The problem with Navy ships was that they were filled with Navy personnel.
Whoever had decided that shoving a bunch of Marines in close quarters with Navy guys was a good idea had obviously never met a Marine. It was a bonfire in the making as far as Aberlour was concerned, and whenever the flames erupted, he was less than surprised.
Several days had passed since they’d returned from the Peruvian jungle. Carlos was healing slowly but surely, and it would be another two weeks before they were expected to depart for another mission. They’d be getting five days off starting the next day, as they had to meet with a major general at the naval base in Hawaii concerning the intel and cargo they’d brought back. Once their meeting was over, Team Specter had made indulgent plans to sunbathe, fuck around, and get a little drunk. Within six days, they’d be back on this hellish tin can, on their way to another war zone. Such was their life in Recon. This five-day pass couldn’t have come at a better time. They were elated that Carlos would be fine and that when they eventually got home, they’d have a lovely wedding to attend. This helped them get their sleep-deprived bodies through a day of boring meetings and a lengthy debriefing. They’d been on this cursed boat for what felt like forever, and they were all getting cabin fever. Both Team Specter and the Navy crew were impatient to reach the next base.
On top of everything, the seas were angry. Aberlour had trouble keeping his breakfast down most mornings. Even the sailors were getting annoyed. Abe had lost count of the number of altercations he’d caught wind of in the past two days. Which meant, when chaos erupted in the middle of the mess hall on Saturday morning, Aberlour didn’t even turn to look. He’d just finished training and was grabbing some food before heading out for a few more hours of PT. He’d lost track of where everyone else was. JD and Marcus had gone for a jog around the ship. Oliver and Ghost had disappeared before he’d made it back. It didn’t matter. They’d catch up with each other eventually. They had to clean and count tonight, which usually meant they would shoot the shit while cleaning guns. Not a bad way to spend the night.
“Fucking fag!”
Aberlour rolled his eyes but wasn’t moved by the insult. He didn’t even bother looking up from his plate of rubbery eggs.
The altercation escalated with plates breaking, chairs getting thrown, and a lot of raised voices. He was still too tired to care. He’d seen plenty of bloody noses and black eyes during his years in the military. It would take a whole lot more than—
“Darling!” Someone yelled.
Aberlour was halfway across the room before he even realized it. Of all the people on this goddamned ship, Oliver was probably the least likely to be baited into a fight, and yet, there he was. The asshole was holding a young Seaman by the collar, punching him like he didn’t mean for the guy to ever wake up.
“Darling!” Marcus shouted as he pushed through the gathered crowd, desperate to get to him before he really hurt the guy.
Aberlour didn’t bother fighting the crowd. “Oliver!” Aberlour barked instead. Oliver didn’t look up, but heimmediately released the guy and raised his hands to show he was done.
Marcus reached him just as Oliver turned to look directly at Aberlour.
“What the fuck!” Aberlour looked down at the bleeding sailor who was barely able to stand. He was holding his nose, probably to keep the blood from pooling on his shirt. Fat lot of good that would do.
“Fucker!” The sailor roared as he stood up straight.
“Shut up, Craig,” someone said, pulling at the guy’s uniform to hold him back.
Aberlour rolled his eyes and stepped between them, tugging Oliver by the arm. Oliver refused to move, his eyes burning with anger.
“Give it up,” Aberlour barked, displeased. He tugged on Oliver’s arm again and saw the Seaman move aggressively towards Oliver.
“Craig!” Someone shouted just as the asshole jumped forward with a knife in his hand.
It was rare to hear that a sailor had attacked a Force Recon Marine with a knife. It was one of those what-the-hell scenarios. Especially since this particular Seaman was an engineering department apprentice with zero combat experience, and Aberlour and Oli—well, they had extensive knowledge of how to kill a man.
Aberlour didn’t break a sweat.
He caught the guy’s forearm, twisted it, and watched as the Seaman fell to his knees screaming. Then, Aberlour shoved him backwards, snatching up the knife as it fell out of the guy’s hand, and immediately pressed the blade against the guy’s neck.
“Please!” the guy begged fearfully.
Aberlour hesitated for a single moment. Oliver’s hand settled on his shoulder, but before he could say anything, Aberlour flipped the knife closed and punched the guy.
The Seaman fell limply to the floor, unconscious.
“Clean that up!” Aberlour barked at the Seamen all standing around watching the fight. Then he turned and walked right out of the mess hall. He didn’t have to look to know that Oliver was following him.
Most ships were a maze of long narrow corridors. Aberlour wasn’t exceptionally tall at 6’1”, but he still felt like ducking every time he went through a doorway. The close quarters didn’t help his anger. It felt like he was about to explode.
He walked into their stateroom and turned to face Oliver as he shut the door behind them.
“What the fuck happened?” Aberlour demanded, jaw tight.
“Guy was being an asshole,” Oliver replied.
“We’re surrounded by sailors.”
