Christmas at Peleliu Cove Page 4

  After the last of the gunfire had ceased and he called an “All clear” over the radio, he tugged off his helmet. Then from his waistband, he pulled out his Santa hat and tugged it on. When he saluted her formally, despite the Rangers and prisoners swirling about him, she couldn’t help but laugh.

  The laugh was cut off when she saw the women staggering out of the building behind him.

  Then the dark warrior god that was Lieutenant Clint Barstowe Army Ranger turned and began helping the women and girls as if that was the most important task in the world. When he entered the building and came out carrying a young woman who clung to him in desperate hope, he looked even better.

  Nika really didn’t want to see what he carried, but she couldn’t stop watching him as he delivered his burden to the massive Chinook helicopter that had settled on the other side of the square and was loading survivors. She really didn’t need Clint to turn out to be a completely decent guy.

  # # #

  “You ever going to talk to me again, Maier?” They were alone in the Peleliu’s Well Deck. The mission was done and he’d hung around until all of the gear had been restowed. Now it was just the two of them still aboard the LCAC.

  “Don’t see why I would, Ranger.” But the sass was back in Nika’s voice which made Clint feel better. At the camp, she’d reloaded the Ranger’s vehicles while he’d been securing the prisoners in one helo and the women and hostages in another. It was clear that if they put them together, the men wouldn’t be reaching the Peleliu intact.

  By the time he’d double-checked his Ranger head-count back aboard the LCAC, she’d already been up in her perch and busy with getting them safely out of the camp and out of Libya. The race back to the ship and then the trickiest operation an LCAC ever did, slipping inside the Well Deck to park safely once more in the Peleliu’s belly, had kept her busy. Though he’d admired the precise clarity of the observations she’d given to Sly over the intercom to assist him.

  He’d waited until she was done and they were the last two in the closed and red-lit Well Deck. The rest of his team would be in the showers or headed off to dinner.

  Nika was just finishing up. Even now she was stowing the last of the tools, the three-foot pry bar she’d offered to use on his skull.

  “You did promise to forgive me if I kicked some serious ass.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” her tone was light as if she was a cat playing with a new toy. “I figure your guys did that for you. Far as I could see, you just stood around and called in the cavalry when it got messy. Not sure that counts for much, Army. Half forgiven at most,” she dropped the bar into its cradle with a bang that rang sharply enough in the steel cavern to make him wince. She stepped up to stand close in front of him. Very close; he wouldn’t have to reach far to discover how soft the skin of her cheek might be. He looked down into her deep brown eyes; almost too big for her face, they gave her an inviting openness. Eyes are the windows to the soul? Then Nika Maier had one plus-sized soul in that trim body.

  “Way I see it, Navy,” he riposted, “that makes us about equal. If I just moseyed around with my rifle and my Santa hat, then you sat back and let Sly do the driving. Pretty cozy berth there in your hovercraft sleigh.”

  She crossed her arms and tipped her head sideways as she continued to look up at him. It didn’t quite hide the smile that started there.

  “I really don’t want to like you, Lieutenant Barstowe.”

  “That much I figured out on my own, Petty Officer Maier. Any particular reason?”

  “Oh, I can come up with a bunch.”

  “This should be good. Want to explain some of them over chow?”

  Her reluctant smile opened up. Damn it was a sparkler. She went from pretty, right through cute and damned cute, and over to amazing faster than her hovercraft raced over the open ocean on a calm day.

  She made Clint temporarily forget about his self promise that he wasn’t ever going to tangle with a woman again for longer than it took to sweat up some sheets. Nika Maier was a serious woman; made a man think serious thoughts even when he didn’t want to.

  “Okay, but you’re going to have to do me a favor, Ranger.”

  “Another one?” Clint tried to sound put out despite feeling pretty pleased about this moment.

  “Yes!” She shoved against the center of his chest hard enough that he had to step back. “Go shower first. You stink! See you in fifteen minutes.”

  Then she turned and walked away down the LCAC’s ramp and up the Well Deck’s. It wasn’t some loose-hipped, teasing, woman’s walk, but it still jolted his system as if it was just that.

  Shower. Cold one. Been a long time since he’d thought of the need for one of those.

  Chapter 4

  The Mess Hall was mayhem. When the Marine Expeditionary Unit had been aboard, the ship had been packed to the limits of her welded seams. Officers Mess was forward on the 02 Deck. Chiefs Mess directly below. The Seamen and the two Marine Messes were to the stern. With the MEU aboard, every sailor knew her place.

  That was all changed now and Nika missed it. With the departure of the MEU, the Navy contingent had also been cut in half and a bit more. Without dozens of aircraft aboard, far fewer Flight Deck and service personnel were required. Without fifteen hundred Marines underfoot, the required ship’s maintenance plummeted. With the drop in crew, whole mess kitchens had been abandoned.

  Two messes and one galley remained open. The Officers Mess still had the Naval officers, but it also fed the Special Ops personnel. The Chiefs Mess now served all of the remaining Petty Officers and specialists like the engine crew.

  Now, part way into the pre-dawn dinner service, the space was packed solid. The long tables were lined with work uniforms and the more casual, off-shift clothing.

  Something else had happened while she’d been hovering above the Libyan desert.

  Christmas had arrived; damn Barstowe for being right. It was only early December and yet the mess had been transformed.

  The overhead pipes had been wound with white and red crepe paper like giant, twisting candy canes. Christmas tree cutouts had been taped to all of the walls. When the MEU was aboard, little of that had happened—the military always being so careful not to offend. When they’d dropped from twenty-five hundred aboard to a few hundred, a vote had been taken. The ship’s captain, Lieutenant Commander Boyd Ramis, had allowed a unanimous vote to carry. Holiday décor of any breed or shade was welcome as long as it didn’t disrespect others.

  There was even a Menorah Section. The Jewish high holiday of Hanukkah was only days away and there was no way she was going to be caught sitting at the foot of a six-foot tall menorah taped to the wall. But she didn’t like sitting in front of a Christmas tree either, even if it was just colored paper taped to the bulkhead. It would be like giving in to Barstowe.

  Who she couldn’t spot anywhere.

  Nika had lost a little time enroute and arrived closer to twenty minutes after leaving the hovercraft and Mr. Too-damn-sure-of-himself Ranger, but there was still no sign of Barstowe. She was down the meal line with a full tray before she figured out what was going on. Barstowe was an officer and Spec Ops, he’d automatically think they were meeting a deck above here, up in officer country. Did he even know where this mess was?

  She considered braving the foreign land, then considered how damn dumb she’d look toting a full tray up ladderways. She certainly wasn’t going to toss out perfectly good food, especially not the way Sly’s wife Chief Steward Gail Stowell cooked it. Tonight was meatloaf night—the meat laced with roasted vegetables and Italian spices—one of her favorites.

  One last look around and she headed over to her usual spot with the rest of the LCAC crew. A giant reindeer face looked down at their table. There was something weird about the nose that she couldn’t make sense of until she was closer. Rudolph’s red nose was a seven-inch diameter spare fo
r a Hellfire missile nose cone. It stuck almost a foot out of the wall.

  “Good thing that isn’t any lower down the wall or it would be terribly phallic,” Nika commented as she set down her tray beside Jerome’s.

  He grunted either an agreement or a greeting, didn’t matter which. Dave and Tom turned in unison to look up over their shoulders, then faced each other, then back to her. They even groaned in unison.

  “How did we not see that?”

  “We’re sitting under Rudolph’s bright red penis nose.”

  “You’re the ones who put it there,” Jerome said without looking up from his meal.

  “We gotta fix that.”

  “Well, I’m not touching the damn thing,” Nika took her first taste of the meatloaf. “Oh god, that’s so good.” She waved her fork at the reindeer’s nose. “And when some Night Stalker mechanic notices that missing out of spares, with red paint over the guidance window, just remember: I got no part of this.”

  # # #

  Barstowe burst out laughing. He couldn’t help himself. Nika Maier waving her fork at Rudolph’s remarkably phallic nose as if she was going to stab it was just too perfect.

  He hadn’t even bothered to look for her up in the Officers Mess. They didn’t teach Rangers to underestimate opportunities. He’d hooked up with Sly and followed the Chief Petty Officer into the Chiefs Mess, knowing it was shared by all of the enlisted ranks. And it had worked; there she sat threatening poor Rudolph.

  Nika looked up at him in alarm as he set down his tray across from her. The spot beside her was also open, but he wanted to look at her so he left that spot for Sly.

  He’d wanted to talk with her alone, which was also surprising, but he’d take what he could get away with for now.

  “You got the dirt off your face, sir, but there’s still some crap in your hair.”

  Not thinking first, he reached up a hand and ended up grabbing his Santa hat.

  Nika’s happy smile acknowledged the first point went to her.

  “At least she called me ‘sir’,” he spoke to Sly. “Some hope there.”

  “You’re Army,” Nika didn’t give her commander a chance to respond. “I figured you needed to have something go right in your life.”

  “And my life is so pitiful that calling me ‘sir’ is a vast improvement?”

  “He wasn’t listening, was he, Chief?” Nika asked Sly. “Doesn’t he get that he’s in the Army, not the Navy?”

  “Sad, isn’t it, Petty Officer Maier?” Sly agreed and ignored Clint’s scowl.

  Clint opened his mouth to respond, but Dave and Tom had picked up the riff.

  “Bunch of ground pounders wouldn’t get anywhere if we didn’t take them.”

  “Watch it. Next he’ll tell us he doesn’t need us because he can always parachute in…as if that was a decent way to travel. Do we tell him that’s courtesy of the Air Farce?”

  “Don’t need either of you,” Clint finally managed to get in edgewise.

  “How do you figure that, sir?” Nika’s eyes were sparkling with a laugh.

  Clint tapped his Santa-hat covered temple then hooked a thumb over his shoulder at Rudolph’s phallic nose cone, “I’ve got inside connections to alternate transport. Rangers lead the way, Petty Officer Maier. Don’t you ever forget that.”

  Jerome pinged his knife against his water glass like he was ringing a bell, then tipped his head to Clint.

  “Second point is apparently mine, Maier. Puts us at tied by my figuring. Your serve.”

  # # #

  Nika tried to remember the last time she’d enjoyed a meal so much. None came readily to mind as she dropped down the ladderways to the LCAC. She was technically off shift for the day, but she always felt better if she checked in on their craft before heading to her bunk. There was a peace and quiet to the empty Well Deck that she’d come to appreciate.

  Yet another advantage to the Peleliu—she had a vast quiet about her. She’d grown up in noise because Lower Manhattan was never silent. The George H. W. Bush and the Firebolt had been so crowded that there was never any privacy aboard either vessel.

  The bowels of the three-quarters empty Peleliu had become her haven. She lay back on the steel ramp at the head of the Well Deck, crossed her boots, and stared up at the ceiling.

  The peace wrapped around her. The Peleliu’s engines, which lay directly beneath her were barely ticking over. They were headed nowhere in particular. Or they were station-holding while command assessed the success of the last mission and planned the next. Whatever was happening was way above her pay grade and she was fine with that.

  Lazy Mediterranean waves sloshed against the hull, lulling her.

  Let somebody else worry about all that. She was good at what she did and was just fine with doing it. Though she’d like being an LCAC Craftmaster. That would…

  She felt the thrum of footsteps where the back of her head rested on the steel deck long before she heard them. Long, measured strides. Moving with utter surety. No man who walked like that could have a single inner doubt. He knew where he stood in the universe—right at its center, by god.

  Nika tipped her head back and looked up the ramp as a white pom-pom came into view, followed by a red hat, a white-fur ruff, and an inverted view of a grinning Army Ranger.

  “Figured this is where you went to ground,” Clint spoke first. “Kind of predictable, Maier.”

  “Sea floor is a thousand or so meters down, sir. If I go to ground, I’m going to have trouble breathing.”

  Uninvited, he settled down beside her, then glanced up at the ceiling, almost losing his hat.

  It was awfully tempting to tug on the tail of it and just steal the thing. Maybe toss it overboard…except the stern gate was closed and she wasn’t sure if she had the energy to climb to an upper deck for so minor a good deed.

  “What do see when you look up?”

  A man too damn good looking for his own good, she almost answered before she caught herself. “I see stars, galaxies, the wonders of the universe.”

  His smile was a little sad. “By anyone’s scorekeeping, we came out about even at dinner. How about a straight answer for a change?”

  “Against my religion, Lieutenant.” Besides, by her figuring, he’d come out way ahead just by tracking her down to the Chiefs Mess and sitting with their crew. Brave man, even if he and Sly were close. Brave in more ways than one. She could still see him standing at the calm center as the terrorist camp was subdued around him.

  “Jewish,” Clint grumbled.

  “Not very. New York, though. You can get thrown out of the city for giving a straight answer. Or maybe that is the Jewish part of me,” she sighed and looked at the ceiling once more. She didn’t really know anymore.

  After a long couple minutes’ silence, Barstowe clambered to his feet.

  “Wait,” she’d pissed him off, again. He didn’t deserve that. “Please.”

  “Well, for the please, I’ll wait.” He even attempted humor when he was angry. Yeah, that was a path her own family had never thought of. They went for the stoic silence that would echo through the apartment until it was louder than the Manhattan streets right outside their window. Her very first memory was the smothering quality of that blanket of silence that would descend over Dr. and Mrs. Maier.

  Nika stood up and joined Clint at the head of the ramp.

  Arms crossed, he looked imposing, despite the silly hat. Six feet tall and built solid enough to carry a fifty-pound pack for miles without noticing it. Earned lieutenant the hard way she’d heard, starting enlisted. He showed an awful lot to be impressed by.

  “I,” she dug for the words, unsure what they were. “I wanted to thank you for what you did tonight.”

  “My job,” his grimaced, his voice gruff with anger.

  “No!” She rested a hand on his arm to keep him an
chored there and was a little surprised when it worked. “You did more than that. I saw. You…led. You…helped.” Each word had to be wrenched from her gut.

  There had been no one to help Keila, not even Nika because their schools had been hundreds of miles apart. On hearing the news, she still hadn’t rushed to her friend’s aid as she should have. Now she’d never know if it would have helped. Learning to live with that had been a total bitch.

  Clint had stopped trying to leave and simply watched her passively.

  “It’s the past that—” she bit that off hard before anything else spilled out.

  Still he waited.

  “It’s important,” Nika tried again. “What you did. It’s…important,” she didn’t know what else to say. The only suitable atonement she’d found to offer was herself to the Navy—in Keila’s stead.

  Clint’s face shifted abruptly. Brief shock, then near molten rage. It took him an instant to control his expression.

  She looked down, because she couldn’t face the compassion that finally showed there.

  “Oh, girl,” Clint whispered softly and simply wrapped his big arms around her.

  Nika let herself be pulled straight in until her nose and forehead rested on his breastbone. She didn’t cry. She wasn’t going to cry. She didn’t believe in tears because they never fixed anything.

  “Was it you?” he whispered. And some part of her knew that he wouldn’t pull away if it had been.

  She could only shake her head. She’d had a couple of scary wrestling matches over the years, but she’d always escaped unscathed. More than some of the aggressors could claim.

  He held her there, just held her on that awful precipice as the waves of fury and loss stormed within her, both seeking to suck out her soul. She hung there in silence, safe against a stranger’s chest, unable to respond until the storm had subsided enough for her to once again draw breath.

  When she did, she smelled soap, clean uniform, and strong man. He smelled solid the way the New York Public Library or the Museum of Natural History did. Rich, deep, solid. Dependable.