Among the crowd of arriving passengers, she spied a tall, female ensign in a summer white uniform. In her left hand she carried a small bag and held her combination cover against her body and under her arm. Macho watched her approach, her big eyeglass-covered eyes searching for a friendly face. With her dark hair pulled back into a regulation bun, her white pumps added three inches to her statuesque height, and she wore a skirt.
I hate skirts, Macho thought, wondering if this was Ensign Shane Duncan. As she drew closer, Macho could read, with her 20/17 vision, the black nametag over the right uniform pocket above the ensign’s full bosom: DUNCAN.
Oh, no, Macho thought, before she walked up and extended her hand. “Ensign Duncan, hi, I’m Lieutenant Jay Gee Tiffany Roark. Welcome to the Firebirds of VFA-16.”
Startled by Macho’s informal appearance, Duncan stopped and returned her handshake. “Hi! I’m Shane Duncan! Nice to meet you, ma’am!”
Macho cringed, and quickly corrected her. “Look, it’s Tiffany—Macho—and cut the ma’am thing. Lieutenants and below are all JOs, all first-name basis. Even the hinge-heads go by call signs, but it’s smart to throw a sir or a ma’am in there once in a while.”
“I’m sorry, please forgive me… and I’m sorry but what is a hinge-head?” Shane asked, looking crushed as if she had blown her only chance for a good first impression.
“Relax, for crying out loud. You’re the Fung, and you have a lot to learn. Six months ago I was the Fung, and someone showed me the ropes. Hinge-heads are the department head lieutenant commanders who nod up and down enthusiastically at anything the CO says.”
“Fung?” Shane asked.
Macho realized this “kid” really was wet behind the ears. However, she looked like an Amazon goddess, and should have exuded confidence, but she was more like little Bambi than Wonder Woman. That’s it, she thought, we have Wonder Woman!
“F-N-G. Frickin’ New Guy. That’s you until we get you a call sign.”
“Oh,” Shane replied uncomfortably, not sure she liked the F in FNG.
They got her luggage off the carousel, and Macho was impressed Shane could lug her sea bag as well as any guy. Hell, she was bigger than her fellow pilot, Ghost. Walking to the car, Macho asked, “Where you from?”
“Pocatello, Idaho. Graduated from the University of Idaho last spring with my commission, and I came here straight from Intel School. I’m really excited to be in a strike squadron!”
“Strike Fighter squadron, dearie.” Does this chick know anything? Macho wondered.
Macho pulled onto the main road while Shane sat in the passenger seat. Fascinated by the flora and fauna of St. Thomas, she commented with excitement about everything she saw. As they climbed the narrow switchback roads above the city, Macho stole glances at her new squadronmate. Shane sat demurely with hands folded on her lap, a faint smile on her lips as she marveled at the sights. The understated makeup on her peaches-and-cream complexion highlighted her deep blue eyes, almost hidden by big glasses. Her brunette hair was professionally pinned in place according to uniform regulation. Shane was a big girl, and she was