Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection (45 page)

CONDUCT UNBECOMING

SPURS LOCATED THE ship’s executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Reeves, leaning over a nautical chart table on the ship’s bridge. He was accompanied by a young boatswain’s mate wearing a radio headset, and, next to the far bulkhead, a black Marine Corporal stood with a duty belt slung around his waist and on it a holstered Beretta. She found the extra security interesting. She reminded herself of the need to be careful about asking too many questions and arousing suspicion of her.

The XO studied the map with his back turned, and neither of the other men had noticed her.

“The fleet’s leaving port early to try and skirt that squall that’s blowing in from the Azores. Looks like we’ll be doing a little tossin’ by about 2400 tonight,” the XO said tapping his compass on the portion of chart he studied. “If we’re lucky, we’ll just get into the tail end of ‘er. But if she changes course—well then—it’ll be a good drill for the
legs
.”

The term
legs
passed by Spurs hardly noticed. It wasn’t long after enlisting that she’d gotten used to the terms and slang used in the male oriented Navy. She knew well that in this case, legs meant the inexperienced. That definition had been derived from its use meaning women and in most cases could be substituted for
pussy
,
chicken
,
gutless
, or
female
.

Spurs noted a trace of a Southern accent in the officer’s voice that gave her a relaxed, sort of homey feeling, making her think of lazy, wind-teased cotton fields, rambling estates and spacious mansions. But that feeling didn’t last long.

The boatswain’s mate looked at his XO. “That isn’t going to be just a little gale, sir. It looks like it could build into a major storm. NAVEUR says she might be pushing hurricane winds by sundown.”

“What’s wrong with you, Botts?” the officer asked, emphasizing disappointment in his voice. He glared. “You talk like a virgin. I broke you in six months ago, boy. You’re no leg. Don’t act like one.”

Botts bowed his head and stared through the map.

Spurs dropped her bags outside the open hatch and stepped in, coming to attention. An anxious tingle rushed through her body and she felt herself shaking once again. The officer before her was her new boss and second in command to the captain. He could make her assignment a pleasure or pure hell. She wanted to give a good impression but wondered if she could, as tired and disheveled as she felt. She cleared her throat and hoped that the nervousness, fatigue and apprehension wouldn’t quaver her voice.

“Ensign Janelle Sperling reporting as ordered, sir!”

Lieutenant Commander Reeves twisted his neck to look at her and frowned. He inspected her—every square inch, she felt, until at last his stern look softened and a lopsided grin took over. He straightened and stepped over to a clipboard hanging near the helm. The man carried himself like her father,
the Admiral:
boldly, almost painfully erect and with sure, marching-like steps. Unlike many other officers Spurs had been around, his self-assured manner demanded respect based solely on appearance. After checking the board quickly he looked up.

Spurs wondered if it was the heat, the season, or the length of time since she was last intimate with an attractive man, but the XO was as striking as the young OOD who’d greeted her. He had intense, coffee-brown eyes, a razor-sharp profile and strong features. His voice, although hinting of Mississippi, rang deep— words clear and crisp.

“Ensign J. B. Sperling?”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“Lieutenant Commander Nick Reeves, Sperling,” he said, tipping a salute. “Welcome aboard. We weren’t expecting our new weapons officer to be a Wave.”

Spurs kept her composure with a blank stare. Wave or WAVES (
W
omen
A
ppointed
V
olunteer
E
mergency
S
ervice) was an obsolete term still unofficially used. WINS (
W
omen
I
n
N
aval
S
ervice) was the politically correct, Navy authorized term.

He continued, “I must be honest, miss, I am both surprised and disappointed. A weapons officer aboard this ship must be strong, intelligent and dedicated in order to take the rigors of the billet.”

Spurs cheeks burned as if she’d just been slapped. “Excuse me, sir, I am a fully qualified surface warfare officer,” she said pointing to the gold “bow waves” insignia on her chest. “What makes you think that I’m not strong, intelligent and dedicated?”

The XO gave a contempt-seething smile. “Darlin’, you can’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds sopping wet. Hell, you’re not foolin’ anybody. I know what you women want. You’re not out to do a job and serve your country. You just want to prove that you can measure up to men—and you can’t.”

Spurs tried to contain the pressure building in her temples. “Today’s Navy doesn’t need to be 90% brawn and 10% brain anymore, sir. As a matter of fact, it’s exactly the opposite.” She felt her emotional grip loosen as her words came out quicker and a notch louder. “I’m part of today’s Navy, sir, and if anybody doesn’t understand or like it, I’d suggest they get used to it or get out of the way because I’m here to stay—sir.”

She glared, wishing for a stare down. She’d always done well against others in the childish but meaningful game,
but her eyes got that dry, wanting-to-blink feeling quicker than ever before. She was thankful when Reeves’ lazy gaze turned back to the clipboard, but it made her wonder if he couldn’t outstare even her—if he couldn’t have burned a hole through the back of her head if he’d wanted to, but for some reason decided against it.

Voices came from the hatchway behind her as a couple of sailors passed by on the catwalk.”

“ . . . and North says she’s taking Nader’s place.” “No fuckin’ way!” “I’m telling you, our new weapons officer is a split-tail.” “There goes the ship!”

Spurs twisted toward the hatch. The two sailors paused in front of the hatchway and gaped back like kittens in a tiger’s pen until one shoved the other past and their footfalls slapped on the metal deck as they scampered away.

She looked back at Reeves. He either hadn’t heard what the two had said, or hadn’t cared to hear. His tone was cooler than expected as he hooked the clipboard back in its place. “My, my, Ensign Sperling, you are full of piss and vinegar. Imagine that, an ensign lecturing about the present course of the US Navy to her own XO whom, I might add, has served nearly twenty years at sea. Some folks might consider that poor judgment for a career officer.”

Spurs thought about her little run off at the mouth. Sometimes she had trouble containing her enthusiasm and opinions. Her father hadn’t been able to muzzle her when she was a child, no matter how many times he’d spanked a blood-red handprint into her bottom.

Reeves stepped back to the chart table and after a pause asked, “Tell me, Ensign,
you’re
not a virgin, are you?”

Spurs couldn’t help frowning this time. This lieutenant commander was a definite chauvinist. She knew his kind; the good-looking, try-to-impress
-women-by-talking-down-to-them, domineering type. Times were changing, but in this man’s navy it was obviously at a snail’s pace.

He added, “Of the sea, I mean.”

Her face cleared. Pride of not being a leg caused a crooked smile. “No sir. I spent two weeks on the
Spartanburg County
sailing from Little Creek to Nassau.”

“That’s all? Hell, that’s about as close to a leg as you can get. I’m talking about high seas. You know what I mean. . . .” His voice lowered and he smirked, “. . . rough stuff.”

This time his eyes locked on cold and hard. His eyelids weren’t lazy like before.

What a jerk, she thought. So much for making a good impression. Giving this asshole more debate would be a losing game—he was a superior officer. She set her jaw, but lowered her eyes.

“It’s been a long day, sir. May I be assigned my quarters?”

Reeves leaned back and rested his right thigh across the corner of the chart table. He picked up his compass and toyed with it as he spoke.

“Certainly.”

He glanced to the black Marine corporal standing at parade rest near the hatch on the other side of the bridge.

“All of Nader’s gear’s been sent back to his next of kin, hasn’t it, Sanders?” the lieutenant commander asked the Marine.

“Yes, sir!” the corporal snapped, coming to attention, staring directly ahead. Then his eyes shifted questioningly.

“All right then, show our new weapons mistress to her quarters.”

“Aye-aye, sir!” the Marine said and saluted. He stepped across the bridge toward Spurs.

Reeves looked back to her.

“I hope you understand,” he said. “We’re in a highly unusual situation here, Ensign. Normally Navy Europe tells us when to squat, when to wipe, and what to wipe with. But NAVEUR didn’t inform us of your gender—highly irregular. You’ll have to make some concessions.”

“I understand, sir. But may I ask—what concessions? Why does my being a woman make me any different than the other twenty-three female crew members coming aboard?”

Reeves watched his compass as he toyed with it. “To start with, they kind of surprised us with this WINS detail thing. We were told about it only five days ago. I don’t know what the Navy could be thinking dropping this in our laps on top of all of this trouble we’ve been having. Anyway, we’d been trying to get those orders postponed, and thought we had until you go and show up on our poop deck. For the time being, you’ll be assigned our ship’s lieutenant’s stateroom. You should’ve already met your bunky. He’s on OOD duty.”

Spurs’ eyes widened as she wondered what kind of insanity had a hold of Reeves. Co-habiting with a male officer wasn’t part of her assignment. The Navy would not put up with this.
What’s he trying to do, get court-martialed?
It was no less comforting that her roommate was the attractive lieutenant that brought her aboard.

“Sir!” she argued, then realizing she’d raised her voice again she stopped. Maybe this had something to do with Nader’s death. Maybe the ship was being run by a psycho XO. In order to find out, she should play along. She continued as calmly as possible, “I don’t understand.”

He looked at her. “That makes two of us, Ensign. Let me make it as clear as possible. There
are
no other female crewmembers currently serving on this vessel.
You
are the only new crewmember coming aboard at this port. In other words, Ensign Janelle B. Sperling, you’re it.”

Reeves seemed to enjoy the shock on Spurs face. Director Burgess had assured her that there was a detail of women assigned TAD (
T
emporary
A
dditional
D
uty) with her. She wondered about Burgess’ competence, and then convinced herself that this couldn’t be his fault. After all, he’d been appointed the job because of his excellent work as assistant director of the CIA. There could be no better qualifications than that. Still, she was sure that Assistant Director Paul Royse, being the stickler for detail that he was, wouldn’t have allowed this to happen. Too bad he’d been away when she’d received her assignment. She would be sure to discuss this SNAFU with Royse later.

“What about the rest of the female detail, sir?” she asked. “Will they be coming aboard soon?”

“You probably haven’t heard about the trouble we’ve been having—a couple of AWOLs and some accidents and such. We convinced Personnel that now was not the time to try one of their little coed experiments on us. They’ve given us an additional month to prepare. Your orders must have somehow slipped through a crack. Not a whole lot we can do now. We’ll try to get you transferred to a more accommodating ship at the next port. Reeves smiled briefly. “Don’t worry none, Ensign. Your bunky until then, Mister North—he’s gay.”

Spurs looked in disbelief. Not only disbelief for her absurd situation and the unbecoming comments from her new XO, but also in his last statement about Lieutenant North. What a shame that those beautiful eyes had been wasted on a gay man.

Reeves seemed to read her mind and said, “Yep, queerer than a three-winged sea bat.” He paused until a smirk took over his face. He chuckled. “Lighten up, Ensign Sperling. You’ll have to find a sense of humor if you’re going to make it for even an
hour
on this ship. You don’t really think I’d bunk you with a gay man, do you? I’ll have the lieutenant put in with a couple of the other officers. They won’t like it, but it appears we’ve no other choice.” He glanced back to the Marine who’d paused respectfully beside her. “Now go on, Corporal Sanders, take Miss Sperling to her quarters. Then have Mister North join me on the bridge.”

“Aye-aye, sir!” the black Marine answered again.

He marched past Spurs and out the hatch, snatched up her bags and turned to her.

Reeves still eyed the corporal and said, “We’ll be getting underway earlier than scheduled in order to beat a little storm. We’ll shove off around 1700— that’s five PM.” His eyes shifted to her.