He wasn’t going to tell anyone that it was the Alvin and the Chipmunks version inside his head.
Chapter 6
“Captain wants to see you.”
Gail looked up at the Seaman Second and tried to make sense of the words.
“Why?”
“Like I’d know. He’s in the Officer’s Mess.”
“Which is where?”
The Seaman eyed her strangely.
“I’ve been on board for three hours, most of which I spent right here. Give me a break, sailor.”
“Yes, Chief. Sorry, Chief.”
She turned back to her new staff. “Take an hour.” Stingy. “I’d give you two, but I think we have some catching up to do.” Let them know it was to be an exception, not a habit.
They nodded, several smiled. She wondered how long it had been since they’d felt good about reporting for kitchen duty. For all she could see, they were a good group simply in want of a little leadership, and a lot of training. A person needs to feel they’re learning. Something Daddy always said that she’d discovered to be absolutely true.
Gail considered thanking them as they filed out. She wanted to build a team, but she wanted it to be a Navy team, so she offered them a simple nod instead. Then she pulled the jack out of her music player and tucked it back into her knife case. She always cooked to music. And from Thanksgiving to Christmas, her and her Mama’s favorite music was fair game. Mama was always adding the latest holiday album to their shared playlist. Pretty soon Gail would be able to go a whole season without a single repeat.
The kitchen was empty, except the Seaman Second Class who was still waiting for her. The line of big stainless-steel steam kettles the size of fifty-five gallon drums were empty. The pair of six-foot griddles were cooling off from their hot work. Burners off. Pots, pans, bowls all run through the industrial washer and tucked away secure against an unexpected sea roll.
We get a hurricane, she silently warned the crew, you’re getting peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
“Okay,” Gail tucked away her knife case in the Chief Steward’s locker and turned to the Seaman. “Lead away.”
She’d been on the ship three hours and one meal—six hours and one meal if you counted the trip to the Ivory Coast.
First question that came to mind: Was she about to be thrown off?
# # #
Sly still wasn’t used to eating in the Officer’s Mess. When they’d off-loaded the Marines and on-boarded SOAR and the Rangers, they’d shifted around to consolidate the dining. Chief and above, SOAR’s flight crews, and the top Rangers all ate in the Officer’s Mess. Second class petty officers and down, SOAR line crews, and Ranger grunts shared the Crew’s Mess on the deck directly below.
Delta Force, the four of them, also ate in the Officer’s Mess and had staked out the two tables in the back corner, facing the entryway. Only a couple of the SOAR women comfortably crossed that invisible line from time to time. No one else.
Sly certainly didn’t.
What the hell do you say to a D-boy? They couldn’t talk about missions. “So, what did you guys take out of the American embassy in those packs?”
Talk about their girlfriends?
One had married the SOAR pilot, Trisha, funniest looking couple he ever saw—a six-foot D-boy who never spoke and a five-foot Irish redhead who never stopped.
Besides, Sly didn’t have a girl. He’d sometimes pick up a honey for a week’s leave. Or he and some cute Lieutenant might agree to leave separately, then just happen to land on the same Italian beach or Pacific Island for a week’s R&R. The definition of safe, no-commitment sex—because if you got caught, you got court-martialed. What happened on the beach, stayed on the beach. Worked out for everyone.
It had been a while since he’d had one of those. When he considered doing something about that, Chief Gail Miller and that easy laugh of hers rose to mind very easily. Too easily. Getting a soft spot in his brain for a fellow Chief was not the best idea. And that was completely aside from the fact that he’d only met her this morning.
He looked around the mess for a distraction. There were a couple of lame strands of red and green bunting laced through the overhead pipes and ductwork. A big Christmas tree was tied into the corner of the space—a popup from a box, not a live one—mostly decorated with garlands that had seen better days, but it was cheerful. You could feel the old girl hanging on. As soon as SOAR was done with her, they’d decommission the old Peleliu.
And then what?
Decommission him?
He could always shift over to a Wasp-class ship. But it wouldn’t be the same. He’d lived aboard this ship since his teens and it was hard to imagine being anywhere else.
He didn’t like change. It was—
His eye passed over something different. Something very different. Didn’t even take him a heartbeat to zero in on it.
Chief Gail Miller stood in the doorway dressed in a shining white chef’s coat. Her dark red hair now shone in contrast.
He rose to meet her as she angled into the room; caught up to her as she arrived at…LCDR Ramis’ table.
There was an awkward moment; he should have looked where she was going and stayed out of the way.
Sly wanted to say something about the meal. Maybe get her talking.
Ramis was in the middle of some conversation with a pair of his senior staff and looked up at her.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” Gail launched right in.
Sly was about to back off when she finally spotted him, “Hi, Chief.”
She looked exhausted. Right, she’d been looking for rack time before the debrief and the meal. She must be wiped out.
Boyd turned to his table mates, “If you gentlemen would excuse us?”
They rose easily, taking their finished lunch trays back to the window.
Sly was one the verge of moving off when Ramis said, “Hang on, Chief.”
Ramis waved them both to join him.
Sly ended up side by side with Gail, facing the Lieutenant Commander. Close enough that he could feel her warmth. Could smell an odd mix of cooked spices and fresh air. A smell of delicious female served up in a fine package. Her profile was well worth appreciating. Straight back evident despite the white chef’s coat. Well-defined chin without being angular. Full lips and a neat nose. And—
Crap! He was doing it again. He focused his attention on the Lieutenant Commander and told it to stay there.
“That was a fine meal, Chief,” Ramis started in.
It had been. Sly might be one of the few who knew why. Instead of a double grease-burger, he’d taken only one of the oversized patties and found it delicious, and enough. The guys who still took two at his table had trouble finishing them, but did anyway because they tasted so good.
“Thank you, sir. Best I could do on short notice.”
“I understand you had some words with Chief Schmidt.”
She glanced at Sly and he nodded that it was the same guy.
“I threw his behind in the brig, sir.”
Sly was hard pressed not to laugh. Behind. Only a woman from the South could be in the Navy long enough to make Chief and still not put someone’s ass in the brig.
“He’s quite unhappy about the situation. I’d like to hear your side of it.”
“No, sir. You wouldn’t.”
Ramis looked at Sly for a moment and then back at the Chief, “I assure you that I would.”
Gail glanced around the room. Sly followed her gaze. Most of the officers and senior enlisted were gone. They could speak privately.
“How long have you been eating Schmidt’s food, sir?”
Ramis shrugged, “Since I’ve been aboard, six years. Chief?”
“He came aboard two years before you did, sir.”
“You really don’t want to know. Especially not right after eating.”
“I don’t enjoy games, Chief.”
“I don’t play them, Commander.”
“Excep
t golf,” Sly offered trying to lighten the moment. The poor woman had been aboard less than a single watch, and half that had been spent invading the Ivory Coast.
“Never picked up a club in my life, Chief,” her smile was brief but radiant.
Twenty dollars a hole…All Sly could manage was a sputter.
“Sir,” Gail switched back to being completely serious as she returned her attention to Ramis.
Didn’t play golf? And he’d completely fallen for it.
Damn!
The woman found everything funny.
Except food.
He’d safely bet his pension that food was one thing she treated with a deadly seriousness.
“When I arrived in the kitchen, your chef,” she managed deep disdain in the word—ocean deep, “was on the verge of seasoning your chowder with cigarette ash. He was precooking meat over thirty minutes before a meal. The coleslaw was already dressed with mayonnaise, but was not being kept at a safe temperature. His fryer oil was so dark and so far under temperature that I don’t dare make French fries until I can drain and scrub the thing, that’s why the potatoes were pan-fried. His vegetarian option was a bag of iceberg lettuce. Would you like me to begin discussing the state of your ship’s stores or do I have permission to toss most of it overboard and order up a resupply ship?”
Ramis looked thoughtful. “Was it strictly necessary to arrest him?”
“It was the fastest way I could think of to get him out of the kitchen. It was either that or run him through the meat grinder. The galley is an interior compartment and offers no hatchways for immediate disposal at sea.”
Sly couldn’t help laughing. He definitely liked this woman despite his initial take on her…and her golf game.
“Your assessment, Chief Stowell?”
That sobered him, “Well, sir. I’ve served a lot of years with Chief Schmidt and I’m reluctant to speak ill of a fellow Chief.”
He could feel Gail tensing up beside him. Woman wore her emotions right on her sleeve. How did that even happen after a decade in the Service? It was a surprise, a relief, and a wonder. Like discovering a Christmas present had just landed on the bench beside him.
“However,” Sly decided that loyalty was one thing but honesty among Chiefs was another. “It was perhaps, shall I say, ill-advised for Chief Schmidt to call Chief Miller a ‘bitch’ within thirty seconds of their first meeting.” What the hell, in for a penny, in for a pound. “Her quick decision did have the advantage of allowing insufficient time for his barely-in-check tendencies toward sexual harassment to surface. Though his well-known disdain of all women in uniform was on full display.”
“On my ship?” Ramis sounded deeply shocked.
Sly nodded confirmation. He wasn’t surprised by Ramis’ reaction. The man liked to delegate, through trust in his personnel, down through the ranks and didn’t like to interfere on “lower” matters unless strictly needed. Missing problems like Chief Schmidt was one of the hazards of that style of command.
The Lieutenant Commander chewed on that for a moment.
Gail opened her mouth, but Sly nudged her with his knee to keep still. He could see her resist the urge to glance sideways at him, though he was fairly sure that Ramis missed it.
“Perhaps,” Ramis made a show of picking up the freshly baked chocolate chip cookie that had remained on his tray throughout the discussion. “Perhaps we can return to the topic of what you put in that fine polenta dish. I’m a fair cook myself and my XO was quite insistent that I try it. I admit to being very pleasantly surprised.”
# # #
“What was that?” Gail had no idea what had just happened. She gathered that she wasn’t in trouble, but even that was a guess.
Sly led her down a sloping ramp and onto the Hangar Deck. It was empty except for a helicopter parked in a forward bay which was being worked on by a three-person crew. They wandered back through the cavernous space until they reached the fantail. It was so peaceful, she could even hear their footsteps echo off the underside of the Flight Deck three stories above.
He seemed to be sticking close by her side today, not that she was complaining. When she’d been sure that he’d throw her under the keel, he’d told the truth about his long-time fellow Chief. Damned decent and totally unexpected.
Night still reigned off the stern of the ship. They were making way, but only enough to leave a minor wake. From here the stars shone brightly above. A helicopter slowly wound to life on the deck above them, only partly muted by the steel in-between.
Sly tipped his head back behind them, a movement revealed by only the faintest of light filtering down the deck from the helicopter maintenance at the far end of the bay.
“That, is Boyd Ramis’ way of saying that the matter is dealt with. I think he watched too much Upstairs, Downstairs as a child. He’s from Poughkeepsie, New York but he keeps thinking he’s an understated Brit.”
“So what happens to Schmidt?”
“What does and what should are two different things.”
“Are you trying to be as cryptic as he is? Give me a break, Sly, and spell it out.” The helicopter, now at full roar, lifted off the Flight Deck and made a quick turn for the west, disappearing into the darkness.
“See that helo?”
“Sure.” Its winking lights were rapidly disappearing from sight.
“I’d wager that Chief Vic Schmidt is aboard, heading over to the carrier to catch a ride home. Ramis might seem obtuse or lax, but he is also a man who believes in immediate action and he doesn’t tolerate problems…once he learns of them.”
Gail could hear the bad with the good in Sly’s tone, but overall she was encouraged. She’d served with commanders who were far less appreciated by their crews, and deservedly so.
“Vic was due to muster out after handing over the galley to you. Everyone expected that to take two weeks, not two minutes,” he offered a shrug. “He’ll get his Honorable Discharge, maybe even a rank bump for time served to bolster his pension, and live to tell stories about the ‘bitch’ who replaced him.”
“Jerk.”
Sly laughed.
“What?”
“Even now you can’t curse him? What kind of a girl are you?”
“I’m a good girl, I am.” She made it sound as if she was quoting something in a poor Cockney accent with a little bit of South still slipping through.
He didn’t even get the joke and still she made him want to laugh. When was the last time a woman made him feel that way? Never? Twice never? He brushed her hair back behind her ear so that he could see her profile more clearly.
She didn’t flinch or pull away despite how forward the action was.
“I,” his throat had gone dry, “I think that I am the one about to be a jerk.”
She turned to look at him. Really look at him.
Even in the shadowed darkness of the distant worklights he could feel her studying him intently.
“I suspect that being a jerk isn’t the real you, Chief.”
“Let’s find out.” Then Sly did something he’d never done before in two decades of service, he kissed a woman while on a Naval vessel.
# # #
Gail was not a loose woman.
Telling herself that didn’t sound very convincing at the moment. What had started as a testing kiss had heated right up when she leaned into it.
She’d known the man for maybe fifteen seconds and here she was throwing herself at him.
Sly slid his arms around her and pulled her in.
She let him.
He wasn’t just Navy strong; he worked at it. She could feel the strength of him, both physical and…she didn’t even have the right word. But from somewhere down inside him there was a core of seriously good, like the rich center of a wrapped filet mignon…except he struck her as more of a corndog kind of guy—an analogy that also worked. Sort of.
It didn’t stop her from enjoying the kiss that he was giving her. That she was giving back.
L
oose woman.
Well, maybe just this once it was okay.
There’d been something about him from that first moment standing there with his pants and his dignity all wet.
She managed to step back by a half breath, but it was a struggle when her body was screaming to go in the other direction.
“Holy cats, Chief!” she struggled for control of her racing heart, but that attempt went right out the porthole along with not being “loose.”
“Holy cats?”
“Do you greet all new Chiefs this way?” He still held her tight against him and she could see no reason to try and escape. He felt wonderful.
“Not as a habit, no.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and went looking around inside for a bit of sanity, but that appeared to be out of stock in the Gail Miller pantry.
“For one thing, the guys never shave close enough and are always scratchy.”
She ran a hand over his face.
“Some of the women too.”
Very smooth. Too smooth.
“You shave especially for me, Chief?”
“Didn’t think I was went I did it, but I might have been.”
“Hmm…” Gail never just purred like a cat, but she certainly felt like one at the moment. Canary and all.
He waited her out, his strong hands had slid from her back down to her waist when she moved back, but he hadn’t pulled away. He was a man confident in his own attraction.
“I wish…” she trailed off.
“What?”
She brushed that smooth cheek again and looked up into those dark, waiting eyes. “That I had more than the three minutes I need to get back to my galley. The crew will be there by then.”
Sly stepped back. “Well, perhaps later, Chief.”
“No perhaps about it, Chief. That’s a ‘definitely.’ If that kiss was any indicator, you’re well worth the risk of a court martial.”
Then she turned and headed away fast.
It was either that or throw herself at him, knock them both off the stern railing, and die happy in the warm ocean.
Definitely a loose woman.
Which did leave her to wonder quite where she’d left the old Gail Miller when she was stowing her gear for the trip to the Peleliu.
Christmas at Steel Beach Page 6