“LSO, dick, Dutch, all the same thing.” Clam spoke from under a bedspread.
“Hi, Admin O!” Dutch replied with an exaggerated cheer. “XO was just asking for you before we left the ship. I’m sure there’s a dental readiness report that AIRLANT needs right away, or tomorrow’s plan of the day to be chopped by you. ‘Where’s Lieutenant Commander Morningstar? Where’s Lieutenant Commander Morningstar?’”
“Eat me, Dutch,” Clam mumbled, motionless under the bedspread.
“Glad to see you doing so well, sir! And it’s a beautiful day in this neighborhood — this exotic desert country! Say, any of you guys wanna get up and drink?”
In unison, and with their heads pounding, the Raven officers pummeled him with obscenities and ordered him to leave. Wilson took it all in with a knowing smile. Same morning-after scene, different port.
As Wilson went back to the living room, the door of the admin opened. Weed entered, saw Wilson, and said, “My brother, how’re things bak sheep?”
“Fine, where’s the skipper?” Wilson asked.
“CAG rounded up all the COs and XOs to play golf at Dubai Creek. They left at eight… Cajun was huge last night, booming till 0400. I don’t know how he does it.”
“XO was still aboard when we left. Where were you guys last night?”
“The Highlander, and it was amazing. The whole air wing was there.” Now, from across the room, voices of the veterans from the previous evening’s activities, joined in.
“They had this Filipino karaoke band with this smokin’ hot lead singer chick. They were real good, and the place was rockin’,” Blade said as he got up from the floor. “Then they opened it up for volunteers, and Killer, Hondo, and Wanda from the Spartans took the stage and did Pump It. They were damn good. Killer had the rhyme down, and Wanda did this dead-on Fergie impersonation. Even the Filipino chick was impressed.”
Little Nicky took over. “Then from out of nowhere comes Olive. She’s in this black minidress with stiletto heels, hair flowing, makeup. I mean, she looks good—for Olive. We’d been there for hours, but hadn’t seen her all night. Then she takes the stage and does Zombie. Flip, I’m tellin’ ya, nobody moved. We were captivated. She can sing, and she knew how to move on stage. Incredible.”
Prince Charming rolled over and added, “She belted it, especially that last part. You would have sworn it was off the CD.”
Nicky continued. “She finishes, and the place goes nuts. I mean our Olive owned that place, and now the Filipino girl thinks she’s out of a job.”
“Where has she been keeping this?” Wilson chuckled.
“That’s what the CO said,” Nicky replied. “So we’re yelling at the Spartans, ‘You got served!’ And we’re trying to find Olive, and she disappeared. Gone.”
“Where’d she go?”
“Dunno. I guess back to her admin… She and Psycho went in on a cathouse someplace.”
“I knew under that zoombag and hair bun was a hammer,” Dutch chimed in.
“Still a head case though,” someone shouted from the other room.
CHAPTER 33
Wilson slid into the hotel pool with Dutch and Nttty. They had all gone shopping that morning for polo shirts and CDs and now had a plan to relax in the company of friends. They headed toward the swim-up bar, ordered a Fosters and surveyed the scene. Several groups of air wing officers were lounging about, some playing full contact water basketball. The first wave of Ravens was back in the fight.
Wilson sipped on his beer at the shaded bar, truly enjoying the warm water that covered him from the waist down. He was seated next to two Buccaneer department heads, Gramps, their maintenance officer, and Rip, the administrative officer. The Filipino bartender eyed Wilson warily, but he ignored it.
“Wonder what the poor people are doing today,” Gramps thought out loud as the three lieutenant commanders surveyed the pool scene. Nttty had made his way to the other side of the pool to make friends with two bikini-clad flight attendants, while Dutch hung on the edge in an effort to be noticed by them.
“They have the duty bak sheep,” Rip answered as he pulled on his beer.
Wilson had gotten used to the fact that when he was surrounded by pilots, the conversation always came back to flying. He hardly noticed that, even in this resort setting where they wanted to decompress from shipboard life, they couldn’t help talking about it.
“Been anyplace interesting lately?” Rip asked Wilson.
“Lots of stuff in Diyala and Salman Pak. Haven’t been to Mosul yet. How about you?”
“Had an interesting hop in Al-Amarrah the other night. We were working with a Shadow UAV along the river and found some guys planting an IED on the road north of town. The JTAC talked us on the target and we each dropped a LGB. We were watching them dig on our FLIRs… oblivious… diggin’ all the way till impact.” Rip shook his head in wonder. “Can’t believe they didn’t hear us.”
“I had a hilarious hop up around Mosul last week.” Gramps added, while looking at Wilson. “It involved your XO.”
“Oh, great!” Wilson exhaled in mock embarrassment. He looked forward to hearing the story, but he still cringed at the thought.
Keeping his voice low, the Buccaneer pilot began. “Me and Dog checked in with War Eagle, a JTAC we worked with a few weeks ago who was really good, so I was looking forward to workin’ with him again. We switched up the freq’ and I hear War Eagle talkin’ with Saint.
“‘Shotgun flight, acknowledge nine-line.’
“‘Can you clarify the target?’ Saint asks.
“War Eagle gives him the lat/long and says, ‘Target is open field west of the hamlet.’
“Saint says, ‘Still not clear on the target. All I see is a field.’
“War Eagle wants a bomb to go off on the field because his colonel is telling the hajis that, as colonel, he can make one go boom on command. War Eagle imagines the Army colonel looking over his shoulder as he talks with the locals. ‘Now, I will summon fire from the heavens… uh, Sergeant, bomb… now!’
“Saint repeats, ‘There is nothing in the field.’
“War Eagle says, ‘I need a bomb in the field NOW.’
“‘Where in the field? What quadrant?’
“War Eagle is cool, and says, ‘Anywhere in the field you want. Go ahead. Just need a bomb in the field ASAP. You’re cleared hot. Come on in.’
“Saint, still pressing, asks, ‘What’s in the field? Troops in the open?’
“War Eagle grabs the lifeline Saint has offered and says, ‘Yes, sir, troops in the open. Yeah, we’re in contact with a whole division of al-Qaeda. Cleared hot.’
“‘I don’t see any troops on my FLIR,’ Saint counters.
“War Eagle, his ass now gettin’ ripped by his colonel, says, ‘Shotgun, do you have the field west of the village, south of the tree line bordered by a north/south road to the west?’
“‘Affirm,’ Saint says.
“‘Roger, Shotgun, bomb that field with any weapon in any delivery. You are cleared hot.’