“I just sign what Nttty gives me,” Wilson said with a smirk as he reached for his salad plate, which slid to the left as the ship took a roll. “Nttty” was Lieutenant Junior Grade Josh Fagan, the Schedules Officer, who, after one memorable multiplane intercept hop, was christened with his call sign Nttty—”Not Time To Talk Yet.”
“So does the CO. Take it up with him,” Weed added.
Psycho also caught her plate in midslide and sighed. “Should have known the hinge-heads would band together in support of the front office. Next time I’ll just take it up with my good friend, Nttty. Thank you, sir.”
“Good answer,” Weed mumbled, through a mouthful of food.
SLAP!
A swell slammed hard against the bow and rattled the dishes. The group heard the water gurgle down the hull.
“It’s serious out there,” Guido muttered into his food as he took a big gulp of fried rice.
Smoke agreed. “Yeah, they’ve gotta be thinking about canceling the night events.”
Just then the loud WHOOOMMMmmm of a jet on a bolter filled the wardroom. The aviators exchanged knowing glances as the jet climbed back into the pattern. The first of many bolters this recovery, Wilson thought. He turned to Smoke, one of the squadron landing signal officers, and asked, “Were you guys working manual recoveries earlier?”
“NO!” Psycho howled and slammed her hand on the table. “I had a sweet OK going and then the deck pitched down — or came up — and I caught an ace on the fly. They gave me a “fair.” They said that was a gift because the ship did a little dance in close, but not so much that I couldn’t have made a better correction. I mean, it’s either a pitching deck OK or not! They should have rigged the MOVLAS, the bastards.”
Sensing an opening, Smoke chided her. “Was the deck down, or did it come up?”
Psycho’s eyes narrowed as she shook her head at him. “You A-holes stick together, don’t you? I thought squadron blood might be thicker than LSO water. Guess not.”
“Well,” Smoke said, and grinned at her. “We have two senior aviators here who are charged with advising the commanding officer as to proper procedure, given the operating conditions we face. So what was it? Up or down?” Smoke folded his hands in front of him and held her gaze.
“It was UP!” Psycho shot back, fire in her eyes. “As in ‘Shut up!’”
“All right! I’m sorry.” Smoke smiled and extended his hands in front of him. “Just wanted to get that straight!” His eyes remained on her as he mouthed
