Of course, it didn�t hurt that the Skipper of the carrier that was currently in port was an old friend of my partner and that he and Bill had pretty much grown up together.
Or the fact that the JAG lawyers were none other than my partner, Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb Jr and myself.
I didn�t like Bill, felt he was condescending and basically a jackass, and I know Harm agreed with me on that. Bill was old-school Navy, despite being raised in the new military where a woman is just as good as a man. But Harm and Bill were old friends and the JAG investigation had wrapped up early that morning, unfortunately ten minutes after the daily transport left the ship, so we were stuck there until morning. I would have normally just gone my room at the VOQ and blocked out the chauvinistic comments from the seaman who, it seemed, believed that women belonged in the home and not on aircraft carriers or even around a base. And I really wanted to just go to the room I was assigned when we arrived and to hide behind battleship gray walls until morning. But I knew that, when Harm got around old friends he tended to either piss them off royally or talk his way into the cockpit of an F-14. Neither option appealed to me one bit.
I hate it when he flies in those things.
I hate it even more when he starts drinking.
The scotch had gotten too pricey two hours before and the beer had been brought out of hiding moments later.
Harm was fighting hard, but he was keeping up with the other sailors drink for drink. Knowing Harm as well as I do, I knew that he didn�t drink much, usually just some wine with dinner or a beer or two while watching a game at a friend�s place�he didn�t own a TV, though he did use mine quite often, especially during baseball season�and I honestly hated the fact that my highly warranted I told you so the next morning would be drowned out by the helo�s blades, but, hey, that the hangover should be punishment enough.
All I can say is that it was a good thing Harm didn�t get airsick.
�You don� havta hang out here if you don� wanna, Meg,� Harm said when he noticed that I was checking my watch again.
�Someone�s gotta get you back to your bunk in one piece,� I said, not caring that he was my superior officer. The moment his drink count passed three he became just another drunk sailor in the Officer�s Club. �Knowing you, you�d probably try to get into a Tomcat to run some traps before bed.�