Navy Orders. Geri Krotow
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“You could do a lot worse than Miles Mikowski, Ro. I know you didn’t want to go out with him, or anyone, when you first broke up with Dick and started this tour. But it’s been a long time. You finally threw away your past today, even if you couldn’t have chosen a stupider way to do it.” Gwen’s crooked smirk couldn’t erase her classic beauty. A tall, wispy blonde, she’d been the envy of the other female mids when they were in school. She’d done everything they did and still managed to look like a porcelain doll no matter how sweaty or dirty she got.
“You could have just told me you needed a girls’ night or weekend and we could have gone to Whistler for a spa weekend. There are plenty of high mountains to throw a ring off there, with no threat of being tackled by an EOD dude.” Gwen stirred two packets of sugar into her coffee. “You’re damned lucky the trooper didn’t haul you off for a psych evaluation.”
“Yeah, well, Miles could say the same. As for going on a trip, I had to do it on my own. You know that.”
“I do.” Gwen regarded her steadily with pine-green eyes. “This was better, wasn’t it? Being in a hotel in Whistler with your best friend wouldn’t have gotten you tackled by Miles.”
Gwen leaned forward.
“Be honest—was it hot?”
Ro took a good gulp of her cappuccino to hide her smile. Gwen made her laugh but she didn’t want to laugh about Miles. Not when every inch of her ached from the way he’d “saved” her this morning.
“How are you and Drew adjusting to the command tour?” She wasn’t going to admit her feelings even to Gwen.
Gwen puckered her lips and raised her eyebrows.
“We’re doing as well as we can, considering he’s still upset I took the command tour orders. No, let me change that. We’re doing horribly, and I don’t know why we’re still together. How’s that for a depressing take on marriage?”
“And you want me to date Miles.”
“Dating and getting married are vastly different. Miles is perfect for you. If you think about it, it’s pretty romantic that he pounced on you when he thought you were going to leap off the bridge.”
“He was acting on instinct—he said it himself. He’s been on too many battlefields, seen too many people in the throes of their PTSD. He did the right thing, I guess. Except that he should’ve taken a minute to ask me first before he assumed I was suicidal.”
“Don’t be so hard on him, Ro. Or on yourself. You said you want to let go of your past, open up your mind. Have you ever considered a more permanent change? Have you thought about getting out of the navy?”
No, but she knew this was the next area of her life that had to be addressed. At more than nine years in, she was nearing the halfway mark to retirement.
“I’m only willing to handle one life change per day, Gwen. You’re the last person I’d expect to ask me about whether or not I’m making the navy a career. Where is this coming from?”
Gwen’s glance strayed to the view of the runway the window they sat next to provided. She shrugged and looked back at Ro.
“With all the stress my new tour has put on my marriage, I’m wondering if I should have gotten out sooner, taken a job with the airlines. Drew’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve having to worry about me flying war missions all over the globe.”
“B.S.! You’re one of the most talented, proficient pilots in the whole navy! Drew needs to chill. After this tour you can get out if you want to, or take a shore tour and think about it.”
Gwen shook her head.
“I just want you to consider that you have many, many options. You’re an academy grad, you’ve served in wartime and you have a background in computer systems. You’re eminently employable. But what about your knitting? There’s more to your interests, lots of things I don’t think you’ve even considered yet. This is your shore tour to do that.”
“Gee, thanks, Mom.”
“Cut it out.” Gwen looked at her watch. “Gotta go. You’ve got an AOM today, too, don’t you?”
Ro nodded.
“Suggestion—say ‘yes’ to Miles when you see him.” Gwen smiled and gave her shoulder a squeeze before she walked out of the fast-food place.
Indeed.
CHAPTER TWO
TWO HOURS LATER Roanna straightened her khaki uniform skirt and put on her favorite tinted lip moisturizer before she left her desk to walk to the wing conference room. It was only a quarter to nine but she’d lived a lifetime since she’d left her house for her run on Deception Pass this morning.
Each week the wing staff, along with various squadron representatives, briefed the wing commander, also referred to as the wing commodore, on the status of all wing patrol squadron forces in the world that were under his command. A complete intelligence brief was part of the package, as was a weather brief, operations brief and maintenance brief.
Ro was responsible for the intelligence brief, but whenever possible it was presented by a squadron intelligence officer or one of her intelligence specialists. She’d had enough face time to last her an entire career. She believed in giving less experienced intel types a chance to improve their skills.
Ro entered the roomy air-conditioned space and glanced at the dozen or so seats around the huge wood conference table and the seats lined up at the sides of the room. Miles wasn’t there yet and she let out her breath. At least she had a few more minutes during which she didn’t have to worry about him looking at her.
Go ahead, tell yourself that. You’ll be disappointed if he doesn’t show up.
She was giving Miles way too much rental space in her head. She pulled out a chair three down from the head of the table, where the commodore would sit. He’d be flanked by his chief staff officer and the operations officer, followed by maintenance and intelligence. All rank-related.
Right after she sat down, the senior enlisted sailor came into the room and handed her a piece of paper.
“Good morning, Commander.” The rank of lieutenant commander was often shortened to “Commander” in regular conversation.
“Hey, Master Chief Reis, how are you doing?”
“Fine, ma’am. The commodore wants to meet with you after the AOM.” Master Chief Petty Officer Lydia Reis referred to the all officers meeting, AOM, as Ro took the small yellow slip of paper.
“Did his secretary say what for?”
“No, and it wasn’t his secretary who told me—it was Commodore Sanders.”
“Okay, thanks.” She did her best to maintain an air of unconcern. Captain Leo Sanders, Wing Commodore, never made direct calls to any of his staff. They jokingly referred to him as the “CEO.” He made sure everyone knew he was the boss, no questions, but was also more friendly and personable than the average high roller. Ro had worked for Commodore Sanders since she’d reported to N.A.S. Whidbey fourteen months ago. He’d been more than fair on her fitness reports so she didn’t have a personal beef with him. But she’d also seen him slice and dice her colleagues for transgressions in front of the entire staff. He regularly broke the “reprimand in private, praise in public” rule of thumb. It was the epitome of how a leader shouldn’t behave. But he was in charge and it wasn’t her call how he acted. He gave her enough room to do her job as the wing intelligence officer without micromanaging her.
Besides, he had a great sense of humor that was most welcome when the staff was under the gun for an inspection or unplanned mission.
Why does he need to talk to me?
Ro ran her fingers along the edge of the polished maple conference table. She hadn’t