brash voice of Lieutenant Ted Buegeleisen caught Drew before he reached the buffet.
This is the last thing I need,
he thought, but he allowed himself to be waved over.
“You love me, you love him,” Buegeleisen declared. Sharing his table were two female helicopter pilots. One was brunette, the other sandy-blond. She wore a ring, which hadn’t stopped Buegeleisen from chatting her up. It never did.
“Bugle” was Drew’s friend and partner, again on multiple levels. Drew flew a two-man EA-18G. Bugle was his electronic warfare officer and a ROMEO agent, a tall, happy guy who considered himself catnip with the ladies. In reality, Bugle was a six-foot-three horse-faced dork. Drew had difficulty imagining a less likely prospect for a secret agent.
“Did you know this maniac saved four people from a deck fire?” Bugle asked the women.
“How’s mid rats tonight?” Drew said. Going on one in the morning, they were served midnight rations left over from dinner, but Bugle was not to be deterred.
“It’s true,” Bugle said. “You’re looking at him. A few years ago we had a fire on the
Lincoln
when some idiot was sneaking cigarettes by the fuel hoses.”
Drew left their table to grab a tray, two hamburgers, and a scoop of canned pineapple. He wished he was more like Bugle, fuzz in the brain, peaceful at heart, although he realized some of his disquiet was purely physiological.
The
America
and the
Truman
split every twenty-four hours into two “fly days” of thirteen hours each, creating some overlap at midnight and at noon. Drew’s launch cycle was the second. He expected to fly from two a.m. to four a.m., but it was tough to eat when his belly thought it should be asleep and even tougher to sleep when his body thought it should be in the sun. Three weeks ago, Drew had been stationed in Guantanamo. Five weeks ago, he’d been in Seoul. His biorhythms were more out of whack than those of the crew members who’d already been with the
America
in San Diego.
Could that explain the tick of anxiety in his head? Despite everything he’d said to Christensen, he had no evidence of a Chinese attack.
“This cowboy ran into the fire four times!” Bugle said as Drew returned with his tray.
Christensen.
Drew recalled the warmth of her body as he sat down and dug into his chow. If she was like him, she was lonely. ROMEO training meant less downtime, less dates, less family, less everything.
He admired her dedication. Twenty-five years old and a ROMEO agent… What had caused her to give up any semblance of a normal life? Were her motives like his own? Drew hadn’t gotten over his sister’s death—maybe he never would—but personal scars weren’t the main reason people chose to serve.
“Every time he comes back with someone else!” Bugle said. “We’ve got two jets on fire and smoke as thick as water, but he keeps going back in.”
“No way,” the brunette said.
“Bugle makes it sound good,” Drew said. “The smoke wasn’t as thick as water.”
“It was like the Amazon!” Bugle insisted.
Drew laughed.
He’s an idiot, but he’s
my
idiot,
he thought. Bugle’s blabbermouth style was the perfect disguise. The two of them had been last-minute additions to the crew, yet they’d made fast friends across the ship with Bugle taking the lead on the social scene.
ROMEO was a clandestine division of the Defense Intelligence Agency, a hand-picked group trained to blend with standard forces. Bugle claimed that was why they were code-named after the greatest secret lover of all time. ROMEO wasn’t an acronym. Bugle said they were supposed to get intimate with their shipmates. Drew believed there were similar groups called ALPHA, BRAVO, and so on.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “We need to fly.”
“We’ll see you later!” Bugle said. Both women chuckled at the eagerness in his face.
For Drew, the waiting was the hardest part, waiting and wondering if he could rely on anyone else. Once he’d quit
This is the last thing I need,
he thought, but he allowed himself to be waved over.
“You love me, you love him,” Buegeleisen declared. Sharing his table were two female helicopter pilots. One was brunette, the other sandy-blond. She wore a ring, which hadn’t stopped Buegeleisen from chatting her up. It never did.
“Bugle” was Drew’s friend and partner, again on multiple levels. Drew flew a two-man EA-18G. Bugle was his electronic warfare officer and a ROMEO agent, a tall, happy guy who considered himself catnip with the ladies. In reality, Bugle was a six-foot-three horse-faced dork. Drew had difficulty imagining a less likely prospect for a secret agent.
“Did you know this maniac saved four people from a deck fire?” Bugle asked the women.
“How’s mid rats tonight?” Drew said. Going on one in the morning, they were served midnight rations left over from dinner, but Bugle was not to be deterred.
“It’s true,” Bugle said. “You’re looking at him. A few years ago we had a fire on the
Lincoln
when some idiot was sneaking cigarettes by the fuel hoses.”
Drew left their table to grab a tray, two hamburgers, and a scoop of canned pineapple. He wished he was more like Bugle, fuzz in the brain, peaceful at heart, although he realized some of his disquiet was purely physiological.
The
America
and the
Truman
split every twenty-four hours into two “fly days” of thirteen hours each, creating some overlap at midnight and at noon. Drew’s launch cycle was the second. He expected to fly from two a.m. to four a.m., but it was tough to eat when his belly thought it should be asleep and even tougher to sleep when his body thought it should be in the sun. Three weeks ago, Drew had been stationed in Guantanamo. Five weeks ago, he’d been in Seoul. His biorhythms were more out of whack than those of the crew members who’d already been with the
America
in San Diego.
Could that explain the tick of anxiety in his head? Despite everything he’d said to Christensen, he had no evidence of a Chinese attack.
“This cowboy ran into the fire four times!” Bugle said as Drew returned with his tray.
Christensen.
Drew recalled the warmth of her body as he sat down and dug into his chow. If she was like him, she was lonely. ROMEO training meant less downtime, less dates, less family, less everything.
He admired her dedication. Twenty-five years old and a ROMEO agent… What had caused her to give up any semblance of a normal life? Were her motives like his own? Drew hadn’t gotten over his sister’s death—maybe he never would—but personal scars weren’t the main reason people chose to serve.
“Every time he comes back with someone else!” Bugle said. “We’ve got two jets on fire and smoke as thick as water, but he keeps going back in.”
“No way,” the brunette said.
“Bugle makes it sound good,” Drew said. “The smoke wasn’t as thick as water.”
“It was like the Amazon!” Bugle insisted.
Drew laughed.
He’s an idiot, but he’s
my
idiot,
he thought. Bugle’s blabbermouth style was the perfect disguise. The two of them had been last-minute additions to the crew, yet they’d made fast friends across the ship with Bugle taking the lead on the social scene.
ROMEO was a clandestine division of the Defense Intelligence Agency, a hand-picked group trained to blend with standard forces. Bugle claimed that was why they were code-named after the greatest secret lover of all time. ROMEO wasn’t an acronym. Bugle said they were supposed to get intimate with their shipmates. Drew believed there were similar groups called ALPHA, BRAVO, and so on.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “We need to fly.”
“We’ll see you later!” Bugle said. Both women chuckled at the eagerness in his face.
For Drew, the waiting was the hardest part, waiting and wondering if he could rely on anyone else. Once he’d quit
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