My brain is too sex-addled to even contemplate devising a lie, and I know I’ll have that freshly-shagged glow about me, so…long story short, I’m in a heap of shit.
“What the hell is going on?” Cleo shouts. I’ve forgotten entirely that she’ll have no idea this is an exercise.Halting my attempt at hoisting up my shorts, I place both hands on her shoulder.
“Just a training exercise, it’s not real.”
“Right, okay,” she answers, still looking mildly panicked.
“I really need to go, Cleo. Jesus, this is the worst bastard timing,” I grumble, which at least pulls a smile from her.
“Could be worse,” she says, eyes twinkling.
“How the hell could this be worse timing?”
“We could have been in the shower.”
Despite the adrenaline coursing through me, I bark out a laugh. “Don’t tempt fate, Carter.”
“Take a breath,” she begins, “you need a calm head on your shoulders, okay?”
Sucking in a lungful of air, I set about dressing and pulling my hair into a bun. At least I can explain part of my overall look as a hard session in the gym.
The siren continues to blare, but I’m finding it difficult to tear myself away from her. Sensing my sappy inner turmoil, Cleo leans up and kisses me tenderly.
“We’ll talk later,” she says in my ear.
Nodding, I back away and fumble for the door handle. The next few minutes are going to determine if I gethauled in front of the captain or not. If I can avoid Benson or Grey I’ll be fine. Every other crew member will be too focused on the drill to give a shit about me.
I step out of her cabin with as much false confidence as I can muster. There are sailors running in every direction trying to get to their allocated station. My action station is on fire duty. If there is an emergency that doesn’t require my skill as weapons engineer, I automatically become one of the ship’s fire crew.
Happy I’m not about to be accosted by anyone, I set off at a run. As luck would have it, I’m closer to the area of the ship I need to be than if I were coming from my bunk.
Kit, Cheddar and Boot are already donning their fire protection gear. They acknowledge me but don’t speak. It’s not the time. We have to treat this as if it were a genuine emergency.
The captain’s voice echoes over the ship’s loudspeaker. “Action stations, please. This is not a drill.”
Well, fuck. I spoke to soon.
My mind snaps to Cleo. Is she scared? Is she wondering if I’m okay?
Focus, River. Focus.
“River! Watch your left!” Kit shouts.
I snap back to attention just in time to move out of the way of a crew member barrelling past. I need to focus. Cleo needs me to focus. If I get hurt because I’m distracted she’ll never forgive me. I’ll never forgive myself.
Fuck, I should have told her to tag along with me…no, on second thought I want her as far away from danger as possible.
“I need to get Cleo somewhere safe,” I call to the others. “She’s my responsibility.”
“Go, make sure she’s good and then get your arse—”
“Fire, fire, fire. All fire crew to the starboard propulsion room.”
“Go,” I scream. The propulsion system falls under our zone, therefore, it’s our responsibility to get it under control and extinguished.
Kit and the gang leg it towards the propulsion room. If there is a significant fire it could disable the ship. There are two propulsion rooms aboard with two shafts that power the ship through the water. If one breaks, we could be looking at a serious case of sitting duck syndrome. Which isn’t the end of the world. Aircraft carriers never leave home alone, and HMS Queen Elizabeth has a flotilla of five other ships escorting us. But still, we would beseriously compromised, so this fire needs dealing with immediately.
My legs carry me as fast as safely possible towards Cleo’s cabin. I don’t knock, but barge straight in. Cleo is sitting at her desk, clutching her notepad to her chest, looking sick with worry.
