RO-RO. Finally satisfied, it settled neatly onto
the deck.
One flight-suited crew member hopped out and darted over to the Third
Mate.
“Hi! Commander Busby, USS Jefferson,” the man said, offering his hand.
“I gather you were expecting us.”
Gringes stifled the reflex to salute. “Yes, sir, we sure were. If
you’ll follow me, I’ll take you up to the master–uh, captain.”
“Any chance you could ask him to meet us in your radio room?” the Navy
officer said. “It’ll save some time, and things are getting a little urgent
out here.”
“Don’t we know it! We’re cranked up to max speed to get away from you
people. Guess it didn’t do much good, since you were able to hunt us down so