Against the Tide Imperial: The Struggle for Ceylon (The Usurper's War: An Alternative World War II B by James Young (classic book list .txt) 📗

they entered the bustling room, shocked at how busy it was. Jo felt several sets of eyes pass over them, but studiously ignored the gazes, stares, and outright leers as she got the waitress’ attention.

“Just the two of you?” the woman asked, looking at Jo and Patricia with a familiar smile.

You’d think we ate here quite a bit when Patricia still worked at the library.

“Yes,” Jo said, smiling back.

“Miss, you can come sit by us,” a British accented voice stated. Jo looked over at the table and saw that there were four “tars” sitting at it, their dark uniforms contrasting with the USN whites and khakis that were all around the bar.

“No thank you, we’ll wait,” Jo said politely. She was turning back to the waitress when a New Jersey-accented voice piped up.

“What’s the matter, you too good to just sit down with some sailors?”

Jo ignored the comment, making sure the waitress had heard them.

“Hey lady, I’m talking to you!” the voice said again, this time touched with a bit of anger.

“And if you speak to her like that again, you’ll be seeing the inside of your ship for the remainder of your stay!” a voice cracked across the room. There was dead silence as the captain who had spoken stood up from his table. Jo did not recognize the man, which was a rarity within the Pacific Fleet.

“Actually, sir, I think whomever said that and anyone sitting at his table are done eating lunch right now,” a second voice cracked, this one belonging to a senior petty officer who was also coming to his feet. There was a parting of the Red Sea moment as everyone near the wise-cracking sailor quickly moved away.

Might as well have an arrow over his head, Jo thought.

Patricia giggled beside her, a delicate hand covering her mouth. The sailor, a dark-haired man with acne-ridden facial features and beady dark eyes briefly looked towards her, angry at being laughed at. It was a bad mistake, as the chief strode over to him.

“What ship are you off of?” the chief snapped. The sailor slowly rose to his feet, trying to work his face into impassiveness. After a moment, he realized he should be at a position of parade rest when addressed by an NCO.

“The San Francisco,” he replied sullenly.

“Oh, the old Frisco Maru,” the petty officer said, drawing some hard looks from the men with the mouthy sailor. “Funny, I might know a couple of chiefs on her. How about you and I take a walk back?”

The man’s tone made it clear he wasn’t asking a polite question. Suddenly, the sailors glaring at the man, and the two other petty officers who had joined him from their own lunches, almost tripped over themselves leaving.

“I think you might need some help with having this sailor find his liberty boat,” one of the chiefs said. “Right after he apologizes to these two young women.”

Oh he’s fit to be tied.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” the man said, his voice cool.

“Why, he sounds almost completely contrite,” one of the other chiefs said. “Why, he’s so sorry, I think he wants to buy her lunch.”

Oh no, that’s a bit excessive. She was about to speak when the young man reached into his pocket and pulled out a bill.

“I think this will cover it,” he said, slapping the money down on the table. “Enjoy your meal, ladies.

“Thank you,” Jo said, meeting the young man’s eyes. She had never seen someone say fuck you with their gaze before, but there was clearly a first time for everything.

“Let’s go, sailor,” the chief said.

“Thank you, chief,” the captain said. Jo realized the man had three of his officers with him, all lieutenants and lieutenant commanders. “I’ll almost forgive you insulting my future vessel.”

The chief, to his credit, didn’t even flinch.

“I think it was the sailor’s mistreatment of these fine young women talking, sir.”

“Certainly,” the captain replied. “Mistreatment I’ll be happy to deal with it in the morning after taking over from Captain Callaghan. Maybe when I’m consulting with this man’s division chief.”

“Aye aye, sir,” the petty officer replied. He turned back to the now-pale sailor.

“Looks like your timing and ability to place both feet in your mouth are impeccable,” the petty officer said. “Start walking.”

Jo watched as the two men left. The captain watched them go, then strode over.

“I apologize for that man, Miss..?”

“Morton,” Jo said. “Josephine Morton, Captain.”

The man did a double take, then laughed.

“Jacob Morton’s daughter,” he said. “I can see your mother in you now that I hear the name!”

“Thank you,” Jo replied, feeling her cheeks warm.

“I’m Captain Fischer,” the man continued. “Mel Fischer. Your father was the gunnery officer on the Augusta when I was the executive officer.”

“Oh!” Jo said, her memory jogged. She noticed Patricia talking to one of the man’s accompanying commanders.

“Where is he now?” Fischer asked.

“He’s captain of the Houston,” Jo replied, sort of surprised that Fischer was not aware of what had been going on.

“Captain?!” Fischer said. “Well I’ll be dam—“

Jo smiled as the man caught himself.

“He’s been very fortunate,” she said quietly. “Lucky to be alive, really.”

Fischer nodded at her comment.

“I’ve heard the East Indies was a very difficult time for everyone involved,” he said. “Augusta was the vessel the Houston replaced, so it could have just as easily been us as her if the war had started a couple years earlier.”

Maybe if it had started a couple of years earlier my father would have been safely in charge of his own destroyer rather than getting injured on someone else’s cruiser, Jo thought. Oh well, worked out for him in the end.

“Sir, we have a four o’clock appointment with Vice Admiral Halsey,” one of the other officers, apparently Fischer’s XO, said quietly. Fischer looked at his watch then smiled apologetically.

“Until next time, Jo,” he said.

“It was great catching up,” she replied, then felt kind of silly. She watched as the man and his group of officers walked out of the diner. Whether spurred by her incident or