Hover by Anne A. Wilson Read Free Book Online Page B

Eric pick up fast. He has read this perfectly. Because that’s how it usually plays out. I’m blamed for not being available or ready or whatever all of the time.
    â€œAs a matter of fact, I do,” Commander Claggett says. He looks at me directly. “I want those award write-ups in my hand tonight by twenty-one hundred!” His order is accompanied by a noticeable glare of disapproval before he snaps his head and storms out the door.
    I put my hands on my hips, sucking in my breath and holding it. I simmer here, staring straight ahead, as the group files out.
    When it’s finally quiet, only Eric remains.
    â€œI don’t want this,” I say. “Not like this.”
    â€œNot like what?”
    â€œCommander Claggett was forced into this. I want to earn the award straight up, not have him coerced into giving me something.”
    Eric’s hands now go to his hips. “For your information, you legitimately deserve an award for what you did today.”
    â€œRegardless, it should have come from him.”
    He huffs in exasperation. “Okay, I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have interfered. But since I got you into this, since Captain Plank is expecting those recommendations, the least I can do is write them up for you.”
    â€œNo, you don’t—”
    â€œI do,” he says firmly. “Come on. We’ll type it up in our stateroom. I’ll just need some input on the specifics.”
    As he turns, he mutters under his breath, “And they’re gonna be the best damn write-ups Admiral Carlson’s ever seen.”
    He leads me into the cramped passageway and we hold the rails as we walk. Whoa. Pitch. Roll. Rock.
    When we reach his stateroom, he opens the door just a crack and looks in. “Guys, I’m bringing Sara in.” He turns to me. “Okay, we’re good.”
    He pushes the door open wider so I can step through, and Ben and Stuart look up from their desks. “Hey, Sara.”
    â€œHi, guys.”
    Yikes, this room is small. Two sets of bunks, stacked three high, fill this micro space. At the far wall, a cot stands on end, crammed between a bunk and a giant metal closet. There’s zero room in here already and now they’re adding a cot to boot. I feel so bad about this. Maybe I could sleep in the wardroom or something.
    â€œWhat do you think?” Eric says.
    â€œAre there really six of you in here?”
    â€œYep. All of the pilots except Brian, and the ship’s navigator.”
    Ben and Stuart are sitting at desks half the size of the one I use in my stateroom.
    â€œThere are only two desks,” I say.
    â€œYeah, we have to share,” Eric says.
    I’m getting embarrassed now. If they could see where I live, well, it’s the Taj Mahal compared to this.
    â€œBen, can we use your desk?” Eric asks. “I told Sara I’d help her with the award nominations.”
    â€œOh, about that,” Stuart says. “We didn’t write up any witness statements. What were you talking about?”
    â€œYeah, I just made that up,” Eric says casually.
    â€œYou what!” I say.
    â€œLieutenant Marxen … showcasing his quick-thinking oratorical prowess once again,” Stuart says.
    My hands are back on my hips, my mouth open. “You…”
    Eric smiles conspiratorially.
    â€œSo is this a normal thing for him?” I say, turning to Ben and Stuart.
    â€œYeah,” Ben says. “We don’t know how he does it, but he can sort of bend anyone to his will.”
    â€œIt’s a bit scary, really,” Stuart says. “Must be some special training you ring knockers get at the Academy.”
    Even though Stuart has said this in good humor, he’s referring to one of the nicknames for a Naval Academy graduate, born from the oversized class rings worn by many upon graduation. A small minority of those wearers tend to go a bit overboard, flaunting