“Yes, Wonder Woman, the perfect helpmate. Probably down in the photo lab going over the latest recon images.”
“Yes. I imagine she has some experience with cameras,” Coach added.
Macho lifted her eyebrows in response as she poked at her food, a gesture not unnoticed by the men. Trench smelled blood.
“I’m sure she did some modeling in her day. I’m thinking a hand model,” Trench volunteered. “What do you think, Coach? Hand model? She does have beautiful hands, not that I’ve noticed them, or any of the physical attributes on her or any of the women aboard. Especially you, Macho.”
“Haven’t noticed either, dude,” Coach confessed. “She’s just the squadron intel officer to me. Besides, she’s much too straight-laced to be a model.”
Macho, building energy, answered in exasperation. “Just because a girl wants to be feminine you think she’s a slut. Who hasn’t taken some images she regrets? Everyone does it these days.”
“Yes, everyone, before you get to be twenty-three and it’s too late. If you’ve got it, get in front of the camera. Guess you were best behind the camera. Right, Macho?”
“You dickheads better leave her alone!” Macho lashed out in a tone low enough not to attract attention. “She’s a girl, and she’s not perfect, and you guys don’t have girlfriends who pressure you! Not that any girl would ever be your girlfriend! I’m outta here.”
Macho got up and stalked out, biting her cheeks to keep from smiling. Her trap was sprung, and they were caught in it. Yes! I’ve got ‘em!
As they watched Macho storm off, Coach turned to Trench and shook his head. “Guess we’re going to die alone, bro.”
“Yes,” Trench agreed, “we’re pigs. But, first, we have some research to do.”
Later that day, Olive placed her wardroom food tray across from Annie. “XO, may I join you?”
“Please do,” Annie replied, taking a bite of salad.
Olive removed her food from the tray and arranged it on the table. A sailor took away her tray. Having arrived late in the lunch period, the two Firebird pilots were alone at the squadron table.
“What do you have today?” Annie asked.
“Night intercept hop with Macho. How about you, ma’am?”
“Bombing the wake with Killer this afternoon, then a night surface search with Jumpin.”
Both pilots took a bite of their food. Olive continued, “XO, when do you think we’re going to leave here?”
Annie shrugged. “I don’t know. Haven’t heard anything from above, and the skipper doesn’t know either. Getting to be like Groundhog Day, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I mean, bumping heads with the Colombians is cool and all, but we’re searching the same patches of water day after day.”
“The test guys need to finish up, too, and they are taking forever. But it’s beautiful down here. Guess only us aviators can complain about lots of flying in clear skies.”
“Touché, ma’am,” Olive responded with a smile.
Annie changed the subject. “How’s our Ensign doing these days?”
“She seems to be okay, liked by all, has a smile on her face.”
“She’s okay with being Wonder Woman?”
“Doesn’t seem to faze her. Macho has her under her wing and is only too happy to blast anyone who shows disrespect.”
“Like Trench and Coach?”
“Yes, ma’am. I keep watch from afar, and they seem to be behaving.”
“How about the rest of the air wing guys?”
“So far, so good. She knows her job and she’s nice…. And looks like Miss America. Don’t you hate her?” Olive said as she smiled.
Annie smiled back, and then added, “I just don’t want to see her get hurt. She’s pleasant, but she also seems naïve. And her flight deck jersey and khaki uniform show too much of her figure. Let’s get her a flight suit.”
“Yes, ma’am, but she’s still six-feet tall and built. Hard to hide that — even in a flight suit.”
“Yes, but I think she also needs a motherly talk from me. I’m not sure things are as rosy as they seem for Ensign Duncan, and she needs her shields up. You, too, need to watch out for her.”
“Always.”
“And Macho and Trench… are they still at each others’ throats?”
“Probably, but, from what I can see, it hasn’t spilled over into their jobs.”
“Good,” Annie said as she nodded. Good order and discipline for all hands was a key part of her job as squadron XO. As the senior woman in VFA-16, an unwritten part of her job was to look out for the fifteen percent of the squadron who were female, most of whom were young sailors, many of them right out of high school. While the junior officers had a few more years of maturity under their belts, it wasn’t that many more, and she was glad to have Olive as a wingman to help keep everyone focused on their jobs. Shane Duncan, in particular, had a bright future as an intel officer, and while it wasn’t her fault, she could also be a distraction.
Fifty frames aft, Coach couldn’t believe his luck.
Yes!
Before him on his computer screen was an email with a special attachment sent to him by a stateside buddy. Coach opened it, and before him were three photos of the squadron Intelligence Officer wearing blue jeans — and nothing else.
At that moment Trench walked in. “Dude,” he said as he flicked on the light to his desk.
“Just in time,” Coach replied. “Lookie here. We got skin. We got ink.”
Trench walked over to Coach and checked the screen. “Yes! I knew it!” he said as he peered in close. In the photos Shane wasn’t wearing her glasses, but her arms covered her breasts. She appeared withdrawn if not perturbed, and one photo displayed her bare back with a tattoo design over her waistline. While the images were not R-rated, the pilots knew they weren’t anything Shane would want shared.
“Is that really her?” Trench asked. “Zoom in on her face.”
Coach complied, and they studied the high-definition image. “Look,” Coach said. “See that thing above the corner of her right eye? What is that? A mole, a freckle?”
“I think it’s a freckle.”
“Does she have a freckle there?”
“Dude, I haven’t noticed!”
“Yeah, I know what you’ve been noticing!” Coach shot back. He got up from his chair and grabbed his cell phone from the charger.
“Where you going?” Trench asked.
“Going to find out for sure. I’ll leave you two alone while I head down to the ready room. Be right back.”
Coach closed the door behind him, and Trench stared at the computer screen. Yes!
A booming roar from a jet recovering on the angled deck above vibrated the passageway as Coach headed aft. Bounding over knee-knockers with purpose, he turned amidships and then aft on the starboard main passageway to Ready 5. He found Shane sitting in the back alone.
Perfect!
“Hey, Shane, how’s it going?” he asked her. There it is, he thought as he spied the small brown mark above her right eye.
“Great! How about you?” she beamed back at him.
“Great. Hey, we’re sending the spouses photos of us at work, and as the new guy, they will want to see you. Let me get a photo of you here on duty.”