by L. A. Witt
God, that was good to hear.
“Okay.” I ran the backs of my fingers down his cheek. “You want to come out on first watch with me, then?”
He smiled, looking like a kid on Christmas. Or, well, a kid who was going skydiving on Christmas—excited as hell but scared shitless. “Yeah.” He lifted his chin. “Let’s do it.”
Because of our relationship and our ranks, not to mention him being on nights while I was on days, we weren’t technically supposed to go on watch together. Under the circumstances, though, nobody argued. Everyone in Harbor had been rooting for Dalton to get back on a boat, and Chief Jackson was totally on board with Dalton’s first watch being with me.
“It’s bending the rules a bit,” he admitted, “but MA2 Taylor trusts you. Going out there with you is probably the best thing for him.”
So, at 1500 the next afternoon, Dalton and I walked down the pier with Simmons on our heels. She had the rifle. On paper, I was coxswain and Dalton was crewman. Back in the office, Powers was ready to come down on a moment’s notice if we needed him to take Dalton’s place.
At the slip, Dalton paused and gazed at the Metal Shark. It was bobbing almost imperceptibly against the pier; the water was glass smooth in the harbor and gently rolling on the open sea. There was barely any wind either. I couldn’t think of a more perfect day to take him out there.
I touched his shoulder. “You ready?”
Dalton gazed up at the boat for another long moment, then turned to me and smiled. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
We locked eyes for just a second and then boarded.
I drove for now. Getting in and out of the slip was tricky even for someone whose confidence hadn’t been shaken. Better to let him take the wheel once we were out on the water.
In minutes, we were chugging away from the dock. Simmons was behind me in the cabin, the rifle slung across her lap. Dalton stood halfway in the cabin, holding on to the doorframe for balance. Not that he really needed to, but it never hurt to hang on to something; you never knew when a wave might come out of nowhere and rock the boat.
“How are you holding up?” I asked over the rumble of the engines.
He flashed me another smile. “So far, so good.”
“Not gonna get seasick or anything?” I tapped one of the compartments near my knee. “We got barf bags if you need them.”
“Shut up.” Dalton laughed. Really laughed. And damn if it didn’t make me warm all over, seeing him laughing out here, on a boat, with the wind tugging at his uniform. It was like being back at coxswain’s school. Back when I’d fallen in love with him.
“Hey, MA1,” Simmons called from behind me. “You want to keep your eyes on the road?”
I glared over my shoulder at her, and she smirked, eyes flicking toward Dalton. I rolled mine and turned my attention back to the water in front of us. Then I glanced at Dalton again. He wasn’t smiling now, but he wasn’t scowling either. He looked . . . peaceful. Like he was relaxed and back in his element. If it weren’t for the white of his knuckles on the doorframe, I might’ve bought it.
“Hey,” I said. “You still hanging in there?”
Dalton’s smile wasn’t so easy this time, but it came. “I’m better than I was last time I tried to do this.”
I studied him, then tapped the helm. “Think you’re ready, coxswain?”
He stared at my hand and took a deep breath. I thought he was going to have second thoughts, but then he stepped into the cabin. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
“You sure?”
He shot me a playful glare. “Get out of the way and let me show you how it’s done.”
I laughed, holding my hands up in surrender. “You got it.” I stepped back to make some room for him, and Dalton took my place on the hard metal seat.
Jesus. Yeah. He really was back in his element now. The nerves were still there, and his jaw worked more than it usually did, but he maneuvered the Metal Shark just like he had in coxswain’s school. Maybe not at full speed, but it wasn’t like we could do that inside the harbor anyway.
I grinned. “You want to take it out to sea?”
Dalton hesitated for a nanosecond before a big old grin spread across his face. “Fuck yeah, I do.”
I chuckled. “Hey, Simmons. You might want to buckle up.”
“Hey!” Dalton laughed.
“Whatever, MA1,” Simmons said. “I buckled up as soon as you took the wheel.”
“Oh! Oh!” Dalton pointed at me. “She’s got jokes, MA1! You gonna take that?”
I rolled my eyes. “Man, fuck you both.”
She smothered a giggle. He elbowed me playfully.
And then he steered the boat toward the mouth of the harbor.
He kept her centered, staying as far from either barrier as he could. We were supposed to do that anyway, but he seemed to be concentrating intently on it, like he wanted to be absolutely sure he was as far from any fish nets as possible. At least the fishermen were pretty good about not plunking them down in the middle of the harbor entrance.
He throttled up, and the Metal Shark passed between the barriers. Now we were in open water, and the boat rocked with a bit more feeling. I kept a hand on the doorframe like Dalton had earlier, but mostly I just kept my feet apart and planted.
Once we were clear of the gate, Dalton looked like he was fighting back another grin. He cut his eyes toward me. “So, as long as we’re out here . . . think I should put the old girl through her paces?”
We weren’t supposed to screw around on patrol, especially not in the expensive-to-maintain-and-fuel Metal Shark, but if Dalton had the confidence back to do more than just putter around?
“Fuck yeah, you should.”
I glanced at Simmons. She was watching with a smile.
Dalton took a deep breath. Then he pushed the throttle forward. The engines roared. Water hissed along the hull as the boat sped up.
“Hang on!” he shouted. I was already hanging on, of course, and I still stumbled a bit when he turned hard, kicking up a wall of water as he made a doughnut. He did it again, following it with a figure eight.
And . . . wow. I’d always loved watching him drive the boats in coxswain’s school, but seeing him like this—fearless and enjoying himself—after he’d been afraid to even be near the water? Fuck, I could’ve cried.
The radio crackled to life. “You boys having fun out there?”
Panic shot through me at first, since we weren’t technically supposed to be out here hotdogging, but the smile in Jackson’s voice chilled me out. As Dalton slowed down, I picked up the radio. “Just putting the Shark through her paces, Chief.”
He chuckled. “Looking good. Nice driving, MA2.”
Dalton grinned from ear to ear. “Thanks, Chief.”
“When you’re ready to be on the watch bill as a coxswain, say the word,” Jackson said. “You obviously haven’t lost your touch.”
Dalton kept beaming as he repeated, “Thanks, Chief.” He knew as well as I did—and Chief did—that he wouldn’t be allowed to work as a coxswain until the psych eval a year after the incident, but I was pretty sure he got Jackson’s message.
You’re still a coxswain. You’re still a good coxswain. You’re not going anywhere.
None of us mentioned that it wouldn’t make a difference if Dalton didn’t make MA1 on the current advancement cycle. Everyone knew. There was no point in killing the moment for him. After everything he’d been through, he deserved to enjoy this.
“So.” Dalton looked at me. “You want your boat back?”
I thought about it, then shook my head. “Nah. I think I’m going to let you drive.”
“You sure?” His eyes sparkled. Please say yes.
“Yeah, baby.” I patted his forearm. “It’s all yours.”
November
I usually hated awards quarters. Everyone would shuffle in, usually long before or long after shift so they really just wanted to be in bed. We’d stand in ranks, and somebody in charge—the command master chief, th
e XO, or the CO, depending on how important the awards were—would talk for a while. Then whoever was in charge would go down the line, give out each award, take a photo shaking hands with the recipient, and if someone got something really cool or someone had reenlisted, there’d be cake. Tasteless, textureless, half-frozen cake, but if there was one thing you learned as a Sailor, it was not to bitch about free food. Especially free cake.
I didn’t mind showing up for quarters this morning, though. Not even after a long shift. My pillow was calling to me, and quarters meant I’d be getting to it almost two hours late, but that was okay.
Chris was still on days, so he was as bleary-eyed as I was, shuffling into the security building’s largest conference room with coffee in hand.
“Hey.” He smiled sleepily. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to bed?”
“Yeah, but apparently some assholes are getting awards, so I have to stay awake.”
“Damn those bastards,” he said into his coffee cup, and he winked.
I just laughed. We didn’t touch. In uniform, we had to keep the affection to a minimum. We could date, since he wasn’t my supervisor anymore, but he did outrank me, so we had to toe some lines in the name of military bearing and not fraternizing. As if it was any big secret—everyone in the command knew by now.
But it was okay. Tomorrow was a day off for both of us. We’d lounge around in bed until we felt like getting up, and then maybe go out like a normal—if somewhat sleep-deprived—couple. Or we’d just stay home and enjoy being as lazy as humanly possible.
We’d moved in together a couple of months ago, after a friend of Diego’s had moved out of town, leaving a decent-sized one-bedroom apartment vacant. It was bigger and a little cheaper than the one Chris had had, and we’d snatched it up before it had even been listed and locked in a one-year lease at a decent rate. With a couple of ships moving to NAS Adams in the next few months, housing was about to get seriously expensive and tough to find. Whoever moved into our apartment after us would be paying double or triple our current rent.
Our command master chief called everyone to attention. Chris and I put our coffee cups on the tables at the edge of the room, then joined our shipmates in ranks in the middle. We didn’t stand together, though. I stood with the other MA2s in my section, and Chris went to the front to join MA3 Rhodes, MA3 Powers, and everyone else who’d been involved in pulling me out of the water last February.
The Coast Guard swimmers and crew were there as well. Rumor had it Chief Lasby had tried to squash their medals too, if only because there was extra paperwork involved when someone from another branch received an award from the Navy. Fortunately, Chief Jackson had personally made sure they were given what they’d earned.
Watching all of them getting their awards and posing for handshake photos with the CO, I couldn’t help getting choked up. It was hard to swallow that I would literally be dead if not for them. Rhodes had kept me from drowning, but the fast, precise actions of everyone else had gotten both of us out of the water before the hypothermia or the flailing boat could kill us. One lapse in communication, one inability to make a decision, one person not doing their job, and Rhodes and I could’ve been dead. But they’d all kept it together in horrendous conditions, put their own lives on the line, and now she and I were here, alive and well.
Everyone was given an award, but it was Rhodes who’d truly gone above and beyond, so there was no Navy Achievement Medal for her. Instead, the CO presented her with the Navy and Marine Corps Medal for heroism. That was a medal they only gave out for extraordinary acts of bravery outside of combat where a person put their own life in danger. With that on her brag sheet, she was a shoo-in for her next promotion and probably a couple thereafter. Fortunately for the Navy, she’d reconsidered getting out. After Jackson and Curtis had started raining hellfire on Chief Lasby, and the investigation had been properly overseen, she’d felt less disillusioned and less like she was being punished for saving me. I suspected she’d still be guarded with the higher-ups for a long time, but she was giving the Navy another chance. In January, she’d reenlist.
I hoped I’d have the opportunity to reenlist too, but I wouldn’t know that until the advancement results came out. They were due soon, and I felt a lot more confident about my last exam, but there was so much riding on this promotion. From what I’d heard, only a small percentage of MA2s were advancing this cycle. Far fewer than the last couple. That didn’t bode well for someone who’d been to Mast and was years behind his peers when it came to making rank.
I shook away that thought. No point in getting upset about it until the results actually came out.
While Captain Rodriguez handed out the awards to the Coast Guard swimmers, I applauded along with everyone else, but I also stole a glance around the room. Noticeably absent in the ranks was MA1 Anderson. Or rather, MA2 Anderson. Senior Chief Curtis’s reinvestigation of the incident had left no doubt in anyone’s mind that Anderson had acted irresponsibly, putting Sailors’ lives at risk despite being warned. He’d gone to Captain’s Mast, and Captain Rodriguez had stripped him of one rank, docked him a month’s pay, and ordered his coxswain’s qual permanently removed. She could have easily sent him to court-martial and potentially ended his career. I wasn’t exactly sure why she’d decided to keep it in-house and go relatively easy on him, but I suspected it had to do with his pregnant wife.
I had mixed feelings about that. I wasn’t particularly gleeful that a man who was about to be a father had been knocked down a rank and had lost a month’s pay, but I was relieved there’d been consequences for what he’d done. Especially since I saw a lot of my younger self in him—the dumb kid who’d been allowed to be a dumb kid for too long, only to be abruptly humbled after being slapped upside the head with real-world consequences. It should’ve happened to him when he was younger and had less to lose, but better late than never. I just hoped he did like I had and straightened his shit out. I suspected he would. After all, he’d been a different man the last few months. Not so full of himself, not so impulsive. There was some humility that hadn’t been there before. He might have been a shitty MA1, but he was doing his damnedest to be a solid MA2. I had a feeling that by the time he was promoted again, he’d be MA1 material.
Captain Rodriguez hadn’t been nearly as gentle with Chief Lasby. She hadn’t even bothered with Mast for him. Once she’d heard about his interference in the investigation—especially his threats—she’d sent his ass straight to court-martial. In the end, they’d knocked him all the way down from E-7 to E-1.
And wasn’t it just poetic that, thanks to the high-year tenure rules, he could no longer stay in until his twenty-year mark. At eighteen and a half years, he was stripped of rank and discharged. No retirement. No benefits. The discharge wasn’t dishonorable—you pretty much had to commit murder for one of those—but other-than-honorable didn’t look so hot on a résumé either. I could only imagine him explaining that in a job interview, along with why he’d been discharged as an E-1 after eighteen years.
Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it, Chief?
Oh. Sorry. I meant Seaman Recruit.
Maybe that made me kind of a dick, being happy that Lasby’s entire career had been reduced to nothing but a shit stain, but I couldn’t feel bad for a man who’d threatened me or my Sailors.
Awards quarters finally wound down, and everyone dispersed for handshakes and the most important part—cake.
While the cake was cut and people lined up, I found Rhodes in the crowd and hugged her tight. “Congrats. You totally deserved this.”
She smirked as she let me go. “Is it wrong to want to brag that I got a medal for losing a rifle?”
I laughed. “Hey, if I were you, I totally would. Makes a great story.”
“Yeah, but I like the other version,” Chris said. “The one where you save my man’s life.” He gathered Rhodes in a bear hug, and I swore there were tears in his voice when he said, “Thank you so much. He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for y
ou.”
She hugged him back just as fiercely. When they released each other, they both had to wipe their eyes.
Then I hugged her again. “I know I’ve said it a million times, but . . . thank you.”
She sniffed against my shoulder. “You know I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
“Of course you would.” I chuckled as I let her go. “You’ve got balls of steel.”
She laughed, wiping her eyes again. She was about to say something, but right then, Chief Jackson walked up to us.
He extended his hand to her, and as she shook it, he said, “That medal was well deserved. Congratulations, MA2.”
Her lips quirked, and she gestured at her shoulder. “MA3, Chief.”
A huge grin spread across his lips. “Not according to the email I just got.”
My heart sank. Oh fuck. The advancement results had dropped, hadn’t they? God, I didn’t even want to know.
Rhodes’s jaw dropped. “Are you . . . The results are out? Are you serious?”
“Yep. Well done.” Then he turned to me. “That goes for you too, MA1.”
I stared at him. “MA . . . 1?”
“Yes. MA1.” Extending one hand to shake mine, he clapped my shoulder with his other. “Nicely done. You’re going to make a great first class.”
“I . . . Thank you, Chief.” I clumsily shook his hand. Holy shit. I’d made it? I’d fucking made it?
Chris threw his arms around me, nearly bowling me over. “Yeah! You did it, baby!”
I laughed, struggling to keep my balance and my composure. “Oh my God.” I still had a career. I was an MA1. Or would be pretty damn soon, anyway. Whoa.
Rhodes hugged me too. “Congrats, MA1.”
“Thanks, MA2.” I squeezed her tighter than I had earlier.
As we collected ourselves, Chief Jackson’s gaze moved to each of us in turn, and his expression was serious, but not hostile. “Listen, what happened to the three of you during that investigation was utter horseshit, and Chief Lasby deserves exactly what he got from it. But if there’s any silver lining to it, it’s that it has the potential to make the three of you stronger as Sailors and as leaders. From here, there’s two ways you can move forward. You can be the type of leader who doesn’t pull this shit on the people below you and doesn’t take it from the people above you. Or you can . . .”