One Star-Spangled Night (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

“Captain on deck!”

Doug fought the urge to snap to along with his men. “At ease,” he ordered. He’d never get used to it. Not the boatswain pipes and the bells hailing him on and off the ship. Not the responsibility for a crew of five thousand men and women. Certainly, not the call to attention and deadpan silence that followed whenever he passed through a compartment.

None of it.

He hadn’t asked for the job.

He’d just slept his way to the top while the former XO let a VIP—er…showgirl with the USO—run the ship aground. The exact details of which were still under investigation. The CO and XO had both been relieved of command and removed from the ship without ceremony along with the civilians.

Doug as Operations Officer, or second officer, and third in line for command had been sound asleep in his rack. Not for long. And not since. Sleep deprivation had taken its toll. He’d become short tempered with his crew and distrustful of his junior officers.

Doug shouldered the burden of bringing a disheartened crew and crippled aircraft carrier in for repairs. The hole in the hull of his “Gray Lady” looked as if it had been ripped open with a turnkey like a can of sardines. It had taken the entire crew working around the clock to keep the damage under control.

Even though they were now safe and secure in dry dock, insomnia had become a way of life for him. Because the truth was, even though he hadn’t asked for command of the Enterprise, he wanted her badly. Scooping up his morning mail from the Master Chief’s desk, he proceeded toward his inner sanctum.

“Captain Reese, sir?” A yeoman held up a phone. Landlines had been connected as soon as the ship put in to dry dock, but anyone who really needed to talk to him could reach him by satellite phone or had his cell phone number. “It’s Chaplain Alexander.”

“I’m still not in.” It had been three days since his visit to the Chaplain’s office on base. Doug noticed the young man’s reluctance to deliver the message, yet again.

Coward
.

The thought wasn’t directed at his yeoman, however. “How many times is that?” Doug asked.

“Three, sir.” But even as the yeoman spoke others around the shipboard office began holding up pieces of paper Doug recognized as phone messages.

“Tell the Chaplain no matter how many times she calls, I won’t ever be in. That ought to get my point across.”

“Yes, sir.” The yeoman’s next words were directed into the receiver, “Ma’am… Yes, ma’am—” Doug didn’t envy the young man caught between a captain and a lieutenant in a game of officer roulette. The sailor turned to him and choked out the word, “Sir?”

“Speak up.”

“The Chaplain...,” he hesitated.

“I’m not going to kill the messenger. What is it?”

“Captain, if you don’t meet her for lunch in half an hour,” he spit out the words so fast they ran together, “she’s going to tell everyone within shouting distance of the pier how—how you used her, sir.”

“Give me that.” Doug snatched the receiver. “Lieutenant—” He deliberately used her rank and his most commanding pitch, but stopped short once he realized there was nothing on the other end of the line except a dial tone.

If he hung up now everyone in the office would know she’d hung up on him first. Who knew what they already thought with her cryptic messages. Both would be fodder for the ship’s scuttlebutt by sunset.

“Don’t call me here, again,” he said, and then cursed under his breath. Even that sounded like he’d gotten his personnel caught up in his personal life.

Doug hung up the receiver and then blew into his stateroom/office where he could vent his steam in private. Mail went flying across the polished surface of his empty desktop.

There were two kinds of officers in the Navy—Line and
Staff. Line officers commanded ships and squadrons, and naval bases. Staff officers served by their civilian professions—pulling teeth, playing doctor and ministering. There were some damn fine professionals in the Navy. But they sure as hell didn’t threaten him.

“Used her?” He snorted.

Of course, he had.

Lindsey tried not to look too surprised when thirty minutes after her phone call Captain Doug Reese sauntered past her to the open-air vender on the pier. She was so stunned, however, she almost forgot to salute.

“Two hot dogs and two sparkling waters,” he ordered, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. “What do you want on yours, Chaplain?”

“Um...mustard.”

“One mustard dog. And one chilidog.” He paid the man and walked to the nearest picnic table where he invited her to sit with an almost imperceptible nod.

“Thank you.” Lindsey accepted the hotdog and peeled back the wrapper.

“For what?”

“For lunch. For meeting me.”

He removed his cover and set it aside. She followed suit. The late May sun beat down on their heads. The temperature was pleasant unlike the atmosphere.

Unwrapping his chilidog, he attacked it with a plastic
spork
. She hoped he had a cast iron stomach because what she had to say wasn’t going to sit well on top of that spicy chili con carne. “You didn’t leave me much choice, Chaplain.”

Lindsey surveyed the almost deserted pier, populated by the occasional passing sailor or civilian shipyard worker. The Captain couldn’t possibly have taken her seriously. “I guess not,” she agreed, then took a bite of her dog.

“After three days of phone messages,” he said, “I thought it was time we resolved our
lovers
spat.”

The way he emphasized lovers made her blush like a teenager. She dropped her gaze to the weathered wood between them.

“That is what you have my crew believing, Chaplain. It stops right here. No more phone calls.”

“I’m sure your crew wouldn’t dare believe anything other than what you tell them.” She reached into the pocket of her khaki skirt and handed him the folded piece of paper. “I just wanted to return this.”

He hesitated only a moment before taking it from her. As he did, his scowl deepened.

“I didn’t read it,” she reassured him. “Not intentionally, anyway.”

There was skepticism in his green eyes as he unbuttoned the breast pocket of his khaki uniform, stuffed the paper inside and buttoned the shirt again in one efficient movement.

“However,” she continued. “I think it’s only fair to tell you Admiral Dunning called after you left.”

“I see,” he said in clipped tones. “And what did you tell the Admiral?”

“Nothing.”

“Good girl.” He nodded his approval.

Lindsey bristled. “Don’t patronize me, Captain. You may outrank me…you may even think me a naive and
lowly lieutenant
—”

“But?” he prompted.

This was supposed to be the Captain’s wake up call and she was here to deliver that message. “I’m all that stands between you and losing command of your ship.”

Doug stared her down. “Not much of a threat, Lieutenant.”

“That’s why you chose me, isn’t it?” She turned away from his steady gaze and ripped at her napkin.

“That’s exactly why I chose you.”

There were several chaplains stationed aboard his ship, but Doug didn’t want to confide in a subordinate under his command any more than he wanted to find a chaplain of equal rank at the Naval Base or nearest Naval Air Station. Hell, he had the Navy’s entire North and Southwest Regions at his disposal, but he’d signaled out a lowly lieutenant, as she’d so aptly put it, because she wasn’t a threat to him.

She was a pretty, young thing—in a brown eyed, brown haired, girl-next-door kind of way. Young enough to be his daughter and just out of seminary.

Certainly not worldly enough to beat the devil at his own game.

Doug frowned as mustard dripped from her hotdog and landed on her single row of campaign ribbons above her breast pocket. She’d been in long enough to have served with a Marine Corps unit in Afghanistan. His participation in numerous campaigns had taken place several thousand feet above deck. Often providing cover for the servicemen and women in immediate danger. He had a lot of respect for ground pounders.

She dabbed at the mustard with a paper napkin, making an even bigger mess of her Khakis. He reached into his trouser pocket for a hanky and handed it across the table.

She looked surprised by the courtesy but she accepted it. “Thank you.”

“Try the seltzer water.” After another two minutes with both of them preoccupied with her rack, he cleared his throat. He didn’t need to be staring at her breasts. “If we’re about done here, Chaplain, I’ll have my yeoman call your yeoman to set up our next appointment. Once a week for a month ought to satisfy the old man.”

To him the Admiral was the old man. But to everyone else he was the old man.

She looked up from rubbing mustard into her ribbons. “I don’t want to be your counselor. I have no interest in holding a weekly staring contest with you, Captain.” Setting his hanky aside, she leaned forward and folded her arms across the table. “I told Admiral Dunning I thought you were perfectly fit to command. But he insisted on a minimum of ten counseling sessions with a written evaluation of your mental fitness at the end.”

“Twice a week, then.” Doug reached for his cover. “Four weeks, five weeks—” Whatever it took to placate the Admiral. Just so long as nothing stress-related went into his permanent medical record. He couldn’t take certain prescription medications without getting his wings clipped. Which included prescription sleep aids. So what was the point of seeing a shrink?

Being a Carrier Captain was a 24/7 job. As an aviator himself, Dunning knew that and had agreed to Doug seeking out a Navy Chaplain’s counsel. A lot of Captains used their senior shipboard chaplain’s as advisors because of the confidentiality. The Admiral had probably assumed Doug would do the same.

“What about ten days?” She shrugged. “We could meet here for lunch. You don’t want to be counseled and I don’t want to be your counselor.”

Doug set his cover back down. “Lunch?”

“We don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to. But you do have to stick it out for the whole hour.”

If this was her attempt at reverse psychology, she’d find him a hard nut to crack. “Not a problem.”

“I’m going to need your go pills.” She held out her hand.

“My what?”

“Caffeine pills. You’re a jet jockey. I know you have a stash. So, whatever you call them…hand ‘em over,
sir
.”

Her sugarcoated belligerence was his undoing. He’d dealt with his share of insolent junior officers, but not one of them had been clergy. He wanted to laugh at that determined look on her face. Instead, he dug the pill bottle out of his pants pocket and dropped them into her waiting palm.

“They’re not prescription?”

But they were available through the ship’s doctor. He could get more anytime he needed.

“No coffee or caffeinated beverages after 1900 hours. If we’re not going to deal with the cause, we’ll deal with the problem.”

“Which is what, exactly? That I put in 18-20 hour days? Now that’s amusing. Have you even been stationed aboard a ship, Chaplain?”

“No,” she admitted. “I don’t really know anything about shipboard operations.”

“Let me educate you. A ship never sleeps and neither does her crew or captain.” A crew might rotate shifts, but a ship had only one captain. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to head back.” He slapped his cover to his head.

“Even in port?”

“What?” Doug stopped short.

“The Admiral thinks you should get some rest before the next cruise. That’s all.”

“Now you’re privy to what admirals think?”

She shrugged. “He told me. He likes the way you stepped up in a crisis and wants to make you more than just the interim Captain.”

Doug had assumed he’d be stepping down as Captain of the
Enterprise
just as quickly as he’d taken command. He’d even researched his role for the Change of Command ceremony. He was missing one important credential for commanding a carrier. He’d never been the XO. He’d gone from being the Operations Officer to Executive Officer and Commanding Officer all in one day. But he did meet all the other requirements, including two years of nuclear reactor school.

He’d been a naval aviator for twenty-six years, the last ten of which had been dedicated to the single focus of commanding the Enterprise. He’d been both CO and XO of an Air Wing and a Cruiser. Was it possible? He could actually be the Big E’s next Commanding Officer and not just her interim Captain?

The tightness in his shoulders eased and took up residence in his chest. “I’ll see you tomorrow at noon, Chaplain.”

“Wait.” She pulled out her cell phone. “What’s your number?”

He cocked a brow. “So you can harass me over my cell phone?”

“As a courtesy. In case one of us is running late,” she said with a touch of indignation. “So I’m not bothering your staff.”