The Cruise

Michael then opened the door to the convertible for her and helped her into the car. He then got in and started it. He sat staring at the ship for a moment. Putting on his sunglasses, he shook his head and exclaimed, "God, it's like seeing your kids after they've grown-up, moved away and you haven't seen them... in an eternity."

He shook his head and stated, "Now I know why 'Becca wanted me off that thing. It's like the woman she had to share me with."

He turned and looked at her and said, "Thanks again for helping me deal with her loss."

She became misty-eyed and leaned toward him to kiss him deeply. When their lips parted with a smack, she stroked his cheek with a hand and purred. "Thanks for letting me experience a little of your former life!"

Sharon was snapped back to the present as water from the pool nearby splashed onto them. With a laugh, Michael stood and offering his hand to his wife, said, "Mrs. Richards you are a truly amazing woman." As she took it to stand, he asked, "Would you like to go for a swim?"

Removing her sunglasses, she gratefully accepted and as they stepped toward the edge of the pool, a Purser approached them. "Excuse me, sir," he asked, "Are you Captain Richards," in a clipped, British accent.

With his hand on Sharon's hip he said, cheerfully, "Yes, I am."

"Sir," said the ship's officer straightening with formality, "The Captain requests the pleasure of you and your wife's company at dinner tonight," and inquired, "Can I relay that you'll be joining him?"

Michael wondered briefly how the hell this Captain knew him and said, "Why, sure," and added with a smile, "Tell him we appreciate the invitation."

Smiling broadly and acknowledging the acceptance with a nod and a click of his heels, the officer performed an about-face and departed, as Michael thought out loud, "How the hell did he know I was onboard," looking down at Sharon, who had a guilty look on her face and was smiling.

"Maybe I may have told them," she blurted, giving him a shove into the pool with a huge splash.

Laughing, she jumped in after him.

Janice...

Several feet away, Janice Monroe couldn't believe what her ears had just told her. She laid on her chaise lounge stunned. 'Captain Michael Richards,' she thought. Now there's a name she'd never thought she'd hear again, in her lifetime. "Son of a bitch," she whispered.

Watching them closely through her sunglasses without moving her head, she thought, 'Small, fucking world'.

Obviously, he hadn't noticed her reclining no more than fifteen feet from him. He had glanced her way once as he was paying quite a bit of attention to the 'ginger' he was with but had looked right past her.

Likely she was his wife, she thought. 'Hold on,' she thought to herself and then remembered that she had seen something that his wife had died from cancer. With a wry smirk, she deduced he had re-married someone quite a bit younger than he was. She was tall and very well-built.

As she reclined and lay motionless, she watched them. That was a bit of fieldcraft Jace had taught her. With a pair of shades on you could appear to be looking in one direction or sleeping, but casually observe someone or something else. The trick was in making it appear you were simply resting and to not move your head. The thought of Jace brought tears to her eyes and she sniffled a bit. She breathed a quiet curse and choked down the emotion. 'This isn't the time for emotional bullshit, Janice', she chastised herself, with a grimace.

She focused her attention again on her targets and saw they were climbing out of the pool. They were laughing, joking and made some comments about where to eat lunch. They walked back to the chaises and toweled off, before gathering their belongings.

'Ginger' bent down and reached into her beach bag, withdrew a navy-blue baseball cap with gold lettering that read 'USS MAHAN (DDG 79)' and had the golden scrambled eggs of a command level officer on the brim. She seated the hat on her head and glammed for the Captain, who approved of what he saw with a hug and kiss. After she wrapped a towel around her waist and gathered their belongings, he placed a hand on her hip, and they walked away.

When they were out of sight, she removed her shades and reached into the gym bag she had brought with her, took out her smart phone and opened the mobile internet browser. Checking Linked-In, she found a profile on Michael Richards that was similar in description to what she remembered of him. Accessing it, she saw that he was a retired Naval Officer and Investment Manager. He now ran a non-profit organization named 'Becca's Place,' in Idaho. She remembered that his wife was name Rebecca. 'Bingo,' she mused, with a tight-lipped smile.

His profile was linked to a Sharon Mason-Richards and she clicked the link to view hers. It seemed that Sharon was the Chief Executive Officer for a charity in California, as well as serving as board member on several other non-profits. Currently, she was the Program Coordinator for 'Becca's Place.

Amazed at the amount of intelligence someone could find online, she selected her Google app and looked up 'Becca's Place. She found it was a youth adventure camp and counseling center, in Idaho. With her fingers whizzing around the surface of the device, she located their web site and on the staff tab, found the profiles for both Michael and Sharon and studied them closely.

She saw that her face was reflected in the flat screen of the phone. It showed her blue-grey eyes, high cheek bones and straight, light blonde hair, which was usually worn in a tight bun, but now cascaded to her shoulders. These features likely came from Norwegian ancestors. Far from a Viking war maiden, she was demure and petite, at just a hair taller than five feet. While in her mid-forties, she was still a feast to behold for the eyes, with an athletic build and had religiously kept herself fit.

She had worked a long time on being able to keep a tan and was currently wearing a neon blue bikini that highlighted her eyes and helped to showcase quite a bit of her well-sculpted figure. "Fuck and shit," she softly cursed and thought it had been over 20-years since she had last seen the Captain. She knew that he likely still remembered her, after their time together on the Mahan. 'Who could forget that', she thought.

She put her phone away, donned her sunglasses and laid her head back on the pillow of the chaise lounge. Closing her eyes, she let the memories come, painful though they were. Back then she was Janice Johansen, 'J.J.' for short. She had been a partying cheerleader in high school, who had some brains to match her head-turning looks. Her doting father had been an officer in the Navy, and she wanted to follow in his footsteps -- especially when combat ships had been opened to women, in the 1990's.

Attending college, she entered the Naval Reserve Officer's Training Corp at U-Maine and graduated four-years later as an Ensign. It had been the proudest moment of her life up to that point, when she paid the traditional silver dollar for her first real salute as an officer to her dad, upon her graduation and commissioning.

She likely knew her dad wouldn't have approved of most of the early part of her career. She spoke like and partied like a sailor. This tended to get her into hot water with senior officers and eventually resulted in an unpleasant visit with then Captain Richards.

Her and Ensign Karen Carter reported for duty on the newly commissioned USS Mahan at the same time. Karen was in Weapons Department and she was in Operations. Being the first women assigned to the ship, they shared the same junior officer's stateroom. Karen tried to be her big sister and guardian angel, but that didn't work out so well.

She fondly remembered her first visit with the Captain. He was an excellent commander and was completely open to having women serve on his ship. At the recollection, she remembered at how dashing and handsome she thought he was. He encouraged her to be an example, that others could follow. He reminded her of her dad and although she walked on the wild side, deep down, she wanted to make both men proud of her.

While on duty, she was easygoing and sometimes flirted with the enlisted men and other officers. She wasn't a spit and polish professional, but she wasn't a slouch either. 'Has potential,' were the remarks her fitness reports noted. On more than one occasion, her Department Head and the ship's Executive Officer had held private meetings with her about her behavior, all of which she generally blew-off.

At one point, she had gone into Portsmouth, Virginia and got a tattoo on her right butt cheek of a set of lips and the cursive script, 'Kiss My Ass... Please!' Off ship, Karen would warn her about what she had heard around the ship and that she was gaining a reputation, which she also laughed-off.

During one training cruise she lured one of the ship's deployed helicopter pilots into a fan room for a quickie. In the dark industrial confines of a fan room, off the hanger bay late one evening, she had unzipped his flight suit and reaching in and pulled out his penis. Kneeling before him, she had gobbled him and sucked him hard, then dropping her khaki slacks she bent over some equipment as the pilot took her from behind. If caught, that bit of risqué behavior would have gotten both bounced from the service.

What took the cake happened when the ship was operating off Bermuda and the Captain had authorized a swim call for the crew. Instead of the normal one-piece, government-issued attire, she appeared in a bright blue thong bikini bottom and cut-off, white tank top. She had bounded off the flight deck and into the water with uproarious laughter. The deep blue salt water was cool and refreshing.

When she came out of the water ascending the accommodation ladder, the scant translucent cotton shirt had molded itself to her and put her anatomy on full display for all to see, like a spring break wet tee contestant. While much of the ship's enlisted crew whistled their approval, the ship's Executive Officer threw a blanket around her and ushered her to the Captain's Cabin, muttering curses about her foolishness.

The Captain was seated at his desk and was stern and quiet. He motioned for her to be seated and asked the XO to wait outside and to leave the door cracked. Janice could tell she was clearly in deep shit. Wide-eyed, she tried to make herself small within the navy blanket she was wrapped in.

She recalled the Captain would normally call his junior officers by their first name, in private conversations. When he had prefaced his remarks with, "Ensign Johansen," she knew that she was in trouble.

He didn't yell, scream, or berate her. At that point she thought that's what she had needed. He quietly told her how disappointed he was in her behavior. "You have such potential," he said and went on to say that he wasn't going to bust her for CUBO -- Conduct Unbecoming an Officer, "I'm going to give you a second chance," and after pausing, stated, "Somewhere else," as he reached a hand into a side drawer and withdrew a folder.

Holding it up, he told her that he had prepared this after he had begun hearing rumors of her behavior with the crew. "It's a formal request for transfer," he told her flatly, setting the folder on the desk and slid it toward her.

To her, hearing those words were like being stabbed in the heart with a dagger. What would she tell her dad, when he found out she had been shit-canned to some supply depot in the middle of bum-fuck, Nowhere?

She picked up the folder and opened it to examine the contents, as he continued saying, "I have good news and bad new," then after pausing said, "The bad news is you will be leaving this ship."

He went onto explain that as the CO he couldn't tolerable her juvenile behavior. "Janice," he began in a fatherly tone, "You're a good officer, but you have a lot of growing-up to do."

He added that until the ship returned to Norfolk, she would be confined to her stateroom, except for biological needs and would be escorted by Ensign Carter. Upon arrival, she would be transferred.

"What's the good news," she had squeaked, on the verge of tears.

"The good news," he began with a reassuring smile," Is you will be transferred to Dam Neck, to attend Intelligence Officer Training."

At that revelation she had to do a double take. "I'm not being transferred to a supply depot somewhere," she exclaimed.

With a good-hearted chuckle, the Captain said, "If you can pass the security clearance investigation, you'll work in the Navy's intelligence community."

He pointed out, "Janice, I told you that you have potential, and I don't want to see that go to waste, but you can't be acting like an obliviot."

Punctuating the point, he allowed anger to flare, briefly. Smacking the desk with a hand and causing her to jump, he raised his voice just slightly and snapped, "Grow up, god dammit!"

She winced at the term 'Obliviot'. She remembered her first meeting where the Captain explained its meaning. As tears welled-up in her eyes she dropped her head into her hands and cried. At the humiliation she had caused and for the blessing of a second chance she'd just received.

Wiping her eyes, she looked back up at him and said, "Captain, I'm going to do my best to make you proud of me."

In that moment, the stern demeanor dropped, and he held out his hand, which she leaned over to accept. Standing he said, "Please let me know if I can do anything to help you, in the future. You're still one of my officers."

She was amazed that had happened 20-years ago. Yet she remembered it, as if it had happened yesterday.

Sitting up she adjusted the back of the lounge and asked a passing steward for some ice water and soon she was sipping the cool and refreshing liquid. Dipping her fingers into the cold water, she retrieved an ice cube and used it to rub along her arms, shoulders, and the cleavage between her breasts. The cold was refreshing. She then ran it down her firm abdomen, tracing it along her abs and then circled the melting remnants around her navel, which was pierced with a small diamond stud and her lower abdomen, just above the hemline of her bikini.

Looking around the deck, she noticed the activity around the pool had picked-up as the afternoon crowd of sun worshippers were coming out of the woodwork. She didn't mind the hustle and bustle of childhood activity; in fact she had longed for it. That was the reason why she was here.

Laying back down and donning her sunglasses to enjoy more of the sun, she closed her eyes and thought about the rest of the journey that seeing Captain Richards had prompted.

When the destroyer had returned Norfolk, Karen had helped her with her luggage down the brow. She loaded everything into the back of her Jeep, lowered the top as it was a nice day, then drove from the hustle and bustle of the naval base to rural Dam Neck, Virginia, the home of the Navy's Naval Intelligence Training Center. There, she spent several months learning the 'ratlines' -- the basics of the being a Tactical Intelligence Officer. For the first time in her life, she knew that she had to work hard to apply herself.

On that drive over from the base she had an epiphany. She was grateful for her father and everything he had provided for her. Yet, he had pampered her and had turned her into a princess. Captain Richards -- a second father figure -- had finally woke her up to reality and she vowed from that point on to live to the fullest, but to also be serious about her goals and her career. "I'm not going to fuck this up," she declared to the wind, with a stern look of determination set on her face.

She busted her ass to learn all the principles, terminology, and techniques of her new career. She became an expert at the mundane and spent free time, volunteering to stand watch in the command intelligence center. She had a good head for math and found the probabilities of the intelligence trade exciting. She was promoted to Lieutenant Junior Grade soon after reporting for training. In reviewing her promotion paperwork, she had seen that Captain Richards had given her the positive marks that made it possible to don the single silver bar of her new rank. Later, by completing complex intelligence analysis, she quickly gained a great degree of 'street cred' among the corps of analysts, in the days following the worst terrorist attack in U.S. history -- 9/11. In doing so, she was promoted early to Lieutenant.

Upon graduation she received orders to Joint Special Operations Command, to support special warfare operations. Through JSOC she was deployed with several SEAL teams to provide field intelligence support and soon found herself becoming a rising star in the Navy's Intelligence community. It was there that she got the other bit of ink that adorned her body. A tattoo of Tinkerbell the fairy, sitting on a ring of barbed wire on her left bicep, holding a smoking pistol.

Her size and appearance had helped with receiving the call sign 'Tinkerbell' among the brawny special operations sailors, who she quickly considered her big brothers. She would workout with the team, run with them and even got to try out many of the weapons they trained with, while she was supporting them. In the field, they were quite taken aback when they discovered she could be as foulmouthed as they were and was willing to get as dirty as they did, to get a job done. All of this helped to earn their respect as an equal.

She had worked her way up in rank to Lt Commander and by this time had transferred to become the Intelligence Officer for an Aircraft Carrier Strike Wing. That was when she met Commander Jason Monroe, the XO of SEAL Team III -- 'Jace' for short. She had been at JSOC taking care of some business for the Carrier Air Group, when this burly wall dressed in khakis rounded a corner and ran into her, knocking her down.

"Oh, shit," he exclaimed as he offered her a hand to help her up.

"That's okay, Commander," she said trying to laugh the accident off and accepting his hand.

He introduced himself and asked her to dinner as a way of making amends. His call sign was 'Ol' Hickory,' as he was from Tennessee and had a sweet, Southern twang in his voice to match. She accepted the offer, which began a fiery and adventurous romance that culminated in their wedding, six-months later. The wing was between deployments, so this afforded her the time to date and have a life and they had many of the same interests. He was dumbstruck to learn that he was seeing the famous Tinkerbell, known throughout the Spec Ops community, combatting terrorism during the Global War on Terrorism.

They both loved staying fit and exercising. Jace taught her some of the fieldcraft he used on missions and helped to fine tune her shooting skills. She taught him about the intelligence side of special operations, which helped him be a better Team Leader. Their passions were the same in many things, except one -- children.

With her eyes closed she felt a tear begin rolling down the side of her face at the painful memory. Brushing it away with a curse, she fought to maintain the facade of perfect control.

"You, big, lovable, stupid, fucking, son-of-a-bitch," she muttered, "I miss you so much," and breathed deeply to help calm down.

They were married for five-years and during that time she received an early advancement to Commander. All the while she begged the loveable jerk to get her pregnant, so she could have a baby and be a mom. At first, he didn't want the baggage of having kids around. After begging, cajoling, and pleading for so long, he had relented and said they would plan for it after she returned from the six-month deployment, she was on.