Raven One - страница 14

Sensing an opening, Smoke chided her. “Was the deck down, or did it come up?”

Psycho’s eyes narrowed as she shook her head at him. “You A-holes stick together, don’t you? I thought squadron blood might be thicker than LSO water. Guess not.”

“Well,” Smoke said, and grinned at her. “We have two senior aviators here who are charged with advising the commanding officer as to proper procedure, given the operating conditions we face. So what was it? Up or down?” Smoke folded his hands in front of him and held her gaze.

“It was UP!” Psycho shot back, fire in her eyes. “As in ‘Shut up!’”

“All right! I’m sorry.” Smoke smiled and extended his hands in front of him. “Just wanted to get that straight!” His eyes remained on her as he mouthed “LSO water?” with a quizzical look.

“What did you get, Paddles?” Wilson asked Smoke, instantly wishing he hadn’t. Pausing for effect, the LSO suppressed a grin. “OK three, sir.”

“SEE!” Psycho exploded, her food barely staying in her mouth. “It’s good-old-boy collusion out there!”

Wilson saw the Skipper and Olive duck into the room carrying plates of food. It was an hour and ten minutes before their launch, just enough time to eat a rushed meal before man-up. Lassiter found a few spots at the table and placed his tray across from Wilson.

“Hey, Skipper.”

“Flip,” Lassiter greeted him over a WHOOOMMMmmm from above — the sound of another Hornet on a bolter.

“What’s the story on your event, sir?” Weed asked him.

Lassiter exhaled. “Nothing yet, we’ll walk on time. My guess is they will make a decision in the next hour. CAG is recovering on this event.”

Weed grinned. “Maybe that was him going around.”

“Hope not,” Lassiter said and smiled.

“I’m sure Paddles will no-count it for a pitching deck,” Psycho chimed in, as she shot Smoke a look.

“As they should,” Smoke retorted with a confident grin. “Paddles always does the right thing.” Psycho responded to that with her most feminine sniff.

Wilson watched the exchange and figured there might be something going on between Smoke and Psycho. Lassiter shoveled another spoonful of rice into his mouth. He kept his eyes down, as if lost in concentration about his upcoming flight, and acted oblivious to the flirting between his junior officers. Wilson knew, however, the skipper was paying attention and was probably on to them.

“Smoke” was the call sign of Lieutenant Zach Offenhausen, a blond pretty boy of supreme confidence who, in fact, was a California surfer and had been a motocross champion in his teen years. Now a second-cruise JO, he aspired to TOPGUN training once the deployment ended. Both Smoke and Psycho — despite the fact that she never shut up in social situations — were good officers and solid pilots. Fraternization was one way to destroy that good standing. Here they were, attractive young single adults, working and eating together day after day for months — and, from what it looked like, maybe even sleeping together.

Wilson got up from the table and said, “Excuse me, sir,” to the CO. Weed did the same, followed by Smoke and Psycho. Lassiter waved and nodded and swallowed a final mouthful. He and Olive picked up their trays, took them to deposit in the scullery, and hurried back to the ready room. They wanted to walk on time.

In the passageway, the JOs and Weed continued aft while Wilson ducked below to his stateroom to check for e-mail from home. The darkened room was illuminated only by the screen saver of his laptop. A note from Mary awaited him.