The game commenced, and Shane kept missing the action as Trench took the shots whenever the ball came their way. Soon, though, the ball came to her, and she needed to jump up and hit it.
Trench’s body crashed into her hard, knocking her down with a splash. She immediately felt his arm around her waist, pulling her up.
“Whoa, sorry, new guy!” Trench apologized as he released her and backed off.
“C’mon, Fung,” Macho chided her. “That was your shot!”
Shane smiled and got ready for the next serve. What fun! Everyone was so friendly and welcoming, smiling at her, embracing her, right off, as one of the group. Tiffany was right, the guys were so friendly and nice, like big brothers, their hands helping to steady her when she was off balance. Within minutes she felt protected by them. Playing pool volleyball with her new squadron friends in this tropical paradise was like living a dream. She found herself beaming as the water ran down her face and a dozen wet and friendly faces smiled back at her. Her grandfather had told her of the “work hard, play hard” culture of the Navy, and the play hard part was off to a great start. The Firebirds seemed to accept her for who she was, their new Intelligence Officer who would make them better aviators.
Next to her, with one eye on the game and one on Shane, Trench got his second wind like no hangover remedy could have done. Fate had delivered this dripping centerfold model practically into his lap! He would nail her by the time they returned to Norfolk, and he would make sure he was the first.
Trench then noticed the girls from last night had arranged their towels on the poolside lounge chairs and were taking furtive glances at him. They seemed miffed that he was not coming right over to join them, or at least to acknowledge them. They were no worse for wear he figured, and would probably snag some other guy tonight. He had duty back at the ship anyway, and the two coeds, together, couldn’t compete with the smoking hot six-foot juggernaut next to him. He’d say goodbye of course, being a gentleman and all. He might even buy them a drink before departing for the sea and disappearing into their clouded memories.
Meagan is the redhead, and… Oh, what’s the other girl’s name?
(USS Coral Sea, underway, St. Thomas roadstead)
The shrill sound of the bo’sun pipe over the 1MC sounded throughout the ship: “Ta-Weeeet… Underway. Shift colors.”
From his ready room chair Wilson glanced at the PLAT image of the flight deck and noted the time: 0905. Coral Sea’s anchor was up and soon they would be heading southwest into the central Caribbean. On the black-and-white television screen he could see the rugged shore of St. Thomas, and reflected the port visit had been fun and was over too soon, as all port visits were. The JOs had done a good job on the admin and seemed to welcome Ensign Duncan all right. No surprise there; she was friendly, pleasant… and gorgeous. He already had heard some of them refer to her as Wonder Woman, and he knew he needed to keep an eye on Trench and Coach.
“When’s the meeting again?” Annie asked from her chair.
“Zero nine-thirty,” Wilson answered. “All COs and XOs, and COs from the strike group ships. Guess our advanced training cruise just got changed.”
“What do you think’s going on? Venezuela?”
“Too provocative. Actually heard we might be operating in the vicinity of Panama. Maybe we’ll get to fly some close air support with the Army and some dissimilar hops against F-16s.
“Drug ops?”
“Nah, we’re too much of a national asset for that small stuff. Besides, they come through here, too. I think Panama, with the Chinese interest in building their own canal through Lake Nicaragua. Send ‘em a signal we’re watching them.”
Annie nodded. “Makes sense. Hey, thanks for the leave.”
“You and Mike have a good time?”
“Yeah, we went to St. John and Tortola. Beautiful. Boating, snorkeling… just beautiful. Met some fun Brit ex-pats living on a sailboat. What a life.”
“You could live like that, too, after you retire.”
