Weapons of choice

"Two looks," said Natoli. "You got such nice boobs, Julia."

"— and then they're probably going to pat my head-"

"Your butt, you mean."

"— okay, my butt. And then they're going to show me the door."

The half a dozen local boys sitting at their table were beginning to notice the small group of loud women. Another woman in Marine Corps fatigues, walking by with her tray, pulled up beside them.

"You mind? I couldn't help hearing? You guys those reporters?" she said.

They nodded.

"Thought so. Listen, did you hear what happened?"

The marine leaned forward as if to impart a state secret, but spoke loudly enough that anybody within ten yards could hear.

"They told Kolhammer he had to get rid of all the women and nonwhites if we were going to be staying and fighting. Can you believe it? You should do a story on it."

Rumor deposited, the woman walked off without waiting for a response.

"Well, did they?" asked Natoli, turning to Nguyen

"How would I know? I wasn't there, neither was she, I'll bet. But the locals are going to come up against a hard truth if they try to pull something like that. Thirty percent of the personnel in this task force are women, and only sixty percent of the guys are white. And they're not going to side with a bunch a bigots against their own friends, anyway."

"You think they really are bigots?" asked Duffy, dropping her voice.

"Nah, they're just ignorant. They haven't read your book yet, Julia."

"Hey, Jules," said Natoli. "Here's your favorite primitive, just back from the tundra."

Lieutenant Commander Black, in a newly pressed uniform, threaded through the mess tables toward them. He smiled at Natoli and shook hands with Lieutenant Nguyen. He was past being surprised at finding little Asian women in military uniform. He turned toward Julia Duffy.

"I've got a few days' liberty," he told her. "And they gave me a room over at the Moana. I thought you might like to come into town for a swim. You can sneak through the barbed wire on the beach, if you know the way."

"My word, Commander, that's awfully forward of you," she mocked gently.

Black wasn't sure what to say next. He looked uncomfortable, like a man trapped in an exchange with somebody whose mind worked much faster than his own.

Julia turned the full wattage of her smile on him. "Lieutenant Commander Black, I do believe you will die of embarrassment right where you stand, if this goes on. Relax. I'd love to come over, as long as you can get Rosanna a room, as well. But right now, we're helping Rachel with something. You want go strutting through Honolulu with your trophy bitches, you'll have to lend us a hand first."

Now Black really was embarrassed. He actually blushed, down to the roots of his thick, slicked-back hair. The six sailors from the Enterprise all froze, as though poleaxed. They openly gawked at the two civilians now.

"Oh my God, Julia," Rosanna squealed happily. "You're killing this poor guy. Just put him out of his fucking misery, would you. Listen, Daniel, my friend here-she's toying with you like a cat plays with a mouse. My advice is, if you want her, don't let her get away with it. Hit her with a club and drag her back to your cave. She'll chain herself to your kitchen stove and start popping out bambinos before you know what's happened."

Black gave the impression he didn't know whether to laugh or curse or tuck his tail between his legs and run like a dog. The three women were obviously enjoying themselves enormously at his expense.

"Maybe we should just parachute-drop you witches straight into Tokyo," he said in the end. "A few days of your company, and the Japs would be begging us for mercy."

"Not if they know how to treat a girl," said Julia.

"Perhaps they could give me a few tips," Black muttered, before addressing Rosanna. "Miss Natoli," he said, "you were always invited, by the way. Admiral Spruance wants to talk to you both. It's nothing heavy, a dinner and a talk. He's just curious about the future, I guess."

25

HICKAM FIELD, HAWAII, 0610 HOURS, 8 JUNE 1942

Slim Jim Davidson couldn't believe how his luck had run hot and cold since the future had turned up to wreck the Astoria. First and most importantly, there was a chance he might live now. He'd been stunned to discover that he was supposed to die in a few weeks at the Battle of Savo Island. One of the crew on the Leyte Gulf had searched Fleetnet for him-Slim Jim was assiduous about learning the lingo-and had pulled his name out of a database of American war dead.

That was some powerfully spooky shit there.

"Guess you should be glad we turned up to kick your ass instead," the guy had joked.