Rogenna Brewer - Sign, Seal, Deliver

“No sweat, Magic Man,” Zach said, pushing to his feet. “We’ll just fly around until we find one.”

They were kidding, of course. At least, she hoped they were. There really was no telling with those two. It irritated her that Zach felt the need to play the dunce when he was probably one of the smartest men she knew. But all too often he hid his intelligence and slid by on his charm. He certainly never had to try as hard as she did.

Flying didn’t come easy for her; nothing came easy to a perfectionist. Michelle stood and Zach held up foot traffic to let her and Skeeter pass in front of him.

“I’ll spring for the hotel room. First-class all the way,” he offered.

“Any other guy would have asked me to dinner first.” Michelle tossed the comment over her shoulder as she continued up the aisle.

“But he’d have been thinking about getting you back to his room.”

“He’s right, you know,” Steve piped in. “All I ever think about is getting laid.”

Steve grunted and Michelle realized Zach must have given his RIO a well-deserved elbow to the gut. They were boys, both of them, Peter Pans who would never grow up.

And they deserved each other.

What had she been thinking? She didn’t miss flying with Zach at all.

“If you feel like dinner, we could order up room service,” he persisted. “But I was thinking more like breakfast.”

“Come on, Skeeter. Let’s get out of here,” Michelle urged her roommate forward.

“Just do me a favor,” Zach whispered. “Read the comic strip—”

“Prince, Dann, a moment of your time.” Captain Greene stopped them short.

“Yes, sir.” Michelle popped to attention next to Zach while everyone else filed out around them. Within moments there was just the three of them, leaving the ready room unusually quiet.

Normally, pilots were coming and going. Preflight, postflight, the one thing flyboys loved most next to flying was talking about it. It wasn’t unusual for them to evaluate each other or own up to mistakes. Especially since a single error could mean the difference between life and death.

She had a niggling suspicion about what was coming.

“At ease,” the captain ordered.

Michelle opened her stance, even though she felt far from relaxed. She focused on the captain’s bald spot and tried not to think about this little incident getting back to her father. Just like everything else she did.

After the lecture from the captain, she could look forward to one from the admiral.

“Let me start by saying I don’t create policy, I just enforce it. I know you kids grew up together and have come through the ranks together, but that doesn’t excuse your conduct…”

Michelle could tell by the lack of bluster in Captain Greene’s normally booming discourse that he really meant it this time. She found herself tuning out the rest. She knew it by rote. How many times since they were kids had Zach gotten her into trouble by refusing to play by the rules? Even though he somehow always managed to come out smelling like a rose, she took on the distinct odor of Pepe LePew.

She shifted her focus to the “greenie board” over the captain’s shoulder. Similar charts hung on the bulkhead of every squadron ready room aboard the ship.

Naval aviation was a competitive field fueled by testosterone. Not only did pilots critique themselves and each other, they were formally graded by a landing signal officer.

Color-coded boxes followed a pilot’s last name. Green for an okay landing. Yellow, fair with some degree of deviation. Red, no grade for an ugly approach. Brown, because the pilot had to be waved off due to unsafe conditions. And a blue line meant a “bolter,” which was a pilot who’d missed the wires and had to try again.

Not many aviators had the nerves of steel required to touch down on a floating airstrip at full throttle. But if a pilot couldn’t land on the deck and not in the drink he was useless to the Navy.

Though LSO scores were subjective, Michelle never lowered herself to lobby for preferential treatment. But one F-14 pilot stood out among the rest.

A line of green followed the name Prince. And it wasn’t because he was any better than she at landing the bulky F-14 Tomcats. He was simply a better schmoozer.

Captain Greene droned on. Zach shifted restlessly at her side while Michelle stewed over the yellow block at the end of her green streak.

Fair. She was better than fair.

For that particular landing she’d snagged only the third arresting wire strung across the deck. Sure she’d made a lineup correction at the start of her final pass, settling below the correct approach. But only because the carrier had been late turning into the wind. Flying low as she tried to “chase the lineup” had cost her an okay landing.

Zach never had to settle.

He flew with an instinct she envied. But no one was perfect, especially not Zach Prince.

“This isn’t the time or place.” Captain Greene’s raised voice intruded on her thoughts. “Both of you signed off on that memo I sent around last week, so I’m going to assume you read it. Fraternization among male and female pilots will no longer be tolerated, nor will any appearance of impropriety.

“The way I hear it, the two of you make regular treks to each other’s quarters. Those visits are to cease and desist at once. Here’s how it’s going to go down. This time you get off with a warning. Next time it goes in your record. And if it happens a third time—” he paused for effect “—one of you is out of here. Is that understood?”

The two of them?

Once again she’d been lumped together with her rule-breaking running mate. Guilt by association. And she could guess which one of them would be shipping out.

“Aye, aye, sir,” they responded in unison.

“You have a job to do. I expect you to do it in a professional manner. That’ll be all,” he dismissed them. “And Prince,” the captain called Zach back. “No more harassing Lieutenant Dann over the airwaves. It doesn’t set a good example…”

As the captain continued to rag on Zach, Michelle hurried to the hatch. She’d really had it with Zach this time. Seething with pent-up anger, she didn’t trust herself to say two words to the man. And she sure wasn’t about to wait around and let him smooth-talk her out of her fit of righteous indignation.

“Michelle!” Zach called from the other end of the narrow passageway, but heavy foot traffic kept him from reaching her.

Ignoring his pleas, she picked up her pace, weaving her way between shipmates.

As she headed toward the ship’s elevator, which would take her to the squadron changing room and then up to the flight deck, she cursed herself for being a class-A fool. Captain Greene’s warning was a serious one. Fat chance Zach would listen. She’d be better off putting in for a transfer now, before it became compulsory and a smear on her exemplary record.

Damn, Zach.

Why did she always have to be the responsible one?

Michelle pushed the elevator button repeatedly until it finally arrived and passengers emptied out. Then she quickly stepped inside and held down the close-door button.

“Michelle, wait up.” Zach reached in and sent the doors sliding in the opposite direction. “Going my way, Lieutenant?” he asked with a sheepish grin as if nothing was wrong.

“Do I have a choice, Lieutenant?” She waited just long enough for the doors to close, shutting off the two of them from curious onlookers. Then she turned and vented her anger by socking him in the arm. “I told you so!”

As the elevator started its ascent, he rubbed his shoulder. With his little-boy charm, he exaggerated the harm she’d inflicted “You don’t have to be so smug about it.”