Against the Tide Imperial: The Struggle for Ceylon (The Usurper's War: An Alternative World War II B

the normal ebb and flow of a work day in Honolulu, The Flying Pineapple had mostly emptied out.
I feel sorry those British sailors had to see that, Jo thought, mildly ashamed at her countrymen. The hostess took them to one of the table that had been wiped down, offering them both menus.
“I’ll have the ham and bacon sandwich,” Patricia said even before she slid into one side of the booth.
“I’ll have the BLT,” Jo added, the hostess writing both down before she walked off.
“Sailors are getting out of control,” Patricia observed angrily. “It’s getting so I don’t even want to go out anymore.”
To think that this is with the whorehouses staying open. I can't imagine what it'd be like if Vice Admiral Halsey and General Short had actually listened to some of those Stateside moralists.
“Too many sailors, not enough women,” Jo replied aloud. “If we were Stateside we wouldn’t even be noticed.”
Patricia made a haughty sound.
“Fine, some of us wouldn’t even be noticed,” Jo amended with an eye roll. To her credit, Patricia had the decency to look mildly embarrassed at her vanity.
“Still, you’re right,” Jo said. “The librarians walk everywhere in pairs or more now when they’re out. A couple of them even make sure to take taxis rather than just walk a few blocks at night or catch the bus if it’s particularly late.”
“Too many men doing nothing,” Patricia said. “My mother used to always say that a bored man would sooner set a field on fire than do anything useful.”
“That’s a little extreme,” Jo said, then got to thinking. “Although you’re right, it’s not far off from ‘idle hands are the devil’s workshop.’”
“There’s a reason the boys learned to never say, ‘I’m bored’ when Mom was in ear shot,” Patricia said. “That’d usually lead to everyone getting some chore assigned to them.”
“I still say your mother should be sainted,” Jo said. “I love your brothers, but I can’t imagine growing up in a houseful of their younger selves.”
“There were advantages,” Patricia said. “I miss having someone to walk me back from the Navy Yard or go to the beach with. Not that I’ve had time to do any swimming lately.”
Jo looked around to make sure no one was nearby, then back at Patricia.
“I heard there’s a new admiral on his way out here,” she said. “New guy, was in the elephant graveyard for the last five years.”
“Elephant graveyard?” Patricia asked, mystified.
“Where they send old admirals on the retired list,” Jo said. Seeing Patricia still looking confused if not slightly terrified, she continued. “It’s not a literal graveyard, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s just a list of admirals that the President can call upon if he needs to replace someone on the active list.”
“What difference will bringing in some retiree make?” Patricia asked. “Isn’t that an insult to Vice Admiral Halsey?”
Jo shrugged.
“I don’t make the rules,” she said. Their conversation was interrupted by the waitress coming back out with their order. The brown-haired woman sat it down, along with a bottle of soda apiece, then sat down next to Jo and Patricia on an empty chair.
Rebecca, Jo thought. Her name is Rebecca.
“I’ll be so glad when this shift is over,” Rebecca sighed.
“I imagine you’re making some amazing tips, though,” Jo observed.
“Here’s the kind of tips I’ve been making: Sailors can pinch your rear end without even moving their arms or their buddies seeing who did it,” the woman said grimly. “I think they’re lucky my husband is working triple shifts, or he’d probably come to lunch to kill the first man he saw place their hands on me as an example to others.”
“They can’t keep him repairing ships forever,” Jo said.
“You’d think not,” Rebecca said, lighting up a cigarette. “But I swear to God half the Navy got beat up by the Japanese back in the spring.”
“Odd how quiet it’s been since then,” Patricia said. She was about to say something else when a man came running into the diner.
“King’s dead!” he shouted, twisting his hat in his hands. “Admiral King is dead!”

The Nightmare Slips Its Moorings
Whoever commands the sea, commands the trade; whosoever commands the trade of the world commands the riches of the world, and consequently the world itself.
Walter Raleigh
Hedglin Residence
0530 Local (0900 Eastern)
Bremerton, Washington
30 July
“I think I may have had too much to drink last night,” Beverly said, her breath rustling the hair on Sam’s chest.
Oh shit, Sam thought. Here comes the regret. To his shock, Beverly slid up, grabbed his face in both of her small hands, then kissed him. Getting over his initial surprise, he responded in kind, running his hands down her back.
“Because I don’t remember a whole lot other than Norah shoving us both in a taxi with a key to this apartment,” she said after a moment. “However, you being an impeccable gentleman, I think I literally had to take my dress off for you to get the hint.”
“I do not think,” Sam said, kissing her on the forehead, “that is called a hint anymore at that point.”
“Well, after about the third slow dance with you poking something into my stomach, I figured you were interested,” she said. “I’d been interested since the third glass of wine.”
“So you’re saying it’s the fruit of the vine that has led you down this treacherous path to sin?” Sam asked.
“No, I’d say it’s my husband getting himself killed, three months of coming home every night alone sobbing myself to sleep, then the meddling of my neighbor,” Beverly said, sighing as she nuzzled Sam’s neck. “Then, yes, the wine.”
There was the sound of a flushing toilet from somewhere upstairs.
This place isn’t quite a dive, but it’s certainly not a top of the line building. I hope we don’t get Norah in trouble.
“Sounds like someone else is up,” Beverly said. “By the way, where is Myla?”
“David and Sadie took her home,” Sam replied, causing Beverly to shake her head ruefully.
“That poor woman does not need to listen to those