“New guy, you in the squadron or not?” Irish persisted. From the water Macho looked at her quizzically, as if to say, What’s your problem?
Now sensing the eyes of everyone at the pool on her, Shane whispered to herself, “Let’s get this over with.” She quickly unbuttoned her cover-up and removed it. The black one-piece suit was at least sensible, and she kept her arms drawn in as she gingerly slid into the pool. She waded to the net on Irish’s team as two more guys joined them in the water.
“Macho, is this the new guy?” Trench asked with a friendly smile, looking eye-to-eye at VFA-16’s newest officer.
Macho’s plan was working. “Yeah, this is Shane Duncan. Shane, this is Mark ‘Trench’ Jones and John ‘Coach’ Madden.”
“Hi, sir,” Shane replied with a shy smile as she extended her hand awkwardly.
“Welcome aboard, Fung, and cut the ‘sir’ crap. We’re all JOs. You know what you’re doing, here?”
Shane nodded. He was cute, they all were. And Mark—Trench—was paying attention to her. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. She could relax with her new squadronmates.
The game commenced, and Shane kept missing the action as Trench took the shots whenever the ball came their way. Soon, though, the ball came to her, and she needed to jump up and hit it.
Trench’s body crashed into her hard, knocking her down with a splash. She immediately felt his arm around her waist, pulling her up.
“Whoa, sorry, new guy!” Trench apologized as he released her and backed off.
“C’mon, Fung,” Macho chided her. “That was your shot!”
Shane smiled and got ready for the next serve. What fun! Everyone was so friendly and welcoming, smiling at her, embracing her, right off, as one of the group. Tiffany was right, the guys were so friendly and nice, like big brothers, their hands helping to steady her when she was off balance. Within minutes she felt protected by them. Playing pool volleyball with her new squadron friends in this tropical paradise was like living a dream. She found herself beaming as the water ran down her face and a dozen wet and friendly faces smiled back at her. Her grandfather had told her of the “work hard, play hard” culture of the Navy, and the play hard part was off to a great start. The Firebirds seemed to accept her for who she was, their new Intelligence Officer who would make them better aviators.
Next to her, with one eye on the game and one on Shane, Trench got his second wind like no hangover remedy could have done. Fate had delivered this dripping centerfold model practically into his lap! He would nail her by the time they returned to Norfolk, and he would make sure he was the first.
Trench then noticed the girls from last night had arranged their towels on the poolside lounge chairs and were taking furtive glances at him. They seemed miffed that he was not coming right over to join them, or at least to acknowledge them. They were no worse for wear he figured, and would probably snag some other guy tonight. He had duty back at the ship anyway, and the two coeds, together, couldn’t compete with the smoking hot six-foot juggernaut next to him. He’d say goodbye of course, being a gentleman and all. He might even buy them a drink before departing for the sea and disappearing into their clouded memories.
Meagan is the redhead, and… Oh, what’s the other girl’s name?
CHAPTER 7
The shrill sound of the bo’sun pipe over the 1MC sounded throughout the ship: “Ta-Weeeet… Underway. Shift colors.”
From his ready room chair Wilson glanced at the PLAT image of the flight deck and noted the time: 0905. Coral Sea’s anchor was up and soon they would be heading southwest into the central Caribbean. On the black-and-white television screen he could see the rugged shore of St. Thomas, and reflected the port visit had been fun and was over too soon, as all port visits were. The JOs had done a good job on the admin and seemed to welcome Ensign Duncan all right. No surprise there; she was friendly, pleasant… and gorgeous. He already had heard some of them refer to her as Wonder Woman, and he knew he needed to keep an eye on Trench and Coach.
“When’s the meeting again?” Annie asked from her chair.
“Zero nine-thirty,” Wilson answered. “All COs and XOs, and COs from the strike group ships. Guess our advanced training cruise just got changed.”
“What do you think’s going on? Venezuela?”
“Too provocative. Actually heard we might be operating in the vicinity of Panama. Maybe we’ll get to fly some close air support with the Army and some dissimilar hops against F-16s.
“Drug ops?”
“Nah, we’re too much of a national asset for that small stuff. Besides, they come through here, too. I think Panama, with the Chinese interest in building their own canal through Lake Nicaragua. Send ‘em a signal we’re watching them.”
Annie nodded. “Makes sense. Hey, thanks for the leave.”
“You and Mike have a good time?”
“Yeah, we went to St. John and Tortola. Beautiful. Boating, snorkeling… just beautiful. Met some fun Brit ex-pats living on a sailboat. What a life.”
“You could live like that, too, after you retire.”
“Yeah, but our little guy is thriving in Virginia Beach. Can’t do it,” Annie said.
Wilson smiled and shook his head. “You are such a mom. To both of your boys.”
“Yes, and Mike would agree with you.” Annie chuckled before she changed the subject. “How’s Mary?”
Mary. Wilson wondered himself. She was distant when they had talked on the phone and seemed further away than the actual 1,200 miles between them. He knew her seeming preoccupation was more than catching her at a bad time on a bad day. Derrick, now in sixth grade, was becoming moody with his video game obsessions. With that, and eight-year-old Brittany’s sexualized cultural desire to be thirteen, she had her hands full. But there was more. For the first time in their married life, he suspected her of having an affair.
Against his desire, Mary had taken a job in Suffolk, and the daily scramble — to get the kids off to school, fight the I-64 traffic, and deal with the guilt of after-school daycare — was taking its toll on her. And where was he? At sea or on a detachment for weeks or months at a time, preoccupied with the squadron and bringing the job home, not engaged with his family. And yesterday he was in “paradise,” partying it up — and talking to strippers.
Who is Mary talking to? Probably the guy in her office, Tom, divorced, outgoing, a single parent—like Mary. They had lots “in common,” lots to share. What else are they sharing?
“She’s doing great, kids are great. All good,” Wilson quickly responded.
Annie smiled and nodded her approval. “She’s such a doll. Mike says she’s doing a great job taking care of him and all the squadron girls in the spouses’ club.” Wilson didn’t want a reminder of more of Mary’s responsibilities. He needed to change the subject.
“I hear a bunch of fleet training guys came aboard. Have you seen any of them?”