“Hey, guys! I think they’re going to board us as soon as they get this ferry off. Saw lots of smiling Firebird and Hunter sailors.”
“Good,” Wilson said. “And our JOs?”
“Oh, yeah! Trench is leading the charge to a place called Breezy Cay. Been there before?” Annie asked.
“Yeah, but it’s been a few years,” Wilson replied. “Nice place on the other side of the island.”
“We have an admin at the resort next door,” Billy said. “Should be plenty of air wing guys.” He motioned to the shore and added, “But, by the looks of it, that place is nice.”
The officers assessed the resort perched a mile away on the rocky shore of Frenchman’s Reef. The barge would soon transport them there for the reception.
Annie then said in jest, “Do you see Mark? He said he’d be waving to us.” Annie’s husband Mark Schofield was in St. Thomas waiting for the ship — and his wife.
“Nope, can’t say I do,” Billy said, squinting as if he could. He squinted a little harder and smiled. “But I do see a fruity drink with my name on it.”
“With an umbrella in it?” Wilson snickered.
“Maybe. Just don’t tell the JOs. I want them to visualize me only with a beer bottle or whisky on the rocks. But when I get among the one percent, I can let my hair down with a rum runner, or even a glass of white wine.”
Annie shook her head and smiled, but Wilson continued to needle his friend. “Is that your foo-foo juice I smell?
They both looked at Annie. “Don’t look at me!” She raised her hands in protest. “That’s not my fragrance!”
The ferry pushed off to deliver a full load of sailors to the fleet landing at Charlotte Amalie. As soon as it pulled away, the barge, a motorized 50-foot covered launch for the admiral’s official and personal use, came in behind it with bosun’s mates positioned on the bow and stern to throw mooring lines to waiting sailors on the camel. Soon the officers would board in the traditional manner of seafaring professionals around the world: junior officers first; then seniors; with the admiral, the last man aboard… and the first man off when they got ashore.
The Officer of the Deck caught their attention. “Lady and gentlemen, you may board,” he said and motioned them toward the ladder.
The officers made their way to the ladder in some semblance of seniority. As they flashed their ID cards, they informed the Petty Officer of the Watch, “I have permission to go ashore.” Each one of them carefully descended the ladder to avoid smudging their uniforms, but everyone knew their whites would be trashed by the end of the night, if not on this boat ride.