Declared Hostile - страница 13
“Mary Martha, it has been a pleasure to meet you.”
“Where you going? The night is young,” Mary Martha purred, unloading a full broadside of sexual energy.
“I’m sure there are others you’d like to talk to.”
She shifted her body toward him. “I’m not interested in talking to them. I’m interested in talking to you.”
Wilson now knew he was in trouble. Get over here, Billy.
“Are you staying here tonight, or on that awful boat?”
“Neither. We’re going to the other side of the island.”
“You sure you don’t want to stay here? Daddy Warbucks is going to take me out of here soon so he can go beddy-by. Then I can come back out to play.”
Wilson gave her a slight smile. “My apologies, Mary Martha—”
Now spurned, her eyes flashed as she cut him off. “Okay, darlin’ Jim. Wifey should be proud of you.” She then quickly softened her tone.
“If you change your mind, I’ll be here tomorrow morning, sunning myself, wearing three band-aids and some fishin’ line… You need to get a good look. Everyone else does. Bye.” She turned and walked slowly across the pool deck to Marvin, who, along with the other men, watched her approach with approval. Billy appeared next to Wilson, and the two of them witnessed the beaming middle-aged men envelop Mysty within seconds.
“Wow. That is a bundle of fun. And you were talking to her.”
“Yep.”
“Now that you are returning to earth, care to hobnob with the heavies? But before we do, can I buy you a drink? After that performance you’ve earned it.”
Wilson nodded. “Yep. The night is young.”
When the reception began to wind down, and before the heavies left, the aviators jumped in a rental car and headed to the squadron admin at Breezy Cay, a thirty-minute drive through the darkened two-lane roads. Several of the squadrons had admins nearby. They served as bases of operations as the squadron officers explored Saint Thomas. A portion of each squadron also had officers standing duty aboard Coral Maru. They would get a chance at liberty tomorrow when the first wave returned back to the ship to relieve them.
Wilson sat in the back seat with Billy and the CO of the Rustlers, one of the helicopter squadrons. Looking across the water at the shadowy island of Saint John, Wilson’s mind wandered. Once this port visit ended they would get underway for the western Caribbean, south of Cuba and east of Belize. Belize? A nuclear-powered aircraft carrier was going to conduct exercises with Central American navies from Honduras and Belize, which consisted of little more than harbor patrol boats and Jet Ranger helicopters? Carriers hadn’t operated in these waters since the mid-80s when Nicaragua was a communist base that fomented revolution throughout the region. Then, later in the decade, Panama under the Noriega regime had drawn U.S. interest for a while. But, when the fleet could no longer train at Vieques, there was no reason to come to the Caribbean at all. Carriers were needed in the Indian Ocean, and Afghanistan combat was where the action was. But that was all changing, and the Navy was signaling that new deployment cycles to “new” locations were in the offing. Coral Sea was the first of many more planned carrier deployments here.
As they drove through Red Hook, Wilson’s mind continued to wander as he watched the locals gather in restaurants and walk along the road, enjoying the warm evening. To the east a gibbous moon burst out of the Caribbean, illuminating the clouds and lush islands. He thought again of Mary Martha’s smoldering sexuality and her lonely existence, then of his own Mary. They passed a lighted billboard for Red Stripe beer. Yes, a Red Stripe on the balcony overlooking the Caribbean would be good right now.
Ten minutes later they pulled up to the Breezy Cay resort, where the advance party of Firebird JOs had set up “shop” in one of the suites. One of his senior lieutenants, Mike “Dusty” Rhodes, clad in shorts and a tank top, beer in hand, happened to pass by as Wilson got out of the car with his overnight bag.
