Wilson continued aft as the ship swayed back and forth on the swells. It was rare for an XO to call an All Pilots Meeting. The overall squadron leadership of pilots and flight policy was the unquestioned province of the Skipper, while the XO was charged with admin duties relating to personnel and work spaces. Depending on his message, what Saint is doing — with the CO off the ship and after the night the squadron just experienced — could be insubordinate. And, with the hours we keep, such short notice certainly shows contempt toward us, he thought.
Wilson recalled the first time he had met Saint, last year at the O-Club while Saint was still in refresher training. Cajun had introduced them. Without making eye contact with Wilson, Saint had given him a tight-lipped, perfunctory nod and a quick handshake. Saint then took a sip of beer and turned his attention back to Cajun. Wilson received the message loud and clear: You are an underling, nothing more. Since that meeting, Wilson had found that Saint’s ignoring him had not been personal. Commander Patrick treated the whole squadron that way.
Weed and Wilson got to the ready room with three minutes to spare. Wilson was surprised to hear music blaring from the stereo. The bleary-eyed JOs were either seated or getting a cup of coffee, and all but Nicky were in flight suits. Bubbly Psycho bebopped between the chairs, mouthing the words to the song: “Shake it like a po-la-roid pic-cha.”
Wilson poured a cup and strode up the aisle to his chair in the front row. “Anything from the beach?” he asked Nicky.
“No, sir, but both jets reported safe-on-deck last night.”
Wilson glanced at the status board; LASSITER and TEEL were the only Raven sorties listed, their mission a fly-on at 1500.
As the 1MC sounded the first of seven bells signifying 0730, the XO walked in. He entered from the front door that connected to Maintenance Control. Dressed in his khaki uniform with full ribbons, he placed his notebook inside his footstool and turned to Nicky. “Turn that shit off. What if CAG comes in?”
“Yes, sir!” Nicky wheeled in his chair to comply. As the ready room became quiet, the remaining pilots started to move to their seats. Wilson spotted Sponge Bob as he entered from the back door and took the seat nearest to the door. It was obvious he did not want to call attention to himself. He was also dressed in khakis and stoically acknowledged the nods and smiles many of his squadronmates sent his way.
