Sailor Proof (Shore Leave 1)

He might not want me to make any promises, but I wanted to, wanted to offer him my assurances. Wanted to bind us both to that promise, honestly. I didn’t need room to think, and I was more than a little afraid what I might find if I dug deep enough into my psyche. I didn’t need space. Just him. But already there was an entire ocean between us.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Derrick

“Well, you certainly know how to make an entrance, Fox.” The senior chief regarded me carefully as we settled for our daily report meeting. He had a shaved head, Southern drawl, commanding features, and a piercing stare that had a way of seeing every uncertainty. So I drew myself up taller and gave a firm nod.

“Yes, sir.” Entrance was one way to put the harrowing foggy medical evac that had required coordination from multiple teams including the shore-based doctors, the ship the sub had had to rendezvous with, its helicopter crew, and various levels of mission command. Being on deck during a sunny homecoming had nothing in common with navigating the slick surface in choppy conditions with limited visibility. It was only thanks to tireless training that the operation had gone off without incident. “You should be proud of your crew.”

The sub’s young medic had had to help negotiate the sub’s tight passageways with his patient on a litter while the deck crew had to coordinate closely with the evac helicopter.

“They did fine work.” This senior chief wasn’t the type to smile much, but the warmth in his voice said even he was impressed. “Glad they got you on that bird.”

“Me too. We cut it close.” I’d narrowly made the helicopter rescue flight, a mad dash alongside the crew following a long flight out to that ship. Not counting time zone changes, I’d been awake over twenty-four hours by the time the evacuation was complete. But Command hadn’t wanted the submarine to have to surface more than once, and time had been of the essence once the sick chief’s condition had deteriorated. “Do we have an update on Gordon yet?”

“Stable. He’s a fighter. Higher-ups can’t share specific medical information, but prognosis was sounding good last I heard.”

“Excellent.” Everything I’d heard about the ill chief was glowing. I had big shoes to fill on this mission, that much was certain.

“You settling in?” The senior chief did another of those hard stares, but I had years of practice schooling my expression. This was not a moment for complaints.

“Yup.” The senior chief didn’t need to hear that I had a rattly bottom bunk with a restless snorer above me and an intense longing for my boyfriend’s cramped-but-cozy bed where at least I had Arthur as a pillow and the sound of his heart for white noise. Senior Chief also didn’t need to know that I hadn’t slept any of the trip to the sub because I’d been replaying that final kiss with Arthur over and over. All my boss wanted to know was that things were on automatic, not that I was lovelorn and homesick. “Good crew here. I’ll be up to speed in no time.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Predictably, he nodded sharply and didn’t ask follow-up questions. “Now, do you have that report for me?”

“Absolutely.” I pushed thoughts of Arthur from my head. I had a job to do and needed to prove to both the senior chief and the personnel under me that I was more than capable of meeting the challenge. “I analyzed the last few days of data.”

I rattled off my report, focusing on the minor discrepancies I’d found, my plans to study them further, quality control procedures in place, and possible conclusions that could be drawn from the sonar data we had available. This was the part I was good at, and my confidence showed in my decisive tone.

“Damn.” The senior chief whistled low. “You do know your stuff. Brass said you were one of the best.”

I stood a little taller at that. It didn’t matter what was happening in my personal life. My ego still enjoyed the praise, and I had too many years of training to let my funk impact my ability to do the work that was so vital to the sub’s navigation. “Thank you, sir. I try.”

“Reputation like yours, you’ll be coming for my job soon enough, I reckon.” The senior chief stretched, arms hitting the side of the tight compartment we were in.

“Oh, I’ve got some years left before that.” Any other previous deployment and the comment would have buoyed me for days. I wanted to be where he sat, chief of the boat, commander’s right-hand personnel and responsible for so much of the daily operations. It was a level of responsibility I’d aspired to my whole career. But lately, I kept having this little voice in the back of my head going what if, and me not sure how to answer it.