Against the Tide Imperial: The Struggle for Ceylon (The Usurper's War: An Alternative World War II B by James Young (story reading txt) 📕

“So, again, why us?” she asked. “I’d hardly think we have some magical powers.”

“Actually, we have found that women make better codebreakers than men,” Commander Tannehill replied. “For some reason, women are very good at picking out patterns and rhythms, and that’s what’s necessary for good cryptography.”

“Are you married, Commander Tannehill?” Jo asked conversationally. Tannehill looked at her, quite startled, as Longstreet and Blaesa both chuckled.

“I’m not propositioning you,” Jo said, face reddening. “I just find it odd that women’s ability to pick out patterns and rhythms, as you put it, is mysterious to you.”

“No, I am not married,” Tannehill said quickly. “I’ve never really had much luck with women.”

“Interesting,” Jo said, noting that both Longstreet and Blaesa were entirely too happy with watching Commander Tannehill squirm.

“I wouldn’t get too amused, gentlemen,” she said, turning to look at them. “If we’re to be working together, I’m pretty sure I’ll have opportunities to ask you embarrassing questions as well.”

Gunnery Sergeant Longstreet had the decency to looked nonplussed at her idle threat. Blaesa met her eyes briefly as she turned back to Tannehill.

“When do you need me to start?” Jo asked. “I’ve already worked today and I’d like to give my bosses at least a day’s notice. Does Monday work?”

Tannehill was still flustered as he considered the proposed timeline.

“Yes, that will do well,” he said.

“Where will I be going to?” Jo asked. “I am guessing I can’t just show up at the gates to Pearl Harbor and say, ‘I’m looking for the super secret facility with the single redhead commander,’ can I?”

Tannehill’s blush returned.

“No, you cannot,” he said hurriedly. “But if you ask for the Smithsonian Ferry Company, the front gate guards know who to call.”

That doesn’t sound fishy at all.

“When are you going to ask Patricia?”

“I was hoping to catch you both home for lunch, but I see that was futile.”

“Toots is probably contemplating homicide against her boss somewhere in the Navy Yard,” Jo said. “She would likely appreciate the interruption.”

The smell of Frances’ cologne hung in the draft room like an oppressive cloud. Patricia had trouble deciding which she hated worse, the man’s general scent or the midday bourbon on his breath.

“Miss Cobb, I must commend you once more on your fine work,” he said, pressing closely into her left side.

Oh God, I really hope that is his flask that is pressing into my hip, she thought, nausea swimming over her. Frances had become more…brazen in the past few days. Patricia worried it was a vicious cycle of the increased work in drafting modernization plans driving Frances to drink. His inebriation, in turn, made him more amorous towards the small coterie of young women in Patricia’s office. Although she would not have necessarily considered herself of sterner stuff than her colleagues, many of them had taken sick days in the aftermath of having Frances press himself on them.

Or maybe it’s just that I realize everything I’m doing is bringing Charles closer to coming home. Wherever he may happen to be.

Frances studied the U.S.S. Northampton’s lines on the drafting table in front of Patricia. Anticipating his next maneuver, she twisted out of reach of the hand beneath the table’s edge that would have landed squarely on her posterior if she’d not adroitly dodged.

I would smack you if I believed it would make any difference, Patricia thought, heart racing. One of the women had complained to Commander Evanston, the officer in charge, a week prior. That woman had soon found herself reassigned to the stenographer’s pool and another local woman in her place. Patricia didn’t think someone needed a degree in hieroglyphics to make the connection.

“Sir, when do they think the Northampton will begin these modifications?” Patricia asked, attempting to distract Frances.

“You’d have to talk to the dock draftsmen,” Frances said. “I just know that we have far too many plans coming in here for copying or modification over the last couple of days.”

Why, you’d almost think there was a war on. The Pacific Fleet was only just now finally catching up with all the damage from the Battle of Hawaii. In a macabre way, it was fortunate the Japanese had sunk the California, Long Island, and Archer outright. Many more vessels returning to Oahu would have resulted in more ships being sent back to the West Coast.

“Excuse me, Frances, I have to go to the ladies room,” Patricia said, stepping away from the table. When she returned fifteen minutes later, Frances had moved on to harassing another one of her coworkers in the office.

Saints be praised, she exalted, then bit her lip guiltily as she took her chair.

It was an uneventful following three hours for Patricia. Unfortunately, as the workday was drawing to a close, Patricia could slowly see Frances making his way back around to her side of the table. Looking at the clock, she pondered if it was time for another trip to the powder room while the man was still on the far side of the room. Trying hard not to stare, Patricia saw one of her newest coworkers visibly lurch, nausea clearly running over the woman’s face.

There are days I wish I’d taken up knitting, she thought, mulling over her options. Mother always stated a knitting needle to the thigh calmed the most amorous of pursuers. For the first time in her life, Patricia realized her mother may have meant “thigh” as a euphemism.

Then again, maybe it’s for the best I don’t stab my boss in the privates. The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs was a relief for Patricia. Frances stopped approaching her and turned towards the door, clearly perturbed at the interruption. A moment later, Commander Evanston was entering the room with a redheaded officer followed by two Marines.

“Miss Cobb, Commander Tannehill would like to have a word with you,” Evanston said, nodding towards the redheaded officer behind him.

“What is this regarding?” Frances interjected, stepping in front of Patricia.

“Official business,” one