Forgive & Forget (Love in the Fleet)

by Ashby, Heather

Chapter 4

  “When Does Friendship Become a Crime in the Navy? Over two hundred years of seagoing experience have demonstrated that seniors must maintain a thoroughly professional relationship with juniors at all times. Personal relationships between officer and enlisted members that are unduly familiar and that do not respect differences in rank and grade are prohibited, and violate longstanding customs and traditions of the naval service. Personal relationships including dating, cohabitation, and any sexual relationship between commissioned officers and personnel of the enlisted ranks are strictly forbidden.”

  “Shit,” Hallie mumbled under her breath.

  Chief Bernard interrupted Hallie’s Google search of the UCMJ—the Uniform Code of Military Justice—the Armed Forces Bible on rules and regulations. “Hey, McCabe, hurricane season started last week. I thought I asked one of you to pull a checklist together and write a piece to go with it. I need to run it tomorrow. Whoever writes it gets the byline.”

  “Can you get Marini to do it?”

  “I thought you’d want the byline.”

  “Not today. Gina, you want a byline?” Hallie called across the Blanchard’s Public Affairs office.

  “I don’t care who does it. Somebody get it done. Need a rough by noon.” The chief dropped some notes on her desk and walked away.

  The face of Gina Marini, Hallie’s other bunkmate and fellow journalist, appeared over the top of Hallie’s laptop. “Since when don’t you want a byline? I thought everything you published went into your resume.”

  “I don’t want my name on anything on this ship right now.” Hallie racked her brain wondering if there were still any newsletters floating around with her byline on them.

  Gina’s eyes lit up. “Because you don’t want somebody to see it?”

  Hallie tried to smother her smile, but she couldn’t contain it. “Gina. I met the most amazing guy this weekend.”

  “Wait. From the ship? You got the hots for somebody on the Blanchard? What happened to the policy only you seem to follow? Come on. Dish, girl.”

  “Okay, tell you what. If you’ll take this assignment, I’ll give you the dirt.”

  “You got it.” Gina grabbed the chief’s notes and walked to her desk.

  Whereas Trixie slept above Hallie, Gina slept below her in their three-tiered rack in female berthing, when she stayed on board. Since Gina was quietly living off base with her boyfriend, a chief hospital corpsman, she only slept on the ship when she had duty—and she obviously would once they deployed.

  Gina might have some insight into Hallie’s situation. Like Hallie, Gina was a Petty Officer Second-Class and it was considered fraternization for her to be getting it on with a chief assigned to the same command. Had he been attached to some other unit, fraternization wouldn’t have been an issue. Unfortunately for Hallie, there were no such exceptions permitting intimate relationships between enlisted personnel and commissioned officers. Ever. Of course, once they deployed, anybody getting it on with anybody was verboten aboard ship.

  Hallie loved the camaraderie she shared with the other Mass Communications Specialists—the MCs—in the Public Affairs office aboard the ship. They worked well together, gathering news about the Blanchard and disseminating it to the military and civilian communities via newsletters, email, and social media. She was glad her mom had talked her into joining the Navy as a way to finish college and receive on-the-job training as a news journalist.

  Although her job at All Hands magazine in Washington had been a plum assignment for an MC, she did not feel she was doing her part in the war on terror. She preferred the nitty-gritty, day-to-day life aboard ship. And she knew it was where she’d find the real stories once they deployed.

  Hallie had gladly exchanged her dress uniform and heels for combat boots and the blue and gray camouflage shirt and trousers, nicknamed “aquaflage.” Apparently it was doing its duty of camouflaging her or the men on the Blanchard were either exceedingly polite or not too smart. Because so far she’d escaped being called, “Babe McCabe” or “The McBabe,” monikers that had followed her since middle school. Going without make-up and perfume apparently helped, too.

  Despite the lack of privacy in the Public Affairs office, Hallie had the use of her own laptop. This benefit would pay off once they deployed since she could stay connected with the outside world. As an MC, she had far more access to the Internet than any other enlisted person on the ship—and even more than a lot of the junior officers. As long as the satellite feed was working, she could log on.

  Her current research was digging through the UCMJ for a loophole so she could continue to see Philip without them getting into trouble. The following sentence did not help:

  “Any violation of this rule will subject the senior member to disciplinary action.”

  Ouch. She pictured Philip being led from the Blanchard in handcuffs. Blackballed. Stripped of his brass buttons and drummed off the ship. Hallie thought it sucked that the junior member could get away with a slap on the wrist—not that she wanted a major punishment if caught. It just seemed like a double standard.

  But she couldn’t help smiling at that “senior member” part when she thought about that senior’s member stabbing her in the stomach in the rain yesterday during those mind-blowing kisses. Kisses that had been more tantalizing than flat-out sex. Never had she been kissed with such passion and tenderness at the same time. Long and slow, but deep and hungry. She couldn’t believe he was the same guy from the beach on Saturday night. He’d obviously felt more confident on his boat. A flush of warmth curled low in her belly and she squirmed in her chair reliving those kisses. She reached up and touched the stubble burn on her chin.

  She and Philip hadn’t talked in the car on the way home from the river. Just held hands and listened to classic jazz. His mouth tipped up at the corner now and then, as if he had a secret tucked away. Probably the same one she had, with her heart thrumming like it was. Every glide of his thumb on her hand sent shock waves through her.

  She liked that he was a good driver. So many guys tried to prove their manhood behind the wheel of a car; speeding, taking chances, letting the world know they were in charge. He did things like use his turn signal to change lanes, even when there was no one around. When she mentioned it to him, he shrugged and said, “Laws and rules are there for a reason, Hallie.”

  Just her luck to fall for a rule follower.

  All the way home, she worried about what she’d do when he invited her to his apartment. After those kisses and the way she’d responded, she didn’t know a guy who wouldn’t push for more. Deep down Hallie wanted to go to his apartment, but no way was her sweet little enlisted ass going to do it. For starters she hadn’t even known him twenty-four hours and more importantly, she couldn’t get that involved with him. She’d use schoolwork as an excuse. But he never asked her to go to his apartment. He’d walked her to her door, took off his sunglasses, put his hand up against the wall, and leaned close. He gave her a slow, sexy smile and said, “Thanks for going today. It was…” He paused, his eyes shining as he searched for the word.

  “Magical,” she said finishing his thought.

  He’d leaned down and kissed her quickly and sweetly on the lips, then his eyes narrowed with confusion. Putting his finger under her chin, he tipped it into the light. “Did I do that? I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

  He rubbed his stubble. Then he freaking planted a kiss on her chin and said goodnight. The kiss on the chin was even more of a turn-on than the kisses in the rain.

  Oh, she was in deep. Philip was a perfect gentleman.

  And an officer.

  Gina interrupted her daydreaming. “Okay. Who is it? What department?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “I know. And don’t tell. Okay, let’s work our way down. I’m going to assume it’s not Captain Amerson.” That brought a laug
h at the thought of Hallie and the Blanchard’s new CO—the Commanding Officer. He was good looking, but he was an old guy.

  “No, but he is an officer.”

  “Okay, here’s what I know about fraternization. Since Steve made chief, we have to be careful. We quietly do our thing off base and rarely see each other on board. I’m up here and he’s down in Sick Bay. Once we leave on the cruise, we’ll only meet to talk in the library or the coffee shop once in a while and only…” she winked. “…you know…get busy together in liberty ports when we can. And even then, we’ll have to watch ourselves.”

  “No frigging in the rigging?”

  “He would get so busted if we got caught fooling around on the ship. But there’s lots of it going on—even some between officers and enlisted. As long as people are discreet, it’s not a huge problem unless they’re in the same chain of command. Like it’s your boss or something.” Gina looked toward the office door of the Public Affairs Officer. “You’re not getting it on with Commander Scott are you?” More laughter. “So, you didn’t tell this guy you’re on the ship because, why?”

  “He doesn’t even know I’m in the Navy.”

  “Oh, this is good. What are you going to do? Hide from him?”

  Hallie glanced down at her aquaflage. “Well, I am camouflaged.” Another chuckle from both of them. “Look, I didn’t actually lie. I said I was a student, which I am. I’m not sure what I’m going to do. All I know is this guy is really sweet, not like most of the jerks I end up with. And he’s pretty hot, but he’s not full of himself. I feel comfortable with him, but he’s a major rule follower. His words. And you know what? I like that about him, but I’m pretty sure he’d dump my ass in a heartbeat if he knew I was enlisted. Please don’t say anything to anybody—especially Trixie. It’d be all over the ship in five minutes.”

  “I wouldn’t tell that hussy what I had for breakfast,” Gina said as she walked away.

  Hallie glanced back at her computer screen. When she read the next sentence her heart skipped a beat, her breath quickened, and her lips curved into a dangerous smile.

  “A commissioned officer can only be found guilty of fraternization if the accused knew the other person to be enlisted.”

  But what if he didn’t?

  Tooling around the engineering spaces that Monday morning in his navy blue coveralls, hardhat, and BCGs, Lieutenant Philip Johnston could barely concentrate on watching his men—and woman—fix a pump. And he could not stop smiling.

  “You’re looking especially happy today, sir,” piped up one of his hull techs.

  “It’s a beautiful day.”

  “And you would know that how, sir, since you’ve been stuck down here since zero-dark-thirty?”

  “I don’t think Mr. Johnston’s talking about the weather, Bulldog,” Trixie chimed in. The guys stopped their work and walked over to check out their boss grinning like the Cheshire cat.

  “Good weekend, sir?” she asked.

  “The best.” His mouth quirked up in a smile.

  “Mr. Johnston, I think you’re in luuuv!” Trixie never had a problem getting right to the point, even with officers.

  “Could be. Who knows?” Certainly he bantered enough with the guys in his division, but never when Trixie was around. Not PC, even though she had a saltier mouth than most of the men on the ship. He also knew she called him Bill Gates behind his back. At least his men had the decency to refer to him as Mr. Gates when they called him that.

  Philip gradually guided them back to the reality of pump maintenance and reminded them that the next step, the alignment of the pump shaft to the motor coupling, was the most critical part of the job. He tried to concentrate, but flashbacks from the day before—Hallie in a bikini, the sunscreen, the feel of their hands on each other’s bodies, and those kisses in the rain kept flooding his mind. Finally he left the chief in charge of supervising the pump and went to his office, tipped back in his chair, propped his boots on the desk, threaded his hands behind his head, and thought about those kisses in the rain.

  Kisses that had him wanting to take her right there on the deck outside the marina. After spending the afternoon with her in that bikini, with that curl draped down over her laughing blue eyes, and that wicked bottle of sunscreen. A spike of heat hit him in the gut just thinking about having her pressed up against the wall, feeling the hungry response from her lips, her tongue, her body. It had taken all of his restraint and control not to grind into her. A smile tugged at Philip’s mouth. He wondered if it would still be called “dry humping” if both parties were soaking wet.

  No way were they going to his apartment after that kiss. He was not going to mess things up by trying to take her to bed last night, even though she seemed to give him a green light. He did not like feeling out of control and he’d never gone to bed with a woman he had known for less than twenty-four hours. Okay, so the opportunity had rarely presented itself.

  Anyway, Hallie deserved special handling, but oh, how he wanted to handle her.

  His brain fast-forwarded to saying goodbye at her doorway, when he’d taken off his sunglasses and seen her chin. Talk about out of control. Her chin was scraped pink and raw from his stubble. What kind of animal had done that to her? Yeah, good thing he hadn’t invited her upstairs.

  But then he went back to the kisses and smiled broadly. Since he hadn’t dogged the door to his office, he could still hear snippets of conversation out in the engine room and he was certain he heard Trixie say, “Yes, sirree, I do believe our own Bill Gates is gettin’ some.”

  Operations Specialist Second-Class Randy Davis sat at his computer terminal in the Combat Direction Center—CDC, or simply “Combat”—on the O-3 level of the USS Blanchard, contemplating another boring day at his job. When the ship was in port, the OS’s job pretty much consisted of mustering in the morning, tidying up their personal area, cleaning off a couple of radar screens, and then playing online solitaire for the rest of the day. The fun stuff—operating the radar systems and identifying friend or foe was only done underway. Not a lot of bogeys in port, but he knew that would change once they arrived in the Middle East.

  While the Blanchard had been in overhaul for almost a year, it had sucked a big, wet one. Randy thought he’d spend the whole time attending schools, completing refresher courses, and studying for his next rating exam. Instead, he and most of the OS Division had been assigned to paint teams and fire watches, which was bullshit for a second-class petty officer. The little bit of training he got was a couple of simulation exercises done in classrooms on shore.

  Randy had planned to use the year they were in dry dock to go to school. He and his wife had been talking about starting a family and he had truly wanted to do whatever it took to improve their circumstances. Getting some college in seemed like a good start. He really had wanted to do something important with his life. Leave his mark.

  But then the problems had started and now she was gone. And gone were his dreams. Nothing mattered anymore. So fuck those goals and dreams. They were all crap now. Although he still liked the idea of leaving his mark. Oh, yeah. He was taking a crash course in becoming famous now. The Navy wouldn’t be forgetting OS2 Randy Davis for a long, long time. He’d make the fucking headlines. He could just see it in print. Well, he wouldn’t actually see it in print. He’d be dead. But it would be there for every other one of these assholes to see. Actually, he didn’t really like what they would see in print, because they’d use his real name.

  Ralph.

  The memories of being called Ralphie socked him in the stomach and fire spread through his veins as he wiped down radar screens. Maybe it had been funny in elementary school, but many of those kids had teased him all the way through high school—about that and other things. Wouldn’t he just love to get his mitts on a couple of those pricks today with the power he now held in his hands.

 
Thank God the jerk-offs he worked with here in Combat didn’t know his real name because he’d never hear the end of it. They already gave him enough crap about everything else.

  “Randy” worked just fine and had gotten him through the last four years. Until now. Because now he wasn’t even Randy anymore. He liked that his sadiqs, his new pals in the Middle East, called him Rashid.

  That was a man’s name.

  And that’s how he would sign everything he left behind for the assholes in the U.S. Navy to read, which he knew they would do.

  Right after they finished picking up the pieces.

  Chapter 5

  “Cowboy? You had that fucking hat on, didn’t you?” Sky laughed so hard he choked on the words. “That why you don’t talk much, pardner? Because you’re too busy doing other things?” He waggled his eyebrows at Philip, who pretended to blow on a pistol and tuck it back into a holster.

  Hallie had invited Philip for dinner on Tuesday, but said she’d be studying the rest of the week, so he was free to meet Sky for a brew.

  Bill Gates and the Skylark had met their first day of Plebe Summer at the Naval Academy and had been best buddies ever since, even though they were as different as night and day. Sky was a wild-ass party boy and Philip was, well, Philip. He had always been there to bring Sky back down to earth with his common sense and advice. Sky worked overtime to bring Philip out of his shell, and introduce him to fine—and not so fine—young ladies.

  Philip was thrilled when Sky received orders to a helicopter maritime strike squadron across the river at NAS Jacksonville, but even more pleased to learn that Sky’s squadron would be deploying with him in July. The two planned to spend their free time during those long days and nights at sea on the Blanchard playing cards, watching movies, and working out. And they looked forward to raising some hell together in the liberty ports. Rather, Sky would raise hell and Philip would drag Sky’s sorry ass back to the ship before curfew.