’”
“Thank you, Lieutenant John Mehoff. Girls, you can call him ‘Jack.’” Trench said, playing along, with more chuckling from the guys.
“Those children aren’t going to give you the time of day,” Macho interjected, not afraid to be on her own defending the sisterhood, despite the fact the college girls were oblivious to the pilots talking about them from over 50 feet away. Trench picked up the gauntlet.
“Yes, Macho, you are so right. We don’t have a chance. We have zero game here on this tropical paradise with these girls on the prowl who are what, six, seven years younger than us, and about twenty years younger than you.”
The guys roared as Trench waited for Macho’s comeback. He didn’t have to wait long.
“You guys know that hitting on those students is child abuse, if not pedophilia. And… both you guys have girlfriends back home.” Macho folded her arms in smug superiority.
A hush came over the group, with Trench and Coach giving her a hard look. Trench spoke first.
“Abuse is staying here arguing with Little Miss Can’t-Be-Wrong on a moonlit beach in St. Thomas. Come on, Coach, you lecherous cad, let’s go make some new and attractive friends.”
The two senior pilots trudged over the sand to the coeds, who watched them approach with excited smiles. Ghost joined them, and within minutes the men had their new friends laughing and giggling, the night full of anticipation.
Irish and Jumpin stared into the dying fire as Macho stared out to sea in haughty defiance.
“What a great team bonding experience,” Jumpin muttered.
Irish pulled on his beer and added, “Yep, our first liberty port and the JOs are divided into the cool kids and the snot-nosed nuggets.”
“Go ahead and join them,” Macho snorted. “Nobody is stopping you,”
Jumpin replied, “Macho, you are such a frickin’ Debbie Downer. You are the one who ruined this night for us.”
Pointing at Trench, she exploded. “He shouldn’t be talking about girls’ body parts in front of me! He’s always making snide comments under his breath about the talent aboard ship, and that’s total bullshit. Damn frickin’ right my antenna are up for a hostile work environment, because I hear it. I dealt with it all through flight school, and—”
“Bullshit, Macho,” Irish snarled. “I was with you in flight school, and all of us had to walk on eggshells around you, especially the instructors. We’d be happy with two above averages on a hop, but you’d be pissed and mutter under your breath about sexism. The airplane doesn’t give a fuck if you’re a man or a woman. And it will kill us if we let it, so don’t fuckin’ let it.”