Below Deck in the South Pacific Ch. 02

The morning hubbub and the low grumble of one of the boatswain's mates coaxing stragglers pulled Kieran back to the waking world. Blearily he started to sit up, but a hand caught him on the shoulder before pulling him back down. 

"Got another hour, member?" Fowler croaked from the rack next to his. The Californian was facing Kieran, but his eyes were still slitted.  

Kieran yawned and lay back, somehow he always forgot that the section always got an extra hour by way apology for the first watch. Granted, sleeping till 0500 wasn't much of a luxury, particularly when a gaggle of men were loudly shuffling by him in various states of undress to the head. 

"Where were you?" Fowler's voice remained low. 

"Huh?"

"Didn't get back for a bit. Thought you decided to go for a swim." Even half-awake, Fowler lazily smiled at his own stupid joke. 

Kieran shrugged, causing the wire rack to creak, "just wanted to be alone." 

"Well next time, give Rosy Palm a little of that alone time before hitting the rack. You look like a Jap cruiser over there."

Kieran blinked, before looking down. His body had pinned his flimsy sheet tight, pointing his morning wood straight up like the pagoda mast on some of the older Japanese ships. Face coloring, he immediately rolled to the side, and pulled the sheets loose. 

Fowler chuckled, before rolling onto his back and start snoring immediately. 

Kieran was unable to join him. As sleep cleared, the details of the night before were coming back into focus. Despite the hot air, his skin prickled with goosebumps. What had gotten into him? He'd never been sex-crazed in his entire life, but he'd snuck below decks to get sucked off. By a man. By a fellow sailor! 

He squeezed his eyes shut as his stomach roiled. He must have gone mad. Even suspicion of being a fairy would earn him a blue discharge, getting caught underway and with a fellow sailor, it could be much, much worse. 

So why was it, that when he tried to imagine those dire outcomes, all he could think of was a sharp chin with new stubble, a warm mouth, and how he'd never felt more right when the man below decks had held him? All he could think about was finishing what they started in two days. If anything, his erection had only gotten worse.

Eventually, the sailors on first watch rose, and joined the ships already frenzied activity. Despite being March, the bright tropical sun was winning the day, and some of the sailors consigned to mopping the steel decks were already doffing covers and loosening shirts. Kieran's eyes wandered to exposed chests with an occasional peek of chest hair. On realizing what he was doing, he made a study of the Flemming's superstructure, which was still overhung with drying lines like a tenement alley. All of the bigger ships, and even most of the new Fletcher class destroyers had some laundry services, but here on the Flemming, they still had to do the washing by hand, and wind up the tight drying lines to be stored later. 

"I'm afraid I have some bad news," Whitby found Kieran with Fowler, Mosby, and Svenson, as they finished the last bit of 'bright work,' the endless labor to fight corrosion on the deck's exposed metalwork.

"Sir,?" despite Whitby's introduction, Mosby's only had raised eyebrows. Bad news made for good gossip.

"Just got word from Lt. Hamish, we're going to be doing a close pass of the Anzio later this afternoon during targeting drills, and the Captain wants the ship looking its finest." 

"Bright work's all but finished sir, please feel free to inspect," Fowler added. 

"Thank you Sailor, and I will," Whitby lifted his chin, revealing stubble. Had he just forgotten to shave that morning, or had he always had that shadow? "But unfortunately, once you are done with this, we need you up on the funnels and superstructure chipping paint."

"Aw hell," Mosby deflated, before straightening, "I mean, yes sir." 

Whitby rolled his eyes, "I know shit work when I give it. There's some harnesses in the box on the port side, you'll need them to get high spots. I'll have a look at 1500." 

Chipping paint was laborious, smelly, and got everywhere. The group made decently fast work of the main deck superstructure without needing to get ladders, but the upper decks and bases to the funnels needed some of them to go up in a harness and riggings.

 "Absolutely not," Svenson said when they pulled the pair of them out of the deck box. 

"How can someone so dang tall be afraid of heights?" Mosby countered. 

"I am not afraid, I just don't like them."

"Well I sure as hell ain't doing it. If I wanted to climb mountains I'd've joined the army to fight in Europe." 

"I'll do it," Kieran said, offering his usual shrug.

"Really, aren't you worried..." Mosby offered. 

"I used to help my dad with some of the nets, I'm used to it," besides, he said stepping into the harness, "It'll be easier for you to pull me up."

"Well if Sully's doing it, I'm doing it too," Fowler added brightly.

After some bucking the pair of them in, with Kieran giving additional recommendations on knots, it was Svenson who spoke first, "Are they... supposed to look like that?"

"Oh you mean lifting my junk up like it's on display?" Fowler responded grinning and motioning to his crotch. 

"Well... yeah."

"Dunno. Sully? Am I supposed to look like one of the girls in the Follies?"

Kieran shrugged, he'd had less experience with this as he usually scampered up the rigging of his father's ship free-handed. But, one of his brothers had worked in construction in the newly rising Boston skyline, and this seemed to match. Though he didn't remember his brother looking so... bulgy. He swallowed, "Lets head up. There's a lot to cover."

Kieran bounded up the ladder, trying to ignore the increased tightness in his now-restricted pants.  Eventually he found the bar that let him swing out, and clipped on, lowering the rope for Mosby to catch and keep tension. 

"Has anyone ever told you, you have a great ass?"

Kieran flinched, and almost lost his grip, "I'm sorry?" he said coughing.

Fowler laughed, pulling himself up beside Kieran and clipping on, "The harness is really showing off your assets. Didn't expect a little guy like you to have quite the bubble," he dropped his rope down to Svenson, "I bet the girls are lining up to grab a handful. I know they're always going in for a pinch with me."

"Uh..."

"Relax Sully! Just trying to lighten the mood," he said flashing another grin, "This work is shit, and the seas are getting pretty rough. I don't know about you, but I don't want to be up here swinging all day like a goddamn yo-yo." 

Kieran looked away, and pushed himself out over the side, catching his boots on the metal, and side stepping his way across. He did not need to be having this conversation. 

Fowler followed, but one of his feet slipped, and it took him a moment to right himself before he started crab-walking slowly, "Christ, it's windy up here!" the pair started up with their scraping tools. 

As they worked, Fowler managed to carry the conversation almost single-handedly,  occasionally getting the usual short responses from Kieran. While it was hard not to like him, the man was rarely quiet, and he was also absolutely right about both himself and the harness. The harness framed his pert ass to great effect. 

Kieran blinked. Since when did he care about other guys so much? It wasn't like he never noticed when a man was built, or particularly well proportioned. Everyone noticed stuff like that. But something seemed different. He wondered if the man down below had an ass like Fowler's ass-- strong and muscular, or if it was round and soft. He shook his head. It was probably just the paint and heat. After a few hours, Kieran and Fowler repelled down to find a Whitby, his were lips pursed together. 

"How long have you apes been up there?"

"Dunno sir, but she looks pretty swell from where I'm standing." 

"Its 1458, they are going to sound the drill any minute now. You're right in front of turret 44, clear this deck, before you get blown off it."

Having no time to doff the harnesses, the men ran down to the main deck as the loud speaker and whistle announced the drill. With their work done, they didn't have anywhere to be specifically, as their usual station had been reassigned that morning so they could work on the paint chipping. 

While Kieran had seen drills from the main deck before, it still awed him as the big five inch turrets flipped and turned as one toward the west. 

As if on cue, a group of Wildcats and Avengers, that had launched from the Anzio earlier in the day, came streaking out of the clouds in their direction, before dropping low. They were still far enough out to be silenced by the ocean and ship engines, but soon enough Kieran would hear their howl. 

"Do you see them?" Svenson called, a hand over his eyes.

"No," Mosby answered.

"About 300, off starboard, maybe 25 off the horizon, headed straight for us." Kieran answered quietly, pointing in their direction. 

"Some baby blues," Fowler answered with a low whistle. 

As the fighters and bombers approached, Kieran could see at least three of them were towing gliders of fabric and light wood. Around 2,000 yards out, the Avengers released their gliders before lifting up and away. The gliders continued on their course for some time, heading towards them, as if on a bombing run. A moment later the Wildcats broke off, which apparently was the signal to fire, because all hell broke loose on the Flemming. The big turrets rose filling the air with black puffs, as the half dozen oerlikon 20mm anti aircraft guns painted long streams of tracers. 

"Wouldn't want to be a Zero right about now," Svenson said as the first glider caught a starshell and was ripped apart. 

Since nobody had told them otherwise, they stayed to watch the show. The first wave was ripped apart, but the heaving seas and higher winds blew the second wave of gliders in erratic angles that were difficult for the guns to track. The gunnery crews missed at least two gliders, which ended their runs in the drink. Kieran knew, heavy waves or no, missing the targets like that would earn them an ear lashing from the gunnery chief.  

The Flemming heaved starboard, turning into the waves as spray and salt rolled over the deck. A chorus of profanity erupted behind him as Svenson and Mosby were knocked to their asses, and Fowler barely manages to stay up by clinging to an exposed pipe. Kieran only spared them a quick look to make sure they hadn't moved too far. 

On the fourth wave, things went horribly wrong, just as one of the Avengers released a glider, a heavy gust threw the contraption high directly into the prop of one of the Wildcats. There was a tremendous shriek of metal, as the little fighter spun around trailing smoke. It clipped another member of its flight wing, sending its companion on a suddenly too deep dive.

"SHIT! It's headed right for us!" Fowler shouted. 

Klaxons sounded the call for evasive maneuvers on the Flemming, and the destroyer attempted to turn out of the way. But now the ship was parallel to the great tossing waves, and the deck pitched violently. 

"MOSB--" Svenson shouted before the pair of them were hurled into the superstructure and knocked flat. The taller man clung onto the Southerner hooking another arm onto a stanchion. 

One of the oerlikon gunners a deck below wasn't so lucky, a wave had thrown him from his feet and slammed him into the massive ammo box behind the anti-aircraft gun. He lay limp on the deck, before another change in angle caused him to slide to the edge away from the gun crew scrambling to grab him. 

Kieran entire body went rigid for a moment before he turned to Fowler who had managed to keep himself up, by wedging himself against one of the deck boxes. 

"Fowler, open the box and toss me the drying line!" 

Fowler didn't hesitate, and Kieran caught the line as he dashed past him. He dove between the lines and boxes on the catwalk, rolling onto the main deck. With one hand he secured the drying line to his harness, and then tied to quick bowline to the handle of a nearby hatch. All of this just in time to throw himself on top of the sliding sailor's body. Kieran shouted, jamming a boot into the deck metal, anything  to to keep him from going over.

The ship pitched again, and freezing ocean water soaked through his sweaty frame, Kieran shudder, holding firm to the unconscious sailor.  But, the sudden change in angle was too much, and Kieran lost his foothold and the pair went sliding down the deck. Before he smashed into one of the gun houses the line went taught, and Kieran heaved a sigh. 

A heartbeat later, another massive wave pushed the destroyer to move in the opposite direction and with a terrible snapping sound, Kieran's stomach churned as he and the sailor went hurtling toward the edge of the ship. And then they were over. 

The pair were in free fall, but Kieran still clung to the unconscious sailor. If they survived the plunge maybe he could keep them both alive. But before he could scream, his entire body wrenched as the rope above went taught. Swinging through the air, Kieran kicked out a foot to keep from being smashed into the hull of the ship, the pain of the impact to his foot made his vision swim. 

"HELP ME PULL!"  a voice screamed from above, and the now dangling pair were slowly pulled forward as man overboard sirens wailed in the distance. 

After what seemed like an eternity of swinging back and forth, a hand fisted his shirt and dragged him over the top into a gasping embrace. 

"I got you. I got you," a man said over and over between gulping breaths. 

Kieran finally raised his head to meet the intense gaze of a tanned sailor with dark eyes. 

The world went dark.