Kevin Miller - Raven One

The January sun shone brightly on Valley Forge moored at Jebel Ali. In the company of containerships and other merchants, the carrier dominated the main UAE seaport south of Dubai. The piers were covered with loading cranes, warehouses, thousands of containers, and all manner of modern port equipment. The whole area hummed with constant activity. The carrier was there on a port visit to provide liberty to the crew in Dubai, the region’s mega-trade center to the north. Sailors dressed in civilian slacks and collared shirts departed the ship via two brows, officer and enlisted, and stepped into busses for the 30-minute drive to the city.

Taking care to avoid their male squadronmates, Olive and Psycho got off the ship as soon as they could. Olive was fascinated by Dubai. She watched its spectacular skyline, a sharp gray outline against the white sky, loom up through the morning haze. In a dozen directions huge skyscrapers alternated with construction cranes.

When she had visited the city on the last cruise, she had marveled at its variety: the soaring buildings and opulent hotels with lush gardens; cars everywhere on the roads but the traffic did not choke them; locals in both traditional Arab garb and western clothing. So far, this visit was no different. The signs were in English and Arabic. A woman on the sidewalk, dressed in a black abaya, dragged a small child in shorts and a Mickey Mouse t-shirt behind her. Two Arab men held hands while they walked by an electronics store. A western man in a stylish business suit talked on his cell phone. To Olive it was a land of contrasts — ancient tribal customs blended with 21 stcentury modernity.

And then there were the sights, sounds, and smells of money — everywhere. On every visit she found a new world-class building or complex to gawk at from inside the plush, air-conditioned motor coach.

Psycho was on her first trip to Dubai, the first time she had set foot in Asia. She either dozed during the bus ride or became otherwise lost on her cell phone. About halfway to Dubai, Olive noticed Psycho crack her eyes open, survey the scene, and close them again as she murmured, “I can’t wait to get some sun.”

Olive looked away. Yeah, it will be nice to relax by the pool , she thought. I wonder when I should bring Psycho in on my little plan for this evening.

An hour after they departed the ship, they were checked into the luxurious Regency Plaza Hotel in the Deira district of Dubai. Now fully awake, Psycho’s eyed darted everywhere as they stepped into the lavish lobby. Indian bellhops carried their luggage past middle-aged Arab men in flowing dark robes — a sign of money — and past both Asian and western women in chic business suits and heels. The American officers, easily identified by their “liberty uniforms” of cotton slacks and polo shirts, couldn’t take their eyes off the other women in the lobby. As they admired the hairstyles and makeup, they determined that’s what they wanted to wear and feel like again — if only for their few days on liberty.

After checking into their $400-a-night room, they skipped lunch and went straight to the rooftop pool. “Yes!” Psycho said when she learned it was “Women Only.” Less than 20 minutes after they checked in, they were lounging under the hot Arab sun in their swimsuits.

Olive smoothed sun block on her long legs. Ahhh. I’m off the ship. I have a cool drink. I’m sitting by the pool. Only 18 hours ago she had recovered aboard Happy Valley on a glorious full-moon night in the southern part of the Persian Gulf, the glittering lights of the coastline and diamonds-on-velvet lights of oil rigs and shipping scattered about the dark waters adding to the beauty. Yep, I’m getting paid for this , she thought.

She looked around her. Who among the dozen European women sunning themselves would suspect Olive and Psycho were combat-experienced fighter pilots? Through her oversized Dolce sunglasses Olive spied on the others, somewhat unnerved by an older woman with close-cropped blonde hair lying topless across the way, adding more rays to her leathery brown skin. Olive dismissed her. Fine, she thought. Tomorrow she can deal with melanoma, and tomorrow I can deal with the ship. Up here she’s a woman without a care in the world — like me.

Psycho rolled over and unhooked her bikini top before dozing again. Olive just lay there sunning, her mind wandering.

“Hey, I need your help tonight.”

“Wha…” Psycho answered. She was half asleep with her head turned away. After shifting slightly, she said, “What’s the plan?”

“Karaoke. There’s this place the air wing goes to every time. I’m going to sing.”

Psycho spun her head toward Olive. “You sing? Cool! Are you good?”

“Okay. My mother pushed me — in all kinds of ways — but I can sing.”

“Yes! What are you going to sing?”

“You’ll see. I need you to help me get ready. I have a dress and some shoes. Tonight I want to be ‘Kristin’ for a change.”

“You’ve been holding out on me!” Psycho boomed as she rolled over onto her back.

Horrified, Olive whispered, “What are you doing?” She was surprised the pool boy did not appear to notice Psycho’s bare chest.

“Just giving the girls some sun. It will be good for them. When else can I this cruise?”

“But that guy over there!”

“The Filipino kid? He’s gay. How else do you think he got this job? Look.” Psycho lifted her arm, and the boy jumped up immediately and began to walk toward them. Stunned, Olive watched him approach. None of the other women seated around the pool seemed to take notice.

“Yes, miss!” The pool boy gave Psycho a huge smile.

“Hi.” Psycho smiled back and said, “Could you please bring me a towel?”

“Yes, miss!” he responded as he smiled again and bowed.

Staring at his nametag, Psycho asked him, “What is your name?”

“ Homobono , miss.”

“ Homo -bono… What a lovely name!”

“Yes, miss. Thank you, miss!”

The boy spun to retrieve a towel, and Psycho turned to Olive with a smug smile. “Ha,” she giggled, “he has the perfect name, too. And he didn’t look at my boobs once.” Psycho then shimmied her back into the lounge chair for full effect.

Olive realized that, despite the fact she was older and a more experienced pilot than Psycho, up here in the glorified air of Dubai, her junior roommate was, in fact, the flight lead. She settled back into her own chair and thought, Yes, Psycho will be the perfect “wingman” for tonight.

With a surgeon’s steady hand Psycho placed the false eyelash on Olive’s left eyelid. “ Ohhh, girlfriend, they are gonna be creamin’ their jeans when they see you up there.”

Next to the bathroom counter covered in make-up and hair products, Psycho worked on her roommate while she sat on the toilet seat.

“And I love your dress. Where have you been hiding it?”

“In my locker… been there the whole time.” Olive said, eyes closed while Psycho applied the finishing touches.

“You’ve been planning this…”

“Yes.”

“Are the hajis going to freak when they see you in it?”

“No, I’ve seen local women wear minidresses here. So long as the shoulders are covered and there’s not too much cleavage — not that I have to worry about that. Hey, why don’t you go get yourself a minidress at the boutique downstairs.”

“Nope, I’m the wingman tonight. This is your run through the target-rich environment of Carrier Air Wing Four. I have skinny jeans and a cami top, a jacket, and some heels to dress it up. The best outfit to kick in the balls of any dickhead who hits on me. But tonight I won’t have to worry about that because they will be rolling in on you .”