“Mary Beth, an Atlanta girl with fine Southern charm and upbringing who was fantastic in bed.” He stopped. “Strike that last statement.”
“Better than me?” Milly asked.
He laughed. “I can’t answer that question on grounds that it could tend to get me in really, really big trouble.” She pushed him off her and got up on her hands and knees.
“Come over here, lover. I’ve been reading my Joy of Sex, Book Three. Have I got some surprises for you. Now don’t beg, you asked for it with that crack about Mary Beth. Just be good, do what I tell you to do, and take your punishment.”
He did.
Somehow they missed dinner. Then it was midnight and they tried for some takeout, but nobody delivered that late in the small Napa Valley town.
A week after the SEALs returned from Hawaii, Murdock was released from the Balboa Naval Hospital in San Diego, with a visit scheduled for five days later to take out the stitches on his shoulder. He had his right arm in a cloth sling with a strap around his neck, and hated it.
“Nothing like a sling on my right arm to increase and magnify my command presence with the men,” he fumed to Master Chief MacKenzie as he stepped over the quarterdeck that Thursday morning.
“Looks quite chipper to me, Commander. Haven’t seen one of those around here for two or three years.”
“Lieutenant MacCarthy had to wear one after a shoulder wound. You remember it. You teased him until he nearly called you up on charges.”
“Always a bit testy, that MacCarthy. Glad you’re back with us, lad. Been a bit quiet around here. Will you be needing any new men?”
“No. I have two wounded who should be back on partial duty in two to three weeks. You tell Don Stroh to blow it out his ass if he has any thoughts of an assignment for us in the next three months.”
“But, Commander, if the President asks for your platoon…”
“Tell the President to blow it out his Presidential ass.” Murdock waved and continued on to the Third Platoon headquarters office. He was first one on duty that morning, and glad. He could see what Ed DeWitt had done to keep the platoon together.
Four new file folders lay on his desk, each with a neatly designated title. The first was messages. He flipped through them quickly. Some glad-you’re-back types, and then one in the master chief’s individualistic uphill handwriting.
It was dated that morning from Washington, D.C. “Phone call from D.C., woman’s voice, left no message. Will call again.” That would be Ardith Jane Manchester. He leaned back and smiled. He had been thinking of her every day. She had known through her spy system and her own private operators that he’d come home and been in the hospital. Fact is, he had called her the third day and they’d talked for an hour. Now she must know he was out. He thought of calling her, but instead decided she was already on a plane and would be there that afternoon.
With that good thought he tore through the rest of the files, pushing two aside for later study, including one on a new British-developed Stealth Diving Suit. The British Ministry of Defense had taken delivery of thirty of the new devices. They looked long and bulky, with exposed tubing and fully enclosed face mask.
The material in the file said the new system had a computer-controlled mixture of oxygen and other gases in its delivery system. The computer automatically adjusted the mix of the gases to provide for the most rapid descent or ascent and decompression that the diver’s body could tolerate.
It was fully enclosed without bubbles. A unit like that would have let them dive to 150 feet with the enclosed system. They could have used three or four of them in Hawaii to go get that live nuclear bomb. He marked it for action. He wanted to order at least six of the suits from the Divex Company of Scotland.
He checked the roster. Jaybird was the critical one. He was still at Balboa. The doctors said they didn’t know how long it would take for his intestine to heal enough for strenuous duty. Ronson was released yesterday, should report in today. Light duty for him for at least a month.
Then there was the CO of this outfit. How long would it be before he could do the rope climb? That was the big one. His shoulder hurt, but not enough to use the pain medication they gave him. They said it was addictive and he shouldn’t use it for more than a week. No problem there. His arm hurt only when he moved it in certain ways or tried to lift his hand upward halfway to his shoulder.
He had full use of his fingers, wrists, and elbow. But none of them would help him run the OC in his usual good time. He swore softly, and answered the phone.
“Good work out there in Lotus Land,” Don Stroh said.
“At least nobody refused to come pull us out of harm’s way this time. Stroh, you never did see us in Hawaii.”
“We had a whole damn war to fight.”
“A short one.”
“True. How is the shoulder?”
“Great. Want to arm wrestle?”
“Not by long distance. Just wanted to check in. We know your group had itself shot up some. Nothing looks imminent back here right now.”
“If it does, go for another platoon. Ours won’t be ready for combat action for three months.”
“A lot might happen in three months, Murdock.”
“Call another fireman. Our fire extinguishers need refilling.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
A buzzer sounded on Murdock’s desk.
Murdock grinned. Saved by the bell. “Hey, just got a summons to the boss’s office. I’ll get back to you… in about three months.” He hung up and waited three beats. When he picked up the phone, Stroh was gone. He dialed the quarterdeck.
“Murdock here. You buzzed.”
“Yes, sir, you have a call on line two. I’ll put it through.”
“Hello?”
“Oh, good, Murdock. I was wondering about lunch at your place. I’m putting together a fancy tomato, bacon, and lettuce sandwich I think you’ll like.”
“Ardith, how in hell?”
“Connections. I phoned earlier from the plane. Can you struggle and get away early today, like about now? I bet you have some leave time coming.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am. I’m on my way. What kind of a sandwich was that again?” It was a private joke.
“You’ll have to wait and see. Now hurry home.”
30
Murdock eased into his parking slot at the apartment complex less than a mile from the quarterdeck and let a small groan slip out. He had tried to shift the car into park with his right hand the way he always did.
The knifing pain in his shoulder stopped him. He reached through the steering wheel with his left hand, shifted into park, and put on the safety club. With an effort he held it in place with his right hand and spread it apart with his left. So damn much trouble. He eased out of the car, closed the door with his left hand, and zapped the locks on with the button on his key ring, again with his left hand. Too damn much trouble.
He looked up and saw Ardith waiting for him on the small balcony/porch in front of his second-floor unit. It wasn’t large. He was there only a third of the time. He ran up the steps, and pulled her inside and kissed her thoroughly.
“Oh, my, now that’s what I call a welcome to California,” she said.
“That’s only a fraction of the welcome you’re going to get.”
“Good. Right here?”
He led her into the bedroom and opened the buttons of her pure white blouse.
“What about your shoulder? I don’t want to hurt you.”
“We’ll figure out a way that won’t hurt.”
They did.
Later, they went back to the living room and stared at the small blaze she’d built in the fireplace.