Panic Switch полностью

“Thank you, Bullfrog,” Cydice said, his voice deep and sonorous. “And thank you all for allowing me to attend your magnificent party. As Bullfrog says, Scotch Seagraves and I go way back. We were roommates at the Academy and I was constantly bailing him out of trouble. I was his best man back in the day.” He looked at Seagraves solemnly. “I was sad to hear, Scotch. Anyway, I have a month here before I go back to Pearl Harbor. Until recently, I was the executive officer of the Virginia-class battle-E-winning boat USS Mississippi, SSN-782. I have to say, with all the chatter about what’s going on with Red and White China reuniting, it looks like the Pacific theater is going to heat up even more than it is now. You junior officers, I recommend you blow off this sissy east coast shit and come out west, because nothing ever happens on the Atlantic side — you Atlantic guys are a bunch of pussies on vacation compared to us Pacific submariners.”

The room booed the commander, a few empty cups flying his way, which he gleefully ducked.

“I’m just kidding, you guys know that. After your last hairy mission, we all know you did a great job. I do have a message for you from ComSubCom. Admiral Stiletto Patton sends his regards and respectfully requests that you refrain from destroying any more of his submarines.”

“You ever wonder how it would turn out if we did a sub-versus-sub exercise, us against a Pac Fleet boat?” Pacino said to Rachel. “We could put money on the outcome.”

“Or a couple of milk crates of alcohol,” she said.

“Back to you, Commander Quinnivan,” Cydice said. “But you Snake Ranch guys, what do you say? Can I bunk in with you pirates?”

“You have to buy all the beer for that month!” Vevera shouted.

Cydice grinned. “Done!”

“Okay, next,” Quinnivan announced. “We all know our beloved commanding officer is moving on to bigger and better things, but we’re all fortunate that he will still be local. Captain, can you tell us what’s in your future?”

Seagraves nodded and stepped up on the milk crate. “Well, everyone, first, tonight I will have the honor of drinking my eagles.” He was referring to the time-honored and strictly prohibited practice of an officer dropping new collar devices in a tall glass of whiskey and drinking his way down to the emblems. That was how the whole lipstick incident had happened, Pacino thought, when he drank down to his lieutenant bars. And by “eagles,” it meant Commander Seagraves was being promoted from the rank of commander to the rank of captain. “I’d like Commander Quinnivan and Commander Cydice to pin them on me now, so I can unpin them, put them into the whiskey, and get started.”

The junior officers applauded. “Congratulations, Skipper,” Romanov shouted.

“Just don’t fuck up, Scotch,” Cydice said to Seagraves, smiling. Cydice and Quinnivan pinned eagle captain emblems on Seagraves shirt and handed him a nearly full tumbler of bourbon. Seagraves removed the eagles and dropped them into the whiskey. He took a sip, then looked up at the crowd.

“There’s more news, ladies and gents,” he said. “My new orders call for me to report as the new commodore of Squadron Six.”

“Nice,” Lewinsky said. “You’ll still be the boss. Make sure the New England gets the best of squadron resources!” Navigator Lewinsky stood next to his clingy girlfriend, Redhead, who had her arms wrapped around his arm as if he’d wander off. The woman was a caricature of a crooning nightclub singer, wearing a tight red pencil skirt, slit up the sides showing her long legs, the dress clinging to her narrow waist, then expanding greatly in an attempt to restrain her melon-sized round breasts, the dress’ neckline plunging daringly between them. Her copper auburn hair cascaded in gentle curls down to her nipples.

“What is it with that goddamned Redhead,” Rachel commented quietly to Pacino, her tone acid.

“She’s like a fourteen-year-old boy’s fantasy,” Pacino whispered. “Just like Lewinsky’s car. I mean, really, who the hell drives a V-12 Ferrari?”

Rachel laughed. “Every one of you boys just wishes you could wake up and be Elvis Lewinsky.”

“No way,” Pacino said. “I’ve heard his midrats stories of how crazy Redhead is. I half expected Elvis to show up with a black eye.” He looked at Romanov. “Makes me feel lucky I know you.”

She smirked. “You are lucky. Make sure you treat me right.”

“Not to worry, Elvis,” Seagraves said. “I’ll make sure the USS New England gets the best of the best. Just try to keep an eye on Pacino, that he doesn’t set it on fire.”

“Oh hell,” Pacino said. “I was hoping people would forget that.”

“So, XO,” Seagraves said to Quinnivan while stepping down from the crate, “why don’t you tell the room what your next assignment is?”

“Wait a minute, Skipper,” Lewinsky said. “Who is going to be the new captain?”