On Seas So Crimson

by James Young

  “Sorry Sir, I guess you shouldn’t be seen touching the unwashed masses,” he murmured. Eric turned around to see the new squadron commander standing and looking at him from within the squadron ready room.

  “Aye-aye, sir,” Eric said, moving smartly past the door.

  “Close the fucking door, Cobb,” Hitchcock snarled. Eric, seeing O’Shannon braced at the position of attention, did what he was told and came over, looking somewhat bemused.

  “You know, when I was a midshipman, I learned that if one of my classmates was at attention getting chewed out, that probably meant I should do the same,” Hitchcock said quietly. “Now, while I expect such behavior from a ninety-day wonder like this genius, I would think that Annapolis hasn’t changed that much in the last 14 years.”

  Eric came slowly and snidely to a loose position of attention.

  I’ll be damned…no, I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to let some piece of shit who has yet to hear a shot fired in anger give me grief about military courtesy, Eric thought.

  “O’Shannon here tells me this freaking mark on your evaluation sheet,” Hitchcock continued, pointing to a long line through the middle of the form, “is due to unauthorized maneuvering with Army aircraft. Is this true?”

  Eric looked straight past Hitchcock, staring at the wall.

  “Yes sir, I reacted to a…” Eric began.

  “Don’t bullshit me, Cobb,” Hitchcock snapped. “I asked a simple question, yes or no…or have they eliminated the four basic responses also.”

  “No sir,” Eric bit out.

  “Do you want to be a fighter pilot, Cobb?” Hitchcock asked. “Maybe on one of those damn tubs that brought us our replacement aircraft?”

  “No sir,” Eric replied.

  “Then don’t ever let me hear about you trying to be one again, or I’ll see that you get cross-trained on Wildcats shortly thereafter,” Hitchcock continued. “Now, let’s discuss proper senior/subordinate relationships since I’m told you have an issue on this topic.”

  Eric snapped his eyes down and looked at Hitchcock, his face puzzled.

  “Oh, don’t give me that puzzled look…I was appraised of why I had to transfer an experienced pilot because one of my officers set his wingmen up with his sister,” Hitchcock sneered.

  “Sir, with all due respect, I do not believe my personal life is any of your business,” Eric said, lowly.

  “But it is my business when I see you talking with an enlisted man like your best buddies,” Hitchcock snapped. “And unless you plan on adding a charge of belligerency to your packet, I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head.”

  Eric suddenly realized why he had never heard of Hitchcock in carrier aviation circles—the man was an “accident” waiting to happen.

  You’re not going to make it more than thirty days in combat, Eric realized. I can only hope you’re not going to take someone with you. The knowledge gave him a strange sense of peace.

  “Aye-aye, Sir,” Eric replied, his tone suddenly neutral. Hitchcock gave him a hard gaze for a few moments, then looked back down at the sheet he held.

  “O’Shannon says your ready to fly, but I’m not convinced you have what it takes,” Hitchcock said. “You’ll fly as my wingman until further notice.”

  Eric bit back the urge to tell Hitchcock to go fuck himself. Flying as anyone’s wingman, much less the squadron leader’s, was an insult to someone as senior as Eric. Looking into Hitchcock’s eyes, he saw that this was what the man was waiting on.

  “Sir, when do I need to report for our first flight?” he asked simply. Because getting a front row seat to your demise will be completely worth it.

  Six hours after Eric found himself in his unenviable position, another Cobb was in one potentially as dire, if far from as uncomfortable. Charles’ left arm was cinched firmly but lovingly around her, the two of them passionately clinging to one another on the couch. She could feel evidence of Charles’ arousal pressing into insistently into her side, his hand passing lightly up her leg as if it was leaving fire in its wake.

  I…can’t…oh…that feels…she thought.

  “Charles, stop,” Patricia gasped, grabbing her boyfriend’s hand as it continued moving well past the hemline of her sundress. Moving it back down to her knee, and feeling quite breathless, she took a couple moments to gather her thoughts.

  “Does the word incorrigible mean anything to you?” she asked, seeing the disappointed look on Charles’s face. “How about persistent, or relentless?”

  “Unless they’re all synonyms for utterly and passionately in love, they don’t apply to this situation,” Charles replied, breathless himself. Patricia was suddenly glad she had established very early on that both of them had to remain sitting if they were going to do anything more than hold hands. While not overly familiar with the male form, Patricia had four brothers, was well aware of the differences between men and women, and was very sure that her elbow hadn’t been brushing up against loose change when the two of them had just been kissing.

  Not unless he has a strategically placed roll of quarters, her mind thought unbidden, causing her face to suddenly color. Charles leaned back and looked at her, and she began to think that he was mistaking the look on her face, when she realized his face was wearing a very strange expression.

  “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever realized how beautiful you are when you’re really embarrassed,” Charles said, reaching up to brush her cheek. “I’d ask what you were thinking, if for no other reason than you’d stay that way forever.”

  Patricia chuckled nervously.

  “What, you mean red as a beet?” she asked. “Or mortified?”

  “Okay, I’ll bite—why were you mortified?” Charles said.

  Patricia felt herself blushing again and stood up.

  “You did that on purpose, Charles,” she drawled in mock severity. “For that, you get to have a timeout while I go make some lemonade. Maybe a drink will keep your hands where they belong.”

  “I didn’t think you minded,” Charles said lecherously. Patricia turned to look at him, and he recoiled from the cool look she was giving him.

  “I may not have, but thank you very much I know where babies come from—and strongly suspect that was where your hand was headed,” she said. “I think when I return I’ll be sitting in the chair, alone.”

  As she walked to the kitchen, she was glad her boyfriend had yet to figure out how to read her guilty looks.

  Because yes, you bastard, I did like the way you were touching me, and I’m not sure I trust myself to keep you from just “touching,” she thought, well aware of the need that was more than just slightly urgent between her legs.

  I wish Jo was here, Patricia thought, exhaling as her hands shook while she began pulling items out of the refrigerator. Jo was currently at the library and likely wouldn’t be home for at least another hour or more. The two of them had started taking opposite shifts, as much to keep from getting on each other’s nerves as to give the other one some sort of privacy at least some of the time.

  Little Ms. Holier-Than-Thou acts like she’s pure as a mountain stream, Patricia thought haughtily as she sliced a couple of lemons. Not paying attention, she cut herself…and immediately realized that there were worse things than salt in a wound.

  “Dammit!” she cried, striding over to the sink and turning the water on.

  Damn man’s got me so flustered I’m lucky I didn’t slice my finger off! If the two of them hadn’t been using the knives so much, she probably would have—one of the few things Jo was fanatical about was having her knives as keen as they could be. As she washed her hands, she heard Charles get up and start to come into the kitchen.

  “Don’t touch me, Charles Bedford Read,” Patricia said firmly as he started to approach her. “I think you’ve done quite enough of that this afternoon.” Reaching for the first aid kit Jo had thoughtfully affixed to the bottom of the cabinets, she took out some gauze and tape.

  I cannot, for t
he life of me, understand why that woman insisted on keeping her knives sharper than King Arthur kept Excalibur, Patricia thought as she worked on her finger. Eventually her skill with wielding knives had improved to the point that this was the first time she had cut herself in months. Turning to look at Charles, she leaned back on the counter, clutching her hand to her abdomen.

  “Do you have any idea how hard,” she thought, then colored as her earlier thoughts about Charles’ arousal returned to her mind, “how difficult it is to stop you sometimes?”

  “You know, you’re the one who started kissing me this time,” Charles observed coolly. “After the last ten times of getting pushed, shoved, and slapped away, I sorta figured you were one of those women who believed in aggressively saving herself for marriage. Then you go and kiss me like you’re dying of thirst and I’m the only water fountain in Honolulu.”

  Patricia crossed her arms, then realized how bad her finger still hurt. Having a horrible thought, she looked down to make sure she hadn’t got her dress bloody.

  “So, I suppose this is all my fault?” she asked.

  Charles threw up his hands in exasperation and started to stand up.

  “You know, I’m not interested in assigning blame or playing games, Patricia,” he snapped, his voice raw. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a war on, and I go out…” Stopping, he visibly shut his mouth.

  Patricia suddenly felt like a great weight had settled on her chest.

  “You go out where?” she asked quietly, the words barely loud enough to carry. Charles looked past her at the open window, then crossed the room to stand closer to her.

  “I go out to sea on Tuesday,” he said quietly, standing a couple of feet away from her.

  Patricia felt her knees going weak, and fought it. She turned and looked Charles in the face, compressing her lips in a thin line.

  “So, wanting to get a final piece of tail before you go off to face the Japanese fleet, is that it? A man has needs, after all.”

  Charles visibly recoiled at her iciness.

  “I would certainly hope, after the last month, that you did not honestly believe that was my intention,” he said, hurt in his voice.

  Patricia realized she may have overstepped her bounds as he started to turn away. She grabbed him and pulled him back into her, simultaneously pulling his head down so she could kiss him. Pushing her body up against him, she felt him stiffen, then start to push her away.

  “No, stop,” he started to say, then she kissed him again. He responded this time, his right hand sliding up her side, then over to her front. She broke off, causing him to groan deep in his throat.

  “Shush, Charles,” she said, placing her hand on his chest. “Tell me, do you love me?”

  “Yes,” Charles answered, without hesitation. “With all my heart.”

  “Promise me that you’ll come back,” she said.

  “I promise,” Charles replied. Searching his eyes, she could see that he meant it. Taking a deep breath, she began speaking slowly and deliberately.

  “Jo won’t be home for at least an hour, and we have to be done by then,” Patricia said, looking him in the eyes. “I think we’ll be safe. In every sense of the word.”

  Charles looked at her, stunned.

  “Patricia, I don’t want to…” Charles began.

  “Charles, you could be dead in a week,” Patricia said. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend the next week, month, or year wondering if I should have done this.”

  I cannot believe I am doing this, she thought as he reached down and took his hand.

  “Patricia, I don’t want to sleep with you because you think I’m going to die,” Charles said, firmly pushing her away.

  “What?!” Shocked, Patricia took a step back.

  “I love you and respect you too much to do that,” Charles said, holding her hands.

  “That’s not what you were saying a few min…” Patricia started to say.

  “Yes, and that was before I promised I’ll be back,” Charles replied. “I don’t want to leave you single and in the family way, and while I love you, I don’t want to be one of those people who get married just because I’m going to war.”

  You mean like half the couples frequenting the courthouse these days? Patricia almost asked, then stopped.

  “I said I’ll be back,” Charles said, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “I meant it. Then we can get married if you still feel that way.”

  Patricia felt as if her heart had started to drain into her stomach. Suddenly she understood what her mother had been talking about when she used to say ‘your father made my heart melt’. Reaching up, she kissed Charles again, this time far more softly.

  “I think, Charles Read, that I love you a lot more than I did ten minutes ago,” she said, meaning every word. Charles have her a slight smile.

  “Ten minutes ago you sliced your finger open, probably because I didn’t have you thinking straight,” Charles said.

  “No one likes a cocky person,” Patricia replied severely, then kissed him again. As they embraced she found herself having to fight down the cold fear that even then was starting to gnaw in her belly.

  He’s going to sea, she thought. Oh my God, he’s going to sea.

  “Let’s go to the bedroom, and you can just hold me, okay?” Patricia said. She felt her eyes starting to tear up again and blinked the water away.

  He’ll be fine, and I’ll be fine, and we’ll both laugh about this in ten years, Patricia told herself desperately. Stepping away from Charles, she grabbed his hand and started to tug him back towards her bedroom.

  I’m also going to do a lot more than hold you, Charles Read, she thought fiercely. Sometimes having a widely read girlfriend has its advantages, as you’re about to find out.

  “So then the bastard tells me I get to be his wingman,” Eric said bitterly. “I was this close to telling him to go fuck himself.” Suddenly realizing what he had just said, he colored, much to Jo’s pleasure.

  “Wow, I am rubbing off on you,” Jo said, then looked at him mischievously. “Soon I’ll have you losing the last of your moral hang-ups and living like a complete heathen!”

  Or hey, at least I’ll get you to make a pass at me, she thought. Quite frankly I think Charles has probably gotten further with your sister than you’ve even thought about with me.

  Eric gave her a bemused look, and she could tell she had struck a nerve.

  “Why are you so pushy? I thought women wanted a man to act like a gentleman,” he drawled as they came to the end of their walk. Jo turned and looked up at him, then joined her eyes together and looked at him while batting her eyelashes. With her current white blouse and conservative skirt, she looked every inch the prim, proper, and naïve young woman.

  “Why, Eric, whatever do you mean, pushy? I’m just a sweet, innocent…” Jo started coquettishly.

  Eric raised and eyebrow.

  “Jo, you swear more than most men our age, and you’ve made it abundantly clear that you want to do more than shake hands with me,” Eric said.

  “Then what is the holdup, Eric?” she asked, turning to get her and Patricia’s mail. “I mean, I don’t want you to rip my clothes off and ravish me like some savage, but it’d be nice if I could tell a difference between how you kiss me and the way you kiss Patricia,” Jo said, trying to keep her voice light to take a bit of the edge off her words. Turning to look at Eric, she saw that her attempt had failed.

  You know, Eric would be cute when he was angry...except for being a dead ringer for a crazed killer who just found a way out of the handcuffs. While Jo knew Eric would never raise a hand to her, she knew that she was definitely picking at a wounded man given how bad a day he’d had. Eric worked his mouth as he obviously through through several replies.

  Here it comes, Jo thought, bracing for a truly acidic comment. Eric did not disappoint her.

  “Well, I’m sorry if your little fling gave the impression all men are rutting animals who can�
�t control themselves,” Eric said. “Or was it more a case of your time with him gave you an appetite for fornication?”

  Jo closed her eyes, Eric’s words cutting her far sharper than he realized. Taking a shuddering breath, she bit down hard on her lip. Opening them to look at Eric, she could see he was horrified by what he had just said.

  “Josephine, I’m…” Eric stammered.

  “What, sorry for telling the truth as you see it?” Jo asked conversationally, proud that the hurt didn’t make it into her voice. “You know, I was just starting to think that you were a special man, Eric. Now I see that you’re just like the rest, ready to twist something against a woman if given half a chance.”

  I mean, you of all people should not be throwing the past at someone, Jo thought angrily. She realized pausing had been a mistake as she felt the first hot tears start to go down her cheeks.

  “Look, Eric, how about we don’t see each other for awhile, okay?” Jo asked, not looking at him.

  “How long is awhile?” Eric asked. The tremor in his voice told Jo that he realized he was lucky to be getting that much.

  “I don’t know, a while,” Jo said bitterly. “When I figure out if I want to keep going out with a man who can’t seem to determine whether I am an utter harlot or a woman who has ‘lived a little’, to quote him last week.”

  Eric recoiled from her comment, getting a small smile that didn’t even approach Jo’s eyes.

  “See, having one’s words or past twisted against them isn’t very comfortable,” she said sweetly, then pushed past him for her door. Hearing him starting to follow, she quickly opened the door then leaned back against it, slamming it in his face.

  “Jo,” Eric said, trying the door only to find it locked. “Jo, c’mon, please let me in.”

  Feeling her eyes really starting to swim, she turned and faced out the small window.

  “A while most certainly isn’t five minutes!” she sobbed at him. “Go away!” With that, she turned away to see a very bedraggled looking Patricia and Charles gazing at her from the couch.

  Well that’s just peachy, she thought. Before either one of them could speak, she gave them both a patronizing smile.