“That documentary that’s coming out tonight, the government one,” Brooke said. “I think it has to do with my husband.”
“Well, we’ve got customers to attend to,” Tom said. “Try to stay in the groove.”
“Groovy, Tom,” Brooke said, looking at her orders and trying to recall what she knew she’d forgotten. “Salads to fourteen…”
“Drink refills on nine,” Tom said, sliding past her.
“Thank you.”
She checked her list, glanced at table nine and got replacements for the drinks that were low. Two diet cokes and a coke, not too hard.
“How are you doing?” she asked the family.
“Irritated,” the father said. “I need a scotch and soda.”
“I’ll get that right away,” Brooke said, heading for the bar. It wouldn’t break pattern too badly.
Unfortunately, the TV in the bar was tuned to a station that was broadcasting the “government documentary.” Brooke wasn’t addicted to the news but she’d caught a snip of two talking heads debating the idea of government-produced documentaries. Neither of them liked the idea. But the customers at the bar were clearly riveted and as she was putting in the bar order she heard a familiar name.
“…Moon, ship’s linguist. Miss Moon speaks twenty-seven languages fluently and put herself through college through modeling and painting portraits. A Renaissance woman par excellence, she is also a noted engineer and mechanic, often working on the ship systems of the Vorpal Blade…”
The next shot was a surveillance camera showing the girl Brooke had last seen in a daring Little Black Dress wearing a blue coverall, a big wrench in her hand, a smear of grease on her cheek and whacking away at some part in what was clearly a ship.
“…Born in the small city of Waycross, Georgia, her father is a minister and her mother a school guidance counselor. With six degrees, including everything from forensic science to drafting, she is a critical member of the Vorpal Blade team.
“PFC Eric Bergstresser…”
“That’s your husband, isn’t it?” Tom asked, his eyes wide.
“Yes,” Brooke squeaked, picking up the drink for table nine.
“Leave it,” Tom said, looking over his shoulder. The restaurant was slowly emptying into the bar as more and more of the patrons came in to see what was going on. “Nobody cares.”
“…was born and raised in the small town of Crab Apple, West Virginia, where he lettered in track and field, football and basketball while also being the captain of the Central High School Physics club. He volunteered for the Marines and then for Force Recon and was the Distinguished Honor Graduate of his class in Force Reconnaissance Operators Training, one of the most demanding courses in the entire United States Military. A recent transfer to the unit, his presence was to be most fortuitous. Because while the missions of the Vorpal Blade required a team effort, if there was one outstanding member, one most valuable player if you will, it would be Two-Gun Berg.”
“That’s her husband,” Tom said loudly, pointing at Brooke.
“Stop it, Tom!” Brooke snapped. “I need to go cover my tables…”
“They’re all in here,” Tom said, sighing. “I need to go get this sorted out. It looks as if the restaurant is moving into the bar for the time being.”
“He’s your husband?” one of the male patrons of the bar asked. In his sixties, he looked as if he’d been holding down the bar since the restaurant was opened. “So you knew about this?”
“Yes, he is and no, I didn’t,” Brooke said. “He never talks about his work. What is this?”
“We’ve got a ship that goes to other planets,” a woman said over her shoulder. “Faster than light, that is. And not just where the gates go. The President introduced this thing and said that there was information in it that meant things were going to change, significantly.”
“The stock exchanges are being closed the day after the last documentary,” another patron said. “They just released the word today.”
“These are the missions of the Alliance Space Ship Vorpal Blade,” the announcer said stentoriously, to a view of the Blade One bursting out of the water. Then the TV cut to a commercial.
“Now that is an unfortunate acronym,” the first patron said. “I see the hand of the Adar in there.”
“I need to get back to work,” Brooke said.
“Just cover the back tables in the bar,” Tom said from over her shoulder. “I’ve got most of your people moved there. Bring the guy his drink.”
“I’m sorry about this,” Brooke said, trying hard not to cry. “My husband is one of the Marines on that ship. I never knew it until just now. It’s sort of…”
“Don’t sweat it,” the father said, holding out his hand for the scotch. “I’m a retired Navy captain.”
“Are you going to be okay, honey?” his wife asked. “Jim never told me things, too. But they didn’t put most of them on prime-time.”
“I’ll be fine,” Brooke said, sniffing. “I need to go check on your food.”
She got her tables covered just in time for the commercial to end and then got locked in again. By then the word had circulated that “the hero of the mission’s” wife was one of the waitresses and her tables started cutting her some slack. Eventually, Tom pulled her off and just sat her at the bar as things heated up.
By the time the action ended she was crying and so were most of the patrons. Especially as the closing scrolled through the list of dead.
“Tomorrow night, the Vorpal Blade continues on her mission of discovery and uncovers both a great threat and a powerful ally. Until tomorrow, this is…”
“You’ve got yourself a good husband there,” the Navy wife said, taking her arm.
“I knew that even before tonight, ma’am,” Brooke said, wiping her eyes. “God, I must look terrible.”
“Never better,” the woman said. “It’s tough living with a warrior, honey. But it’s worth it. Hold on to what you’ve got. He’ll be okay. Boys like that, well, they walk through raindrops.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Brooke said.
“Lisa,” the woman replied, holding out a card. “You call me. Have you met your CO’s wife, yet?”
“No, ma’am,” Brooke admitted. “We were supposed to have a get-together this weekend but it got cancelled.”
“She needs to get on the ball,” the woman said. “Especially after this. I’ll make some calls. But if you need somebody to talk to, that’s my number.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“It’s Lisa,” the woman said. “You call me. That’s an order.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Brooke said, grinning through the sniffles. “Does a military spouse have to obey orders?”
“No,” Lisa admitted. “But the smart ones learn to.”
Eric looked at his phone and sighed, then flipped it open.
“Hi, honey.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Brooke said calmly.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t say anything,” Berg said. “But they really blew it out of proportion.”
“Five out of forty-one, honey,” Brooke replied. “You said that much before, but I never really could understand that until tonight. All those…” Her voice started to break.
“Yeah,” Eric said. “Honey, it’s shiny, really it is. I’ll be okay. I promise. Are you going back on yours?”
“Not even close,” Brooke said. “But the other missions…”