Chapter 2
866 Words
2
“That’s the shipping that’s expected to be Crossing the Bar today. Next, in my interview—”
Petty Officer Sarah Goodwin decided that the show host had a good voice, easy to listen to. She and Senior Chief Petty Officer McAllister had been sitting in the Cape D Guard station’s communications room, listening to the shipping report and generally slagging each other.
“—we’ll be talking to one of the newest of a very rare breed. The USCG Surfmen are the search-and-rescue experts at dozens of US ports.”
The Senior Chief had been chapping her ass all morning about Sarah’s pending interview on Crossing the Bar. That he was the one who’d tagged it onto her duty roster for the day hadn’t bothered him. Not even a little. His final instruction to “play nice” with the podcaster they both knew was a complete waste of breath.
Three older brother Coasties and a Coastie mom? Plus her career as a one-out-of-five woman in the service hadn’t taught her a thing about “nice.” Mom had been through the Guard when she was more like one-in-twenty and had always told Sarah that being twice as hard-ass as any male was the only way to sail.
“And now I’d like to introduce you to the Coast Guard’s newest surfwoman—”
She managed to get in the last word on the Senior Chief about playing nice.
“Seriously, Senior Chief?” Then flipped her own microphone live.
“—Petty Officer Sarah Goodwin. Hello, Sarah.”
“Hey, Carlos. Thanks for having me on your ’cast,” she offered in her sweetest voice while smiling at McAllister. “And it’s Surfman. Just because a guy stows extra gear between his legs, doesn’t mean he gets the title and I don’t. We both had to pass through the same school to earn it.”
McAllister rolled his eyes at her. If the man ever slouched, he’d have slouched in the chair in front of the console with utter resignation. Perfect.
She gave him the finger which earned her a smile. Any school with someone like “Mac” McAllister as an instructor made her damn proud to simply have survived, never mind passed.
“Surfman Sarah,” the podcaster acknowledged without a stumble. Give him a point for that. “Or are you going to be updating the Coast Guard service so that all the guys will be called Surfwomen as well?”
And just that fast she went cold despite the warm office on the temperate September day. Actors versus Actresses. Heroes versus heroines. Waitresses. Stewardesses. That had been the world Mom had fought so hard against. Sarah was so damn sick of it. Her big brothers had been relentless on pushing that button, which had only made her dig in harder. Most of her hand-to-hand combat skills hadn’t come from Coast Guard boot camp—they’d come from brawling with her brothers. Now they were scattered across the country by their different posts in the Guard, which was just as well.
McAllister must have seen something in her face, because his look went serious and he tapped his ear to remind her that she was on a live podcast. Crossing the Bar had a daily following in the tens of thousands and had always been supportive of the Coast Guard.
She managed to suppress the growl, but not the tone as she replied to Mr. Jerk Carlos Torres. “I’d never expect the men to meet the high standard such a title would require.”
“And what would those extra qualifications be, Surfman Sarah?” Torres didn’t have a clue how close he was to dying on the air. “Must be something pretty amazing. After all, it is an amazing list of skills to make Surfman, isn’t it?”
It was. She found herself answering him out of habit—so many people didn’t know about the training so she’d had lots of practice—explaining just what it took to get here. The familiar litany brought her back from the edge.
Join up, boot camp, Seaman, boat operations…
Somewhere along the way make Petty Officer Third Class. Schools. Choosing your rating.
Boatswain’s Mate.
Lots more schools. And a serious amount of time doing “striker” on-the-job training. One of the proudest days of her life had been achieving her BM1—Boatswain’s Mate 1st Class.
“No one outside the ‘wet’ military really understands what that means. The BM rating means that you have to know everything from winching strength on a cable to a crewman’s capabilities, weather, sea, boats—the list goes on. Then you add to that. By becoming a coxswain, it doesn’t just mean that you steer the boat. When the weather is busting sixty knots and breaking-wave-hell twenty meters over some poor sucker’s head, it’s your call on how to save them.”
“And you’re now passed or certified or whatever to do all that?” She became aware that the interviewer had been coaxing her along, feeding her questions. When had he taken control and she lost it?
McAllister was gone—apparently deciding she wasn’t about to disgrace the Guard. Fool.
“Yes. That’s what being awarded a Surfman Badge means.”
The interviewer gave a low whistle of surprise that almost sounded impressed. “Damn, woman.”
And there it was again. There had to be a way that she could whup that out of at least one male’s head.
Then she had an idea.
A nasty idea.
It definitely wouldn’t involve playing nice.
- Writer
