Seagraves shrugged. “A first round draft pick to be named later. Sometime before
Quinnivan took his spot on the crate and smiled. “Well, first I’m going to do some house hunting. Shawna over there, say hello, babe.” His wife smiled and waved. “My wife is impossible to please when it comes to houses, so that phase could take a while. I’m going to the next Perisher course, which is what you lads and lassies would call Prospective Commanding Officer School. No guarantee that I’ll pass, but if I do, I’ll be taking command of the Astute-class submarine S120
“He makes a good point,” Pacino said.
“Now I’d like to introduce a new officer reportin’ aboard, Lieutenant Commander Christopher Prettyboy Byrehind, who will be our new chief engineer. Step on up here, Eng,” Quinnivan said.
Byrehind was short with a mop of fine dirty blonde hair and a baby face, looking far too young to be a department head. He smiled at the crowd.
“Good to be aboard your — our — fine submarine,” he said, smiling. “I look forward to getting to know all of you,” he said.
“Tell the crowd something about yourself, lad, yeah?” Quinnivan said.
“Well, like Commander Cydice over there, I’m also from Pearl Harbor, from the USS
“That would be me!” Vevera shouted from the rear of the room.
“What’s his name?” he asked Quinnivan.
“That there be Squirt Gun Vevera.”
“Ah, yes, the one for whom Commander Cydice has to buy all that beer. Squirt Gun — I’m sure your handle has a story behind it?”
Vevera blushed. Quinnivan said something in Byrehind’s ear, who grinned and laughed.
“Oh, okay, the XO informs me that the story is unsuitable for mixed company. My callsign, Prettyboy, was given to me by my older brother when I was three and it stuck hard. He’s pushing fighter jets off the USS
“Is that true, Linda?” Quinnivan asked.
A female voice from the rear answered. “It’s a lie, XO,” she said, smiling. “Those boys are just Prettyboy clones. There’s nothing of me in them at all.”
“For our next guest,” Quinnivan said, “I’d like to have our new weapons officer step up.”
A tall, slender woman with streaky blonde hair stepped up to the crate. She was pretty, wearing light makeup, with a long-sleeved silk blouse and bell-bottom jeans, which had inexplicably come back into fashion.
“I’m Lieutenant Commander Alexis D’Assault. My callsign? The original one was ‘Allen Wrench,’ since I was good at working on engines.”
“You’ll enjoy working with Pacino, then,” Quinnivan said, pointing to Pacino. “That young man replaced a Corvette engine and transmission himself, put in computer control and a supercharger. How many horses does that beast have, Patch?”
“Six hundred and forty,” Pacino called. “But who’s counting?”
“But there’s a more recent callsign, isn’t there, Madam Weapons Officer?” Quinnivan said, prompting her.
She sighed and smiled, her face flushing red. “I graduated from Kings Point, the Merchant Marine Academy, and I was a merchant marine sailor, third mate on a container ship and in the Navy reserve. We were off Yemen when a fairly large pirate raider boat came out of nowhere and zoomed up and started tossing grappling hooks up to the deck. I had one of the AR-15 rifles. They were really just for show and the captain wanted us to keep them unloaded and just wave them at any pirates, like that would do anything. I was about to do some recreational shooting, but when I saw the pirates, I just started blasting. Four of the raiders died, four more were wounded, and we had to call a medical helicopter. And yes, that incident got me fired. And it earned me the other callsign, ‘Pirate Killer Girl.’ Thank God for the Navy,” she said. “I doubt I would get hired anywhere, but my dad knew Admiral Patton and made a phone call, and here I am.”
“Dear God,” Romanov said. “Now the boat has pirates
Pacino stared at Romanov. “All women are ugly compared to
“I’d punch you right now if we were alone,” she growled. “Tell me the truth.”
