Kevin Miller - Declared Hostile

Daniel smiled back, thankful for a moment of peace to dream about his firecracker wife before he turned his eyes out to sea — toward the Americans. He had some ideas.

Macho entered the “dirty shirt” Wardroom with her tray of food and set it down at the unofficial Firebird table. Situated up forward under the bow catapults, the dirty shirt allowed flight deck clothing, and the olive drab flight suits of the aviators mixed with the multicolored flight deck jerseys of various maintenance and flight deck officers. The initial crush of hungry officers had, for the most part, melted away, and Macho, taking a late lunch, found herself alone at the squadron table.

Her roommate, Shane, was the talk of the ship. Stunning and knowledgeable about enemy threat systems, she was friendly, nice to everyone. Macho found this unusual in a young woman of such head-turning beauty, expecting bored-with-it-all aloofness rather than sincere interest and a willingness to pitch in. In the weeks since Shane’s arrival, Macho had watched as several airwing players rolled in on her, and Shane spurned their advances with her sweet smile and, in several cases, even gained their respect and friendship. Though no beauty queen, Macho wasn’t ugly, and was one of the few “available” female aviators aboard who were surrounded by dozens of available male aviators. The young officers — male and female — were all attractive to one another, more so as the days at sea built up one by one. If anyone tried to roll in on Macho — and some had — they were dispatched by her biting rejoinders, and the guys kept their distance.

After she took her first bite, Macho saw Trench, followed by sidekick Coach, pop through the knee-knocker opening and into the wardroom. Oh, great , she thought. Avoiding eye contact, she hoped they would sit with some of their airwing friends at other squadron tables. When they stopped beside her, thoughts of enjoying her own company at lunch were dashed.

“I see you sitting with all your friends. May we join you?” Trench said.

“ Screw you ,” Macho muttered into her plate.

“Why thank you, even though that’s against squadron rules. And, despite my endowment, I doubt I could accomplish that even by myself, but thanks for thinking I could. Lieutenant Madden, please be seated.”

Coach placed his tray next to Trench as they faced Macho, two poisonous snakes facing a mongoose. Trench continued to taunt his prey.

“And what do we have on the schedule today? Beat up on the Colombians? Find a fishing boat around the ship? Write a whiny letter to Navy Times crying about the mistreatment of women who call themselves warriors?”

Macho raised her chin, shot him a look, and answered his question with a question. “And what do you guys have on the schedule? Circle jerk in the bunkroom?”

Feigning indignation, Trench grinned. “Well, I believe there are certain rules, command directed and moral, against that sort of thing. So, no, that’s not on my schedule. How about you Coach? Circle jerk in the bunkroom for you?”

“No, thanks, and actually I have no experience with this. Macho, please explain,” Coach said.

“You guys wrote the instruction manual,” she replied as she wolfed down another forkful of rice.

“Oh, you got us on that one, Macho. Coach, we don’t stand a chance against her wit, and her brawn, and her big rippling eyebrows. And our enemies don’t either. Macho, you are a one-woman strike force, our secret weapon, the face that sunk a thousand ships. Glad we’re on the same team!”

Macho’s eyes narrowed on Trench as he smiled back at her, satisfied his blow had landed hard on her ego. I’m going to enjoy bringing your career to an end , she thought. Trench changed the subject.

“Where’s your roommate? She’s made a splash… professional, pleasant, helpful. Quite an addition to the junior league here aboard Coral Maru. You must be learning a lot.”

Macho smiled as she ignored the barb and, now that the opportunity had presented itself, was ready to spring her trap. Trench continued their sarcastic banter.

“Yes, Wonder Woman, the perfect helpmate. Probably down in the photo lab going over the latest recon images.”

“Yes. I imagine she has some experience with cameras,” Coach added.

Macho lifted her eyebrows in response as she poked at her food, a gesture not unnoticed by the men. Trench smelled blood.

“I’m sure she did some modeling in her day. I’m thinking a hand model,” Trench volunteered. “What do you think, Coach? Hand model? She does have beautiful hands, not that I’ve noticed them, or any of the physical attributes on her or any of the women aboard. Especially you , Macho.”

“Haven’t noticed either, dude,” Coach confessed. “She’s just the squadron intel officer to me. Besides, she’s much too straight-laced to be a model.”

Macho, building energy, answered in exasperation. “Just because a girl wants to be feminine you think she’s a slut. Who hasn’t taken some images she regrets? Everyone does it these days.”

“Yes, everyone , before you get to be twenty-three and it’s too late. If you’ve got it, get in front of the camera. Guess you were best behind the camera. Right, Macho?”

“You dickheads better leave her alone!” Macho lashed out in a tone low enough not to attract attention. “She’s a girl, and she’s not perfect, and you guys don’t have girlfriends who pressure you! Not that any girl would ever be your girlfriend! I’m outta here.”

Macho got up and stalked out, biting her cheeks to keep from smiling. Her trap was sprung, and they were caught in it. Yes! I’ve got ‘em!

As they watched Macho storm off, Coach turned to Trench and shook his head. “Guess we’re going to die alone, bro.”

“ Yes, ” Trench agreed, “we’re pigs. But, first, we have some research to do.”

Later that day, Olive placed her wardroom food tray across from Annie. “XO, may I join you?”

“Please do,” Annie replied, taking a bite of salad.

Olive removed her food from the tray and arranged it on the table. A sailor took away her tray. Having arrived late in the lunch period, the two Firebird pilots were alone at the squadron table.

“What do you have today?” Annie asked.

“Night intercept hop with Macho. How about you, ma’am?”

“Bombing the wake with Killer this afternoon, then a night surface search with Jumpin.”

Both pilots took a bite of their food. Olive continued, “XO, when do you think we’re going to leave here?”

Annie shrugged. “I don’t know. Haven’t heard anything from above, and the skipper doesn’t know either. Getting to be like Groundhog Day , isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I mean, bumping heads with the Colombians is cool and all, but we’re searching the same patches of water day after day.”

“The test guys need to finish up, too, and they are taking forever. But it’s beautiful down here. Guess only us aviators can complain about lots of flying in clear skies.”

“ Touché , ma’am,” Olive responded with a smile.

Annie changed the subject. “How’s our Ensign doing these days?”

“She seems to be okay, liked by all, has a smile on her face.”

“She’s okay with being Wonder Woman ?”

“Doesn’t seem to faze her. Macho has her under her wing and is only too happy to blast anyone who shows disrespect.”