Dana Stabenow - Prepared For Rage

MIAMI

Back in port, Cal turned everyone loose, which since they were only temporarily homeported in Miami didn't mean much. They all knew working the shuttle launch was more of a PR mission than it was a real job, and crew was bailing right, left, and center. D7 was keeping Munro in bravo-24 status, available for recall and sailing within twenty-four hours in the event of urgent tasking, but when the "Liberty, liberty, liberty!" call went out over the pipe most of the crew scattered to cheap motels and holed up for three days, leaving a skeleton crew just large enough to respond to an emergency behind. Cal hoped they managed to stay out of trouble when they started checking out the bars. He remembered some pretty wild times as an ensign in Miami, assigned to a 110 off the Everglades. Lots of opportunity for a Coastie to get into trouble if he or she wasn't careful, but these were grown men and women and it was pretty much up to them. The XO cautioned them against sailing into stupidland and turned them loose.

It was a great honor to work security during a shuttle launch, no doubt, but the crew was homesick, discouraged that people had died during their last patrol and they had been unable to save them, and that they hadn't responded to any SARS or made any drug busts on this one. "I guess all the smugglers have up and moved ops to EPAC," the XO said, inspecting the map of the Caribbean Cal had duct-taped over the map of Alaska in the wardroom. He looked around and smiled. "Damn, we're good."

"Yeah," Cal said, without enthusiasm. "How many left on board as of liberty this morning?"

"Forty-four."

"Okay."

"You taking off?"

Cal thought about Kenai in Houston. "I don't know yet. Probably not."

"When do we leave?"

"Three days."

"The thirtieth? Why so early? Won't take us a day to get up there."

"Oh, uh, let me think. Because we're Munro, short for Douglas Munro? The only Coastie recipient of the Medal of Honor, in whose honor you will recall we are named? Related to Kenai Munro, a member of this particular shuttle crew?"

"Uh-huh," Taffy said, not without foreboding. "And this means, what, exactly? Sir?"

Cal gave a sour smile. "It means a tiger cruise, only instead of family riding along we get the press and a bunch of NASA honchos. Also Kenai Munro's parents. It means a couple of receptions on shore when we get there, and it means-"

"Dress uniforms," the XO said with a groan.

"There might also," Cal said painfully, "have been mention made of a band."

"Oh, Christ no," the XO said.

"I'm afraid so," Cal said.

"Allah be merciful," Taffy said.

"God could help out a little, too," Cal said.

"If we got the two of them working together, maybe they could scrub the launch," the XO said hopefully.

"Jesus wept, don't even say that," Cal said, blanching at the thought of Kenai's reaction to the suggestion.

He and Taffy adjourned to a great little Thai restaurant they knew from previous inports. Command had selfishly not shared that information with the rest of the crew, so they saw no one they knew. Cal had a beer, Taffy had tea, and they both ordered entrees with four peppers next to them on the menu. "What are we going to do about Riley?"

"Let him go," Taffy said. "OSC told him not to make any decisions based on his domestic affairs, but his wife won't go back to Alaska, and he won't leave her."

"She's not kicking him out?"

"He says not."

"What about Reese?"

"What about her? The investigators say there is no case. Her story lacks credibility, and to be fair, though an acknowledged weasel, no complaints have been made against Riley of a sexual harassment nature until Reese."

"How is she taking it?"

"Philosophically. I don't get the sense that there's a lot of repressed anger there."

"Does she want to come back to the ship?"

"She says yes."

"What does EMO say about her job performance?"

Taffy shrugged, spearing a shrimp. "It's better than what OSC says about Riley's. Says his work product never was that good, and lately it's fallen off in a major way. He's counseled him numerous times, he says, but it looks like the only thing that might get the kid's attention is a bad set of marks."

"So we're looking for another OS," Cal said, sighing. "Been a run on Combat positions this tour." He took a bite of panang gai and made an approving sound. Thai food didn't count unless it made his nose run. "They're probably bored."

"So am I, but it's the job, Captain," Taffy said, draining his tea and signaling for another. "It's what we're tasked with, it's what we're paid for. If you don't like it, you can always resign."

"That does seem to be the currently popular option," Cal said.

The waitress brought the XO more tea, lingering a little for him to try it, evidently to be the recipient of a grateful smile. Cal didn't think he even registered on her peripheral vision. "Taffy?"

"Captain?"

Cal nodded at the tea. "You ever take a drink?"

"Against my religion, sir," Taffy said.

"The Muslim religion," Cal said.

"That's right." The XO bent his head over his plate again. He was a southpaw, and the gold wedding ring gleamed on his hand.

Taffy didn't talk about his private life, and he didn't socialize a great deal. "Were you raised Muslim?"

The XO nodded. "Both parents."

Cal took a bite of spring roll. "I'm curious, and if I step in it let me apologize in advance."

The XO grinned. Across the room the waitress sighed. "Go for it."

"Does your mom wear a veil?"

The XO laughed out loud. "Not hardly. She's an EMT A veil might get in the way."

"So they're pretty modern."

The XO shrugged. "They're Americans. Their religion is important to them-it is to me, too-but they're acculturated. Just not secularized."

"Oh." Cal drank beer. "Wasn't time to ask in New Orleans, but…" He hesitated.

"What?"

Cal gestured at the XO's wedding band. "What happened to your wife? Wait, let me back up a little. For starters, what was her name?"

The XO's face softened. "Nur. Means light.'"

"How'd you meet?"

"At a college mixer for Muslim-American students. I was at the Academy, she was at Harvard."

"Harvard. No kidding. Got my first master's at Harvard."

"I know. She was probably about four years behind you, give or take. We got married the week after my graduation. She got her teacher's certificate and since I'd scored a 110 out of Chesapeake, she went to work for the Arlington School District, teaching civics and government at Patrick Henry High."

Cal winced. "Teenagers. Yikes. A brave woman."

The XO laughed a gain. "Yeah. You should have heard some of her stories. But she loved it, and from what I could see, shuttling back and forth between duty stations, they loved her." The XO paused, mashing rice with the tines of his fork.

Cal waited.

Taffy looked up, not bothering to hide the pain. "She'd never made a secret of her heritage. She used it in some of her classes, even. But then, 9/11 happened."

Cal was suddenly very sorry he'd asked.

"She was leading a small field trip to the Pentagon that day. She got the kids out, and then the building fell on her."

"Jesus," Cal said, putting down his beer. "I'm sorry, Taffy."

"Me, too," the XO said.

"No kids?"

The XO's smile was more a grimace. "We were waiting. Saving up, gonna buy a house, get more settled, a little more secure. You know."

They finished eating in silence.

"Seven years ago this September," Cal said.

"Yeah."

"Nobody else come along in that time?"

The XO shook his head. "She was one of a kind." He shrugged. "You never know, but I'm not looking for lightning to strike me twice."