"You're not feeling neglected, then, Corporal?" Harm asked the injured Marine.
"No sir… Captain Gutierrez came to see me last night, and Staff Sergeant Ditmers brought me some personal stuff this morning." Morrison felt uncomfortable talking to her CO like this, mainly because she felt she was such a klutz. Only a klutz could break her ankle playing goddamned volleyball.
Harm noticed her distraction and frowned, putting it down to the pain she must be in. He had expected to see her with her leg in plaster, yet she was lying in bed with her injured leg outside the covers, propped up on a ramp and in some sort of trough with what looked like dry ice packs all around her ankle.
He had turned to the woman who seemed to be the senior nurse on duty, and said quietly, "Good afternoon…" but then faltered into silence; he gazed at her shoulder-boards but remained none the wiser as to how he should address her.
"Leftenant" came the whispered prompt from Martinez, who stood just behind his right shoulder
"Good afternoon Lieutenant," he tried again, "I'm Corporal Morrison's CO?" he ended the sentence on a rising note, not sure if this British Army nurse would recognise the abbreviation.
"Yes sir?" she replied politely, at least the Yankee Navy followed the RN system of cuff rings for officers and Lieutenant Saunders had no difficulty in recognising the four rings of a Captain.
"Uh… yeah…" he took a couple of steps away from the bed, obliging Saunders to turn and face him. "I was expecting to see her leg in plaster… are you sure that she's alright like that with her foot in a… a… trough?"
"Half cast," Lieutenant Saunders replied with a smile. "Yes, it's just as it should be. But if you're concerned I could get Colonel Henderson to explain to you what's happening with your Corporal… it would be best, less liable to misinterpretation, if you spoke to him, and he's much more likely to be able to answer any questions that you might have."
Harm nodded, "Thank you Lieutenant."
Saunders smiled again and turned away feeling a mixture of exasperation and… and… yes, dammit… attraction. After all the Yank sailor Captain was a damned good looking man, but like most laymen he had some sort of idea of how people with broken limbs should look, while knowing nothing of medical matters.
Harm turned back to Morrison, who did look pale and was resting with her back propped up against her pillows and her eyes shut.
"You still with us Morrison?" he asked quietly.
Her eyes opened, "Yes, sir."
He looked around the ward with its twin row of twelve beds each side of the ward, "Are they looking after you alright?"
"Yes, sir." The injured Corporal forced a grin, "Breakfast was pretty good, by hospital standards, cereal, bacon, eggs, tomatoes, toast… but somebody's got to teach these British how to make coffee! I mean. Really sir, if you thought vending machine coffee was bad…" she shook her head sorrowfully.
Harm felt relieved at Morrison's flash of humour, but then he frowned again. "Shouldn't you be more comfortable in a smaller room, instead of being in this old-fashioned…" he waved his arm in a somewhat vague manner, as he disapproved of the traditional 'Florence Nightingale' ward. "I'll do what I can and see if we can't get you moved…"
"Uh… I'd rather stay put, sir." Morrison objected and then as the frown was turned on her, she made haste to explain. "When I was younger, I was in hospital back in Fresno for a couple of weeks, and I was in a small room. It was as boring as all get out, sir. And every time I needed something, even something non-urgent, I had to press the call button to get a nurse to leave the station and come to the room. Here, there's always something going on to watch, I can talk to the girls next door…" she grinned and finger waved at a young black woman in the next bed. "We've got a TV – although I gotta tell you sir, British daytime TV is worse than in the states! And if I need to speak to a nurse, there's always one around and I can catch their eye. I mean. Let's face it sir, I'm not ill, so I don't need all that much peace and quiet. I'm just a klutz who broke her damned stupid ankle!"
"Well… if you're sure, Morrison…"
"Yes, sir… quite sure. Thank you sir!"
"Sir?" Martinez spoke sotto voce.
Harm turned towards his Yeoman and cocked an inquiring eyebrow. Martinez indicated with a nod of her head that there was someone waiting g to speak with him.
Harm turned to see a figure in a white coat worn over British Army khaki pants and shirt. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant Colonel Neil Henderson, sir"
"Good afternoon Colonel, Captain Harmon Rabb, US Navy."
"Yes sir. I understand you have some questions about your Corporal, there?"
"Yes… As I was explaining to your Lieutenant, I expected to find her leg in plaster and about ready to return to light duties…"
Colonel Henderson chuckled, "Oh, no, sir. Your Corporal; is a very long way from returning to any sort of duty!" He saw the puzzled look on Harm's face, "Just step into the treatment room, and I'll try and show you why…"
Harm followed the doctor while Martinez took the opportunity to relax and perch on the side of Morrison's bed while she brought Morrison up to date with the revised travel plans.
Morrison scowled at the thought of anybody else driving 'her' Captain in 'her' car and said, "You'd best bring 'em both back safe, without a scratch on either of 'em! You hear?"
"Yeah, I got you, Jenny. Don't worry I'll take good care of the car, and of the Cap'n."
Doctor Henderson stood in front of a large colour chart showing the bones of the foot and knee in detail indicating where and how badly Corporal Morrison had injured herself.
"From the nature and extent of her injuries, it is apparent that Corporal was twisting when she made a single foot landing after leaping into the air. She has sustained several fractures, one of which is an open compound fracture and that is the middle fracture of a spiral that runs up her tibia – her shin bone. That is the worst of her injuries; however she has a similar fracture running two thirds of the way up her fibula, and has completely detached the lower half of her medial malleolus, and has fractured the bearing surface on three of her tarsals…"
Harm winced as the doctor catalogued the injuries. It seemed almost impossible that so many injuries could occur as the result of a simple jump during a volleyball game.
But Henderson hadn't finished. "Unfortunately, there was a delay in getting the Corporal to us, and by the time she arrived here and had been x-rayed her ankle was so swollen that we can't do a thing for her until the swelling and bruising reduces. You see, she will need surgery and her ankle will need pinning back together, which of course means that we will have to open her ankle, but we can't do that because we would have to suture the cuts we make as well as the tear made by her broken tibia, and we can't do that, because with the way her ankle is swollen any suture we put in will simply tear through the flesh. So your Corporal is going to be our guest for…" he did a quick calculation, "the next two to three weeks. Then she will need another six weeks in a non-weight bearing plaster before we haul her back in here for surgery to remove some of the pins. I'm afraid Corporal Morrison is in for a very uncomfortable and extensive period of time and will probably need to learn how to walk again."
Harm really winced this time; he'd known football players who'd been less injured by bone crunching tackles! Still, "Thank you, Colonel for being so frank. Do I need to start considering having her short-toured and sent to a stateside medical facility?"
"Not just yet, sir, but after her second surgery it might be a good idea." He paused obviously embarrassed, "Under reciprocal agreements with the United States, it is within our remit to provide treatment for injured US service personnel, but rehab – rehabilitation – falls outside that remit."
"I see… so about six to seven weeks?"
"Yes, sir, that would be about right."
"Again, thank you Colonel, both for your efforts on Morrison's part and for your honesty!" Harm held put a hand, trying to give some tangible evidence of his real gratitude.
The colonel gave a half grin, as he took the offered hand, "Not too hard please, sir. According to the neurosurgical types we may only be carpenters down here in orthopaedics, but we do still need our hands!"
xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx
"All set, Bom?" Gill asked Bombardier Walker as she breezed into the Battery Office.
"Absolutely, ma'am!" the NCO grinned. To be truthful he had a soft spot for the pretty Battery Captain, they were about the same age, she had maybe a year of two over him, but that was about it. She was normally cheerful and polite, unlike some pigs he could think of. OK, a request from an officer was still an order, but she was always pleasant. With her it was, "Could you…" and always with a please and thank you and never a "Get this done by…" and it was a refreshing change.
And although in his deepest fantasies he might have entertained private thoughts about her as a woman, and although he was at times, as Tug had put it 'fucking cheeky', there was still a line he would not cross. And even if he did, he knew that Gillian Shephard would be mortified to think she had been so unmilitary as to encourage him.
Even with the advent of this Yankee officer on the horizon, and she had let slip enough for him to reads between the lines that she wasn't looking forward to the next couple of days, she had remained cheerful.
"All set ma'am. The Kilo truck is signed out, and I've been over to the POL point so both tanks are chokker. Two sets rigged with spare batts, and even got a couple of seat cushions! Haverbags are organised; I'll pick 'em up at breakfast before I pick you and the Captain up at Oh seven hundred ma'am! So I'm just waiting for the Provost blokes to give me a bell and I'll let you know before I head down to the guardroom."
"OK, Bom. Thanks. Actually, I think I'll ride with you down to the guardroom. That way I'll be at the Mess when he arrives and I can hand him over to Staff Ambrose to get settled in."
Walker nodded, "Right ma'am, I'll give you a shout when I get the call."
"Thanks, Bom."
xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx
"How long 'til we get to this place, Martinez?" Harm asked as he settled himself into the front passenger seat. Protocol dictated that he should ride in back, but he was damned if he was going to sit back there on his own. Up front he could least talk to Martinez if need be, without shouting and missing half of what she said because her eyes were fixed on the road.
"About two hours if the roads are clear, sir. It's about ninety miles."
"Two hours to do ninety miles? God, what a country!"
"That's from here sir, in South East London. First off we have to get across to West London to get onto the motorway - that's kinda like an interstate, sir, and that's about twenty miles in London traffic. If that seems a lot sir, just imagine trying to drive from Anacostia to… to… say Falls Church without being able to use the Beltway".
"H'mm… point taken… but still… you'd think they'd have a beltway or something like that."
"They do, sir," Martinez grinned as she fumbled in her purse, "It's called the M25, and I've heard it described as the longest eight-lane car-park – that's parking lot – in the world! Ah, got it!" she said triumphantly.
"A GPS system?" Harm inquired almost incredulously as Martinez plugged it into the electrical socket in the car and mounted it, via a suction cup on the dashboard.
"Yes, sir," the Yeoman replied as she programmed in their desired destination.
"I thought you knew how to get to this place," Harm grumbled, suddenly feeling not so sure about his driver's capabilities.
"I know how to get from the Embassy to the general area, and I'm pretty sure I've seen signs for Tidworth Garrison, sir. But, I don't know how to get to the M3 from here, and I'm not certain of the road from the main road to the Garrison at the other end. And this doo-hickey will save us from having to stop and ask directions." Martinez said and then saw her chief's somewhat cynical expression, "What? You've never been lost?" she demanded somewhat acerbically and then remembering to whom she was talking, she added a hasty "sir! Sorry sir."
"No Martinez, I've never been lost!" he answered somewhat heavily, and then with his grin lighting up his face, he tapped his wings significantly, "I'm a fighter pilot, Yeoman, and fighter pilots never get lost… they just sometimes get spatially disoriented."
Martinez threw him a quick glance and shyly returned his grin, grateful that he hadn't torn her a new one as he could quite properly have done, so instead of disputing his argument (she had a reply on the tip of her tongue 'as long as he's got a good RIO'), she merely said meekly, "Yes, sir, sorry sir."
Harm looked at her suspiciously her reply had been polite enough, and obedient enough, but maybe too polite and too obedient. He'd have to remember that this wasn't Morrison, a pleasant enough young woman, but Martinez, who was less rigid than the marine and who hadn't been afraid to sic Mattie and Jen on him when he's been suffering his sense of humour failure.
"H'mm.. so... where did you get the GPS?" he asked, swiftly changing the subject as Martinez edged the dark blue sedan from the hospital parking lot – car park, he corrected himself - and out into the tree-lined suburban street.
"Uh… it's mine, sir. I bought it when I first started exploring…"
Harm shook his head, "You put me to shame, Martinez. I've hardly stirred outside the office or my quarters since I've been here… I need to follow your example, get out more, take an interest… and I'm running out of time!" he finished ruefully.
"With respect sir," Martinez said as she eased her foot of the gas pedal and down-shifted as she slowed to give way to a double-decker bus pulling out of a bus stop ahead, "You've been here less than a month. You spend God knows how many hours working late, you're still trying to read yourself into a new job, your CoS post has been gapped, and on top of all that you're concerned about Miss Grace and Miss… uh… Legalman One Coates, and now you've had this meet and greet dumped in your lap! It's hardly fair to expect you to get out and about and explore the country too! I'll bet the Fourth of July weekend coming up is the first weekend since you've been here that you haven't worked, and a return flight to the States and back isn't going to be exactly relaxing either! You need to take better care of yourself!"
Harm blinked, taken aback by his Yeoman's reply, but also slightly touched by her obvious interest in, and concern for him, "Yes, mom," he said in an overly meek voice.
Martinez shot him a suspicious look and then realised what she had just said, to just whom she had said it, and just how she had said it, and went white, "Oh God! Sir! I'm sorry sir! I was way out of line!"
"Yes, you were," he agreed cordially, And you need to remember a couple of things, if we're both going to survive this trip…"
"Yes, sir"
"One, I already got a mom."
"Yes, sir" Martinez said faintly.
"Two, I don't need another one."
"No, sir" equally faintly.
"And if I did… Legalman One Coates and Mattie Grace are first and second in line, so you'll just have to wait your turn in the event I do decide I want another mom. Got it, Julia?"
"Yes, sir!" she replied. Her eyes firmly fixed on the road as the traffic slowed. Then her eyes shot wide open and her heart gave a little jump as her brain finally received the message her ears had heard, 'Shit! He just called me Julia! He called me by my first name! I didn't think he even knew it!'
Satisfied that he had regained the high ground, Harm smiled to himself and sat back to endure… uh… enjoy the rest of the ride, when a thought struck him, "Uh, Martinez, how did you know what rank that nurse was back at the hospital?"
"When I found out that we'd be dealing with the British Army I… uh… looked up their rank badges on the net. Officers' ranks are pretty simple, the names are the same as ours, except that they don't have First Lieutenants…"
"They don't?" Harm asked in surprise.
"No sir, they have Second Lieutenants and Lieutenants. Both kinds of lieutenants – and they pronounce it 'Leftenant', no sir, I don't know why – and Captains wear 'pips' on their shoulders, or on a tab on the front of their uniform in BDUs, Second Lieutenant have one pip, Lieutenants, two and Captains three; Majors wear a crown, Lieutenant Colonels a crown and a pip, Colonels a crown and two pips, and then it's generals from there on up."
Harm blinked, "Uh… good… well researched…But… what the hell is a pip?"
"Uh, it's a bit hard to tell sir, it looks like a circle surrounded by some kind of motto, and that's surrounded by some kind of a multi rayed star, I think, sir. They're pretty small, so, like I said it's kind of hard to tell.
"No… that's OK, you done good!"
"Thank you sir!"
xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx
Johnny Walker tapped on the door marked "Battery Captain" and on being told to enter, he opened it and just shoved his head into the office, "Garrison VCP's just called ma'am. The Yanks have arrived and are on their way to the Regimental Guard Room; I'm just about ready to go, if you still want to…"
"Thanks, Bom!" Gill checked her watch, sixteen twenty hours, and thought rapidly, then stood, closed the file on her desk and grabbed her beret, "I'll just let the BC know I'm clearing out, wait for me in the vehicle, please."
"Yes, ma'am!" Johnny grinned as he stood aside to let the officer pass.
Three minutes later Gill clambered aboard the Landrover, and snapped her seat belt secure, "Right, Bom, let's go!"
xxxxx-xxxxx-xxxxx
"Just coming in, sir!" Julia Martinez said loudly enough to wake Harm from his light doze.
"H'mm?" he blinked sleepily.
"Check point ahead, sir!" Julia said a little more urgently.
Harm shook the last vestiges of sleep from his head and squirmed to a slightly more upright position from where he had slumped a little while he slept, and peered through the windscreen.
The car was on a narrow road lined by twelve feet high wire mesh fences topped with 'Y' brackets that held a triple coil of razor wire, while behind the fences thick bushes and the occasional tree masked whatever might lie beyond.
Ahead lay a permanent check point. Solid looking steel poles, set in what looked like fifty five gallon drums formed a tight chicane for anything larger that an a minivan and behind and to one side stood a hut about the same size as a trailer-home back in the States. The chicane was manned by three soldiers dressed in combat gear, wearing load carrying equipment and cradling their rifles in their arms, hands on the pistol grips and fingers not far from the triggers.
As the car drew to a halt, Harm noticed one soldier take a position just off to one side and ahead, in what he automatically thought of as the "one o' clock" position, while the second faded out to "nine o' clock" while the third approached the driver's window.
Julia wound down her window, "Captain Harmon Rabb, US Navy, visiting Three Eight Regiment RA. We are expected" she said confidently
The unsmiling soldier with two chevrons on the chest tab of his uniform merely said, "ID Cards, please," and despite his polite words, it was clear that he wasn't making a request. Julia took hers from her purse and collected Harm's as he pulled it out of his pocket, and handed them to the soldier, who looked at their photographs and checked that the laminating had not been interfered with before scrutinising their faces intently. Apparently satisfied that faces matched photographs, he turned away from the car and spoke briefly into his personal radio's microphone, and listened intently to the crackling reply.
Turning back to Julia he said curtly, "Wait here, please," and again he wasn't requesting their compliance, before he turned, and still with their ID Cards in his hand he disappeared into the trailer. The two minutes he took to return seemed the longest two minutes that Julia ever experienced, but when he did emerge from the temporary building he made a slight sign with his hand and the other two soldiers lowered their weapons and relaxed.
Approaching the car, he handed the IDs back to Julia, and his face relaxed into a brief smile, "Thank you," he said, "Do you know exactly where you're going?"
Julia responded to his smile, "No… I was hoping you could direct me?"
"Sure… straight on up this road for four hundred metres then take the first exit off the roundabout. Then take the fourth right, and that's the Gunners' lines.
Julia's smile widened, "Thank you Corporal."
The NCO stood back and gave a butt salute as the car moved off, which Harm, belatedly recognising returned in a hasty, awkward and non- too- smart manner.
"Whew! They certainly take their security seriously!" Julia observed as she kept the car down to the twenty miles per hour in accordance with the roadside signs.
"Yeah, thirty years of exposure to the threat of terrorist bombs will do that," Harm observed somewhat drily.
"Thirty years, sir?" Julia asked in surprise.
"Yeah, trouble with the IRA – the Irish terrorist group. We've upped our own security since nine eleven, but we've never had an attack on a military base. These guys have, as well as pub bombings, and the Hyde Park bombing where troops were killed, so these guys are pretty tight on security. Ah… looks like we're here!" he finished as Julia turned right through a set of wrought iron gates, these too topped with razor wire and stopped in front of a pole barrier.
The soldier manning the barrier was also in his field uniform, but his waist belt was white and he wore a dark blue brassard on his left arm on which were the red letters 'RP'. He was also armed, but his weapon was slung muzzle down, but the rifle butt was just in front of his shoulder and his right hand was on the pistol grip.
Once again Julia wound down the window as he approached, "IDs, please." He asked in a much more relaxed tone than the Corporal at the main VCP, but his examination of the ID Cards and the comparison of face to photo was just as intense. "We're expecting you," he grinned and indicated a stretch of tarmac opposite the building outside of which he was standing, "Just pull in over there, next to the Landrover, and your escort will be here shortly."
However before Julia could release the parking brake or engage the gears, a second Landrover pulled up alongside, the passenger door opened and Gill Shephard dismounted, stamping her booted feet to settle the trouser blouses properly around her lower legs, pausing for a second she approached the car, and Harm realising that she probably wished to speak with him, hastily opened his own door and rose to meet her.
Gillian halted, and swept her arm up in a text-book salute, holding it for the regulation pause of two seconds before returning her hand to her side, "Good afternoon, sir!" she said crisply.
"Good afternoon!" Harm replied gravely as he returned the salute, slightly surprised that she hadn't held hers until he had done so.
Gill looked at the man that had caused her so much unnecessary aggravation over the last few weeks. Tall… he was certainly that… probably taller even than David, who was six one and maybe even taller than Colonel Mike's six two… Not bad looking, he certainly looked fit enough and carried himself well… but that was only to be expected from someone with his years of service; probably about forty-ish, so that photo hadn't been taken all that long ago, but enough time for the slight, grey pigeon wings visible under the brim of his cap to have appeared in the interim. Not that the photograph had really done him justice, she mused, it hadn't captured that crinkle at the corner of his eye, or the humorous expression around his mouth, and it certainly hadn't captured those eyes… Gill suddenly found herself blushing, and in an effort to cover her confusion, when she spoke, she was deliberately curt.
"Captain Gillian Shephard, sir! I am to be your escort for the next two days!"
"Very good Captain! Captain Harmon Rabb!" he replied taken by surprise by her chilly tone.
"Very well, sir! If you'll instruct your driver to follow my vehicle!" She then felt like blushing again. Her voice had come up much sharper and much flatter than she had intended.
Harm was almost rocked back on his heels. The officer who had greeted him was dressed in green pants bloused over black boots and a green open-necked shirt with rank slides on the shoulder and with a dark blue beret covering most of her hair. She was about five seven, maybe five eight he thought, and had a neat figure, topped by an undeniably pretty face, dominated by hazel eyes, and what he could see of her hair it was a dark brown, lighter than Mac's. Probably nearer Jen's but with much more pronounced auburn highlights where the sun struck it. But her voice! Dear God! As clipped and as cold, if not colder than it had sounded over the 'phone when she had called his office.
He could feel his face stiffen into a cold mask as he replied, "Very well, Captain Shephard, lead on!"
Gill climbed back into the Landrover and could feel her face burning, "Officers' Mess, Bom!" she instructed.
"Everything alright, ma'am?" Johnny Walker asked in some surprise, "It was definitely not like Captain Shephard to be quite so… offhand.
"None of your damned business, Bombardier. So just shut up and drive!"
"Yes ma'am!" Johnny snapped in reply. Something is obviously not alright; best just let her get it out of her system. Captain Shephard's snits were very rarely of long duration.
Harm glowered at the British Officer as she turned away from him and slid back into the passenger seat of the navy sedan, barely restraining himself from slamming the door, "Follow that jeep!" he commanded brusquely.
"Aye, aye, sir!" Julia Martinez replied, deciding that whatever had gone wrong in those few seconds of conversation with the British Officer, she wasn't about to stick her nose into it, she rather liked the head she had, and didn't need it ripping off. So giving a mental shrug she smoothly let the clutch out and drove off behind the Landrover.
Johnny Walker definitely knew his BK, before they had arrived at the front entrance to the Officer's Mess, Captain Shephard had turned to him and said quietly, "Sorry, Bom. I've got no excuse for taking my temper out on you. You didn't deserve that."
Johnny Walker risked a quick sideways glance and grinned, "'Salright, ma'am. I guess that Yank got up your nose PDQ? And being how he's like a Colonel…?"
Gill leaned back against her seat, and gave a weak chuckle, "Damn you, right on both counts! You know Walker, sometimes you're a damn sight too clever for your own good!"
"Well, my mum never wasted any food on raising stupid kids, ma'am!" Johnny replied.
"Dear God! Do you mean there are more like you at home?" Gill said in pretended horror.
"Not exactly, ma'am – I've got four sisters!" Johnny said with a smile.
"Ohhh… those poor girls!" Gill grinned.
"Poor me, more like!" Johnny protested, thinking, 'you try living in a house with five females all PMSing at the same time!' but thinking better of voicing that thought. Fortunately for his peace of mind they were just about to draw up at the main entrance to the Mess and once he'd halted the vehicle, he hopped out and going around to the passenger door, he opened for Gill and then taking a pace step back, he brought his hand up in a quivering salute.
Gill returned the salute, but a delicately arched eyebrow asked a question.
"Show them damned Yanks how it's done! Go get him ma'am!" he muttered between unmoving lips.
"One day you're going to have to tell me how you guys do that!" Gill chuckled again, but then quickly smoothed her features into a mask as she turned to face the man she was fast coming to think of as her personal Nemesis.
Harm's face still showed traces of his anger as he climbed out of the car, and he tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Martinez to open the trunk so that he could retrieve his luggage, which, when she had, he unceremoniously grabbed, and then walked towards the waiting British Officer.
"If you'd care to follow me, sir?" Gill said coolly
"Lead on Captain!" Harm said in his grimmest voice.
The two drivers stood and both saluted as the two officers climbed the five stone steps and disappeared through the Mess doors.
"That went well!" Johnny said as he let out the breath he hadn't been aware that he had been holding, as at the same time he gave Julia a once over. He rather liked what he saw, a petite young woman a few years younger than himself, he guessed, obviously of Latin descent, with regular features and a pair of deep brown eyes, and raven dark hair tied up in some sort of plait on the nape of her neck, and difficult as it was to tell – 'What military dress uniform ever showed a girl to advantage'? he asked himself – a pretty good figure.
"Yeah," Julia agreed, just as happy as Johnny to see the back of the sorest-headed pair of bears she had seen for a while.
"Yeah, what set that off?" Johnny asked.
Julia shook her head, "Beats me! He was OK on the drive down. What put a bug up her ass?"
"Fu… uh… damned if I know," he shook his head. I know she wasn't happy about being lumb… uh… about being detailed for this job, but she was dead happy, her normal cheerful self, right up until the second she dismounted at the Guardroom!"
"H'mm… well… if she's not happy about him being here, I'll betcha he's just as unhappy at being ordered to come here. He thinks this all a waste of time for a Navy JAG!"
"JAG?" Johnny queried.
"Yeah… oh… sorry; Judge Advocate General."
"Judge what?" Johnny asked.
"Advocate general. He's an attorney, a lawyer," Julia explained.
"Oh… a lawyer… well." Johnny paused. "Well, I'd best show you to the female accommodation… or… it's just about dinner time… do you want to eat first or get settled? I warn you, if you're late to the hot-plate there won't be much choice left!"
Julia studied him for a moment, pretending to consider her options. Johnny Walker was tall-ish, five eleven or maybe even six feet. He had a plain, open, honest sort of face that had an instant appeal to the young Petty officer, his shoulders were broad enough to fill his shirt comfortably, and he was neither fat, forty, or bald, and had nice, even teeth. "Oh, in that case, let's eat first. I'm starving!" Julia smiled.
"OK, but you'd best park the car here, so if you get your gear, I'll drive us over to the cookhouse.
"OK, it's your barrio!" Julia grinned.
Neither of them had figured out the implications of Julia climbing into the Landrover while wearing her service dress skirt, but the effort she had made to get into her seat had succeeded in exposing a long length of her very shapely leg to Johnny Walker's very appreciative eye. An eye of which Julia was not totally unaware, but one which somehow, she didn't mind too much.
"You got any civvies with you?" Johnny asked nonchalantly.
"Just jeans and a T, for lounging around in," Julia answered. Her heart rate increasing slightly. This almost sounded as if he was going to ask her for a date.
"Uh… it's a bit… quiet around here in the evenings… especially if you're in transit, and on your own," Johnny said, wondering how the hell an open necked shirt could be tight around his throat, "so, I wondered if maybe you'd like to come for a swift half in the NAAFI later on?"
"Oh… I'm not sure…" Julia prevaricated, "but… but I guess it would be OK…"
Johnny felt an immense burden lifted off his shoulders. She hadn't sounded too enthusiastic, but at least she hadn't said 'no'!