The Sandy Bluejacket

Chapter 5

35 Days Earlier

KHS Mydus; 1056

"Vassire steps up to the plate, holding his bat like he's ready to hit our last baseball out to sea like he did with the others, but let's hope that he finds it in himself to keep the ball on the ship—"Lynch, his pale skin now a dark red, nearly matching his hair, had completely fried by the sun. The flight deck had a similar fate and was hot enough to fry an egg—no, grill a steak—on and almost burn through the soles of our boots.

"If Lynch stopped talking while Vassire was trying to bat, maybe he wouldn't be so distracted and would be able to hit the ball this time." I looked over my shoulder to glare at Lynch, who was working as our catcher during our weekly "M#386 Official Baseball Tournament of Unconditional Glory". Or, as we called it, M.O.B.T.U.G.

"Lynch soon stops talking so Vassire will spare their last dry baseball." He said before he did actually stop talking. Lieutenant Peal, who was working as the pitcher for the girls' team, started her unnecessarily long pitching routine where she tossed the ball around for a while, then decided to throw the ball after a several long minutes. "Here comes the pitch..." Lynch muttered when she started to wind up.

"All hands report to the mess deck!" Someone shouted from behind us, startling all of us except Peal who threw an almost perfect pitch which ended up hitting our catcher in the head rather than the glove.

"That's a strike!" Seaman Epperson yelled from first base—which was just a broken FA-12 Rettos jet engine—while raising her glove, which was falling apart, in the air.

"And the end of the game." Peal added, strutting over to us and picking up baseball off the flight deck. "Since this is yet another win, this must be... five in a row for the girls team." She smirked at me while Petty Officer Holmes came up from behind me and looked over my shoulder. Willard, who was all the way over on third base, ran over to us and took her place behind Peal and Epperson.

"You better step up your team, Vassire. Next week are this season's finals, and how embarrassing would it be for your team to lose not only a whole season's worth of games, but also the finals which you have lost..." Commander Willard tapped her chin dramatically while she 'thought' about how many losses it would be for us.

"Four seasons!" Epperson shouted from behind Peal and Willard. "You've won the first ever finals and it was because Peal rolled her ankle." She smirked and crossed her arms, making her look like some under-cover cop, especially with her reflective aviator glasses.

"Probably by running on all that bullshit." Holmes muttered.

"Believe me, we will crush you at finals." I lowered my PVC Pipe bat and glared up at them all. "We've just been saving our talent all month just to catch you all off guard next week." I shrugged it off and twisted my baseball cap, so it was backwards again, rather than being to the side. Willard chuckled and shook her head.

"Save yourself the embarrassment and let's just head down to the mess deck." She started walking ahead with Peal and Epperson while I hung back with Holmes and Lynch.

"You guys need to learn how to catch! We lost about four outs because—" I started, thinking back to the game before Holmes cut me off.

"What do you think the 'all hands' is about?" He asked, looking from Lynch, who was still rubbing his head, to me.

"I don't know, maybe deployment or something." Lynch replied, pulling the heavy metal door open and leading us down the skinny, metal stairwell and through a couple hallways to the mess deck that still smelled like the eggs and bacon we had that morning.