Chapter 11: Get It Away!
A series of brief knocks against the laminated office door roused Admiral Williams out of his paperwork-and-e-mail induced mediation. "Enter," he said, not even glancing up from the glowing LDC in front of him.
"Morning, uh, Admiral," said the calm, composed, and notably male voice of Doctor Crowning.
Williams didn't even bother to hide his relived sigh as he looked up at the professor, sitting back in his chair with a weary smile. "Yeah, Doc?"
"I'm not.. disturbing you, am I, Admiral?" said Crowning, his hands firmly planted in the pockets of his well-worn jacket.
Williams smiled, shaking his head as he waved the academic off. "No, not at all. Actually… you have no idea how glad I am that you're the one bothering me."
Crowning knit his brow, glancing aside in thought.
"For eight months, I had three girls on this base," said Williams, holding up the last three fingers of his hand. "And they caused me no end of headaches… and now I've got five more. Only one of which is, maybe sane." He laughed, idly tabbing though the newest batch of requisition forms. Ever since White had shown up, he was getting almost daily request for—to quote the officially submitted and increasingly more desperate forms from Yeoman Gale—"More Plushies."
"I was a college professor, Admiral," said Crowning with a weary smile, "For English, at that."
Williams stifled a chuckle, drumming a quick beat against his desk. "I'm just glad every time I have a problem that's not somehow my girls' fault. So, what can I do for you?"
"Actually… I was going to ask you the same question," said Crowning, glancing over the rows of naval-history books and lovingly-painted models—all of which were modern-ear, he noticed.
Williams lifted an eyebrow, motioning for the professor to continue.
"I've… I've just been sitting around for days," said Crowning, tapping his shoe against the floor, "There's no way I can help with the naval side, I'm probably worse than useless."
Williams nodded in agreement, "Doc, no one's keeping you here. If you want to head home, we'll find you a flight."
"No, it's not that," said Crowning, "I think…I hope that…" he stopped, taking a breath as he organized his words, "I want to figure out how Jersey summoned those destroyers. And- and maybe even repeat it."
"You think you can do that?" said Williams, suddenly very interested as he leaned forwards over his desk.
"Yes." said Crowning, his gaze fixed on Crowning, "Because I'm not giving up until I do."
Williams smiled, "I like the spirit, doc. What do you need?"
"A- a band, for one," said Crowning, "A Navy band, but not the full…" he waved his hands in inarticulate circles of enthusiasm, "the full military ensemble. I- I need sailors who can rock."
Williams smiled, already sorting though a mental list of candidates, "I think I can find a few."
—|—|—
"Oh my god, you're such a child," said Gale, scowling as she leaned forwards, trying to sneak a stick of lipstick past Jersey's spectacularly good defenses.
Jersey hissed in response, recoiling from the cosmetic like it was a Long Lance torpedo headed straight for her magazine. Her teeth were bared and her icy eyes locked on the waxy red tip, following its every move with the kind of attention normally reserved for neurosurgery or professional sports.
"It's lipstick! It won't kill you!"
"I look fine," scowled Jersey, her icy eyes boring holes though Gale's NWU fatigues and straight into her soul, "Skipper said I had to show up, not get dolled up."
"You know what, fine," said Gale, capping her lipstick with a huff. As much as she hated to admit it… Jersey did look good. For a girl who slept until noon and ate literally anything and everything that found its way in front of her… she looked damn good. Especially with that shirt and those shorts…
"Gale?"
"Ma'am?"
"Are you staring at me?"
"Uh… no?" Said Gale, biting the corner of her mouth as she tried to change subjects, "Oh, uh… the Taffies begged me to take them shopping, so… I'm gonna be off-base for the next while."
Jersey narrowed her eyes, "Uh huh," she said, sighing as she glanced towards the podium. She could tell there was a veritable horde of reporters waiting to lay into her with their words. And she couldn't even fire back! "Fuck it… let's get this over with."
"I'm sure you'll do fine, ma'am!" said Gale, snapping off a crisp salute complete with cheery smile.
"Ha ha-fuck you," growled Jersey. Then her face twisted into a sickeningly sweet smile, "Have fun at the mall."
She didn't get to see Gale's reaction, as a barrage of popping flashbulbs and clicking shutters exploded in her face, almost blinding her as she made her way to the podium. She heard someone—probably a Navy press secretary—try to quiet the crowd to no avail. Jerseyfelt the chorus of questions from confused, desperate people break over her bow like an Atlantic storm, showering her decks with fear and confusion.
"HEY!" she barked, her booming voice echoing off the walls. "SHUT UP!"
The room instantly went dead silent, and seemed to get even quieter as the battleship swept her icy gaze across the cluster of reporters.
"Now," she said, rubbing her temples as she slouched over the podium, propping herself up with her elbows, "Let's get this over with, yeah?"
More silence. Then an older man with his graying hair styled in a high-and-tight stood up, waving his hand in the battleship's General direction.
"Yo," said Jersey, motioning for him to continue.
"Jake Harrison, CNN," said the man, "Certain parts of the country have been very vocal about the President's pledge to extend naval assistance to our allies in the Pacific. What're your thoughts on this controversial issue?"
The press secretary next to Jersey almost leaped forwards, his crisp white uniform in stunning contrast to the battleship's Navy-blue T-shirt. "That's a complicated issue, and for the time being-"
"No. It's not," said Jersey, her brows knitting as she fixed the secretary in her icy glare.
"Ma'am, please," said the sailor, his eyes wide as he all but begged the battleship toshut the fuck up and let him do his job.
"I'm sorry," said Harrison, leaning a little closer to catch every word the returned battleship said, "Could you repeat that, ma'am?"
"It's not a complicated issue," said Jersey, drawing herself to her full height, almost towering into the rafters as she stood on the elevated press platform. "They're our allies. Protecting them is what Americans do."
"Next question," said the secretary, shooting a pleading glance at Jersey. The battleship just shrugged.
"Sara Wilcox, MSNBC," said a blonde woman in a tightly fitted business suit, "What's your position on the President's economic policy? Are you worried about the effects that simply giving away millions of tons of American grain could have on the US economy?"
"Next question," said the Secretary, looking for someone else to answer while he held Jersey back with his free hand.
Jersey's face dropped into an utterly dis believing scowl. "What the fuck is wrong with you people!"
The room went deathly silent, even the press secretary's desperate whimpering dropped into the subsonic range.
"Seriously," said Jersey, leaning forwards so she loomed over the podium. "What the actual fuck?" Her scowl turned downright venomous as she raked each and every one in the room with her icy armor-piercing glare.
"Ma'am, please…" said the secretary.
Jersey ignored him. "You talk about… about fucking economic bullshit? Japan… Japan depends on the fucking sea. Without it, they're starving. And what the fuck do they do?"
Jersey was almost shaking with rage, her temples pulsing as she grit her teeth, her vision starting to tint red. "Any fucking one? Hmm? They send three of their girls, their only fucking line of defense over here to help our sorry asses. They're better Americans than any of you'll ever be." She leaned back, scowling as she crossed her arms. "That's what I fucking think about the policy bullshit. Next question."
For a long moment, the room was quiet again, until another man stood up. A younger man with at least three days worth of unshaven but carefully-maintained stubble on his chin with a fashionable sweater tastefully unzipped to show his tie. "Jon Aaron, Wall Street Journal. My grandfather served with you during Korea."
Jersey's scowl softened fractionally.
"I… I just wanted to say thank you. And.. maybe get a selfie with you."
Jersey glanced over at the press secretary, her face a mask of utter confusion.
"A picture with you, ma'am," said the sailor. "Like… an autograph."
"Oh," said Jersey, her face going utterly flat. Then her cheeks puffed up in a huge smile. "Yeah! Yeah, sure get on up here!"
Aaron gave her a questioning look. "Right now, ma'am?"
"Why the hell not?" said Jersey, smiling happily as she nodded to the crowd of dumbstruck reporters, "It's not like they're doing anything useful."
A wave of nervous laughter rippled though the crowd as Aaron stepped up to the platform, the crown of his head barely coming to Jersey's nose.
"So, what do we-" Jersey's voice died in her throat as Aaron held up a slim plastic rectangle, framing the two of them in the TV screen that dominated one face. "Holy shit, the future's awesome," she said with a radiant smile.
"Uh, ma'am," said the secretary, "Is this really-"
"I outrank you," said Jersey with a cheeky grin, setting her hips at a slant as she posed for her picture.
"Yes, but-"
"Out. Rank. You," said Jersey, poofing her hair with her hand and starting to regret rejecting Gale's offer of lipstick ever so slightly.
Aaron smiled, tapping his magic rectangle a few times before putting it down, "Thank you, ma'am."
"Yeah, no problem!" said Jersey, her cheeks red as she smiled, giving him a handshake that somehow turned into an excited hug. "Um… yeah, so…" she tapped her hands together, staring into the crowd, "Anyone, uh… anyone else?"