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Stuck in the Pacific over Christmas, two strangers find ways to pass the time.

Oh, hey! It's 2020's Christmas story! This is set in an alt-history United States that began to break up in the 1930s. They still have Christmas, though, because Christmas is important. Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and maps and stuff. I would like to extend special thanks to Spudz and also to Gullwulf (Twitter here!) who provided extensive editing help and are also just generally wonderful people. This has been a hell of a year, and I love you all, and happy holidays, okay? <3

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute--as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

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"If Only In My Dreams," by Rob Baird

"Wouldn't it be ironic if we were lost?"

Leo looked over his shoulder to find the inscrutable face of Owen Neely, their flight engineer. He'd only known the mountain lion for a week or so--long enough to become accustomed to the man's dour pessimism. "We're not lost. Obviously."

"Flight was supposed to take nine hours, right? Been nearly ten."

Before Leo could answer, Tom Benson--his counterpart, in the pilot's seat--let out a coarse growl. "Mr. Neely! Don't you have some engines to be looking after?"

"They're doing fine," Owen said. "Just stretching my legs, sir."

"Stretch them in the galley, Mr. Neely. Put some coffee on or something." After Owen took the hint and made himself scarce, Lieutenant Commander Benson shook his head. "It would be nice if we still had a navigator."

The flying boat was traveling light, because they needed room to take on passengers at their destination and because the Navy was short on personnel to spare. They had no navigator, no electrician--no gunners, for that matter, because they also had no guns. Leo had taken the last sight.

A veteran of the Army Air Corps, the fox was a trained pilot, but it was his status in the Nevada Rangers that "earned" him the copilot's seat on the Consolidated Catalina. He was the highest-ranking officer that could be spared to sign over title to one of the Rangers' ships.

With everything else going on in the world--the fighting in Europe, insurrection on the eastern seaboard, rumors that the Empire of Japan had tried to bribe Sacramento into neutrality--Leo had been deputized to handle paperwork. That rankled; he'd taken the sun sight out of a desire to prove that he was more than a bureaucrat.

The same need gnawed at him now. "I'll check the radio," he offered.

"See that you do. Find your damn boat."

"It's not my boat. It's a Rangers boat."

Tom Benson stared pointedly at the sleeves of his flight jacket. "You see any Rangers patches, fox? No, right? Find your damn boat," he repeated, and turned his attention back to the seaplane's instruments.

Lieutenant Commander Benson was just stressed, Leo felt. When he'd met Benson at Pearl Harbor, the wolf had grinned, offered a paw, and told Leo to call him 'Tommy.' But with Project Lodestone behind schedule and every day bringing reports of rising tensions in the Pacific too, Benson was under pressure to get his crew on to the next job site.

Leo didn't feel the same pressure. His unit--"Nevada" was an anachronism now for the mercenary outfit; the Rangers called Hawai'i home--still owned the Santa Fe Trail, a converted tanker, but only until it could be transferred to the US Navy. Navy sailors would handle the maintenance from then on out.

Lodestone was, after all, their project to begin with. Once we find it. He tapped the radioman's shoulder. "Anything?"

"Not yet!" The contrast between the scuffed headset fixed to the otter's ear and the boy's youthful features was dramatic; he didn't seem especially worried. "The HF unit's completely quiet."

"Can't pick up anything from Johnston or Midway?"

"Nope. Otherwise we wouldn't need you, right?" The radio direction-finding beacons that made up Project Lodestone had already been installed at Johnston Atoll and Midway, tiny islands nearly a thousand miles apart. The Santa Fe Trail lay between them, filling in the gap. "Uh. Beg your pardon. Sorry."

"Don't worry--I mean, it's true," Leo pointed out. And the otter was just having a bit of fun: the Navy and Leo's Rangers had a good relationship. "There's no other signals? What about AFPN?"

Now, at last, the otter's brow furrowed. "Are we lost?"

"No. Just... a bit overdue."

"We can pick up AFPN, sure, unless we had one heck of a tailwind comin' over." He fiddled with the dials on his radio, sweeping through the medium-wave frequencies to find the US Armed Forces Pacific Network, which broadcast from Honolulu. "Just gotta--ow!"

"Ow?"

Scowling, he unplugged the headset, and words rang out, clearly audible under the pulse of the plane's two engines: --bells in the snow. I'm dreaming of a white Christmas... It trailed off as the radioman turned the volume down. "Close, and a clear signal."

"Our ship? It must be, right?"

"Well, I can't think of anything else it would be. Let me get a fix."

Leo made a note of the bearing and rejoined Benson. "We're close, apparently. On the three hundred radial."

"Overflew it, I guess." The wolf banked them gently, taking the Catalina on an eastern tack. "Sparks picked up the localizer?"

"No, Sparks picked up Christmas music. But I figure the Japanese probably don't listen to that, right?"

And within ten minutes, Leo saw a hint of smoke on the otherwise unbroken horizon. The Santa Fe Trail, built as a T2-class tanker, still mostly looked the part--even the new mast topping the superstructure amidships didn't appear that out of place. It wasn't until they crossed over to the leeward side that the dock and cargo platform welded to her hull revealed her present, stationary inclination.

Benson touched down gently, taxiing them into blinding sunset that had the two pilots squinting until the tanker's bulk finally spared them. Owen Neely caught the line tossed by a sailor waiting on the pier, and fixed the seaplane in place. By the time the engines were off, an officer had joined the sailor: another lieutenant commander, judging by the stripes on the tabby's tropical khakis.

"Commander London," Benson greeted him. "Permission to come aboard?"

"Granted." The cat's expression broke immediately into a friendly grin. "It's good to see you, Tommy. Permission to get the hell out of here?"

"If you're willing to fly overnight. You should refuel, though. We burned a bit more than I wanted getting over here. AD2 Neely can manage that, I think--if you don't mind catching me up on the state of work? Mr. Leo Moore is with the Rangers."

Leo didn't salute, even though his mercenary group was close enough to the federal authorities that London might've returned it. Instead he shook the cat's hand. "I'm the executive officer of the Pearl Harbor sustainment detachment. Here as a liaison, officially--really, just to sign the paperwork."

"That'll have to wait, I'm afraid." London led them up a set of stairs to the ship's main deck. Half a dozen sailors had gathered, with their belongings; they stood at attention, watching the trio pass them by. "We're all going a bit stir-crazy. So... yes, we'll probably fly overnight. It should put us into Pearl by dawn."

A blast of cool air hit them from the door London held open. "Did you install air conditioning?" Benson asked.

"Yes. Helps to keep the electrical equipment from breaking down."

"And the electrician," a new voice added. It came from a dog with thick white fur; she, too, was wearing a khaki shirt, but her skirt was non-regulation. Too short to pass Navy muster, though Leo was sure it helped her deal with the heat. The samoyed introduced herself as Dorothy Elaine Ledford, responsible for setting up the radio equipment. "And getting it working--trying to, at least."

"Adapting the ship's powerplant proved to be challenging," London said. "It's done now, but we burnt out a few of the tubes Dotty needs for the high-frequency transmitter. I'll put in a requisition when we land in Hawai'i. That's the last item, isn't it, Dotty?"

"Yes. I've almost finished testing the rest of the gear to my satisfaction."

"Well..." Benson sighed. "We can't take delivery of the ship without everything being operational. I guess Mr. Moore and I will stay here until the new tubes come in. That shouldn't take very long. What about the rest of the crew?"

"Their contracts are good for the next three months. Merchant mariners, most of them. They keep to themselves. When we bring in Navy folk, it shouldn't take much training--she's still a standard tanker where it counts, Tom, as far as I can tell. The plant's running fine. No complaints that I'm aware of. I'll introduce you to the foreman before I leave. We can do that now, if you want."

Leo didn't intend to interact much with the seamen who ran the steam engine and kept the tanker operational: shipboard life had never appealed to the fox. He stayed behind in the chilly control room, while the samoyed riffled through some paperwork. "You're stuck here, too?" he asked.

"So it seems. I told Commander London we'd have problems if they didn't fix the dynamo. Did he listen? No, why would he? And, between us friends, it's more than just a few tubes. So now I'm going to spend Christmas here, apparently."

"I take it that's a problem."

"Well, I'd rather be back home with my family, of course. But I'm doing what I can!" She waved her paw, and following the gesture Leo saw that the room had tinsel hung on the wall furthest from any electrical equipment, and a small potted palm tree festooned with lights. "For whatever that's worth."

"You're the source of the music, too?"

"Yes. They want us ready to retransmit the AFPN broadcasts. I'm not sure who's listening, but... they want it, so our radio setup has a transcription turntable. Record right off the air, high-fidelity as you please. And I had some proper transcriptions sent over, too. Used them for testing the equipment, but, uh... well, I wasn't expecting to be running my own radio station. I wasn't expecting a lot of things about this assignment."

"It was useful, though--guided us in, right? Have to thank you for that, Miss Ledford, considering the alternatives..."

"There aren't so many sharks, don't worry." She grinned. "And you can call me Elaine."

"Not--"

"No. I don't know why he calls me that. 'Elaine' is just fine. You're Leo? No rank?"

"As far as the Rangers are concerned, I'm a major. That doesn't even get the other Rangers to listen to me, though. I take it you're not Navy, either?"

"Because of my uniform?" the samoyed teased. "I'm a civilian, through and through. My father is a radio engineer, so I suppose I'm carrying on the family business. For now, I'm just the one he sends when our contracts require travel... particularly to the middle of the Pacific. Seniority has its privileges."

He agreed that this was true, but before the conversation went much further Commander Benson returned. He nodded politely to Elaine, and indicated the next room. "A word in private, Leo?"

"Of course."

"If you could, though? Please don't close the hatch," Elaine called out: the vents for the air conditioning were in the other room.

Its fans were so loud that their conversation wouldn't be overheard, anyway. "London went over the work they've done so far--and what's left. And... some other projects the brass wants to get started. I might need a favor from you."

"What kind of favor?"

"When we started Project Lodestone, the War Department didn't think the situation in Europe would escalate as quickly as it did. If Japan were to make a move--hell, if California..." Benson appeared to realize that even as he spoke, and trailed off. "Well, they're committed to neutrality, I suppose."

"You're getting at something."

"Admiral Morris wants to put a radar unit here, and probably arm the ship. But, with materiel being shifted to the Atlantic Fleet, it's going to take longer to organize a protective detachment than it will to get the equipment. Can the Rangers spare a patrol to come out this way?"

"To stay on station here, you mean? We can have a flight ready to scramble from Pearl, but..."

"That's at least six hours away. I mean, we--"

The hatch opened, and they heard Owen Neely's voice. "Oh--oof, that's cold. Uh. Hello, miss. Is the boss on duty?"

"Yes," Ledford answered.

"Can you get him?" A lengthy, uncomfortable pause followed. "Um. Please? Please get him? What's that look for?" Leo saw Tom Benson sigh and close his eyes. "Wait... are you the foreman? Uh. Well--it's just--I wasn't expecting to meet a girl here. Don't mind it, of course--good company--just--not too many dames shipside. Not that I've seen, that's all. Well. I wasn't looking--uh--I would be looking, I think gals are swell--but--they said the foreman... ah, for... for the electrical equipment... so I reckoned..."

Elaine had stayed quiet, and Leo could only imagine her expression. Finally, when Owen trailed off, she spoke. "What part of your anatomy do you use to wire a radio set?"

"'Anatomy'? You mean, as in, a body part? I guess my paws, but..."

"Maybe your should rescue your man before there's a friendly fire incident," Leo muttered.

Just as quietly, Tom chuckled. "It might be good for him." But he got up from the table and called into the next room. "Mr. Neely, is that you?"

"Yes, sir." He straightened to attention when Benson crossed the threshold, with Leo right behind him.

"At ease. Let's take a walk." He gestured to the door and, happy to be away from Elaine's withering look, Owen led them towards the gangplank and the waiting Catalina. "How are your preparations?"

"Finished, sir. Commander London is ready to depart, and the plane is refueled. We'll try to get back here tomorrow or the day after, but he said that will depend on how long it takes to requisition the spares. And, uh, I guess we'll wait for the test, and fly you back afterwards?"

"If it's successful," Benson agreed. "Very well, you're dismissed. Unless Leo can think of something else we need from Pearl Harbor."

Leo thought of the samoyed, whose disappointment at being stuck aboard over the holidays was liable to be shared by the other crew. Might as well keep them on my good side. "Who owns the contract for the sailors, Tom? Is that coming from my unit or yours?"

"Yours."

"Mr. Neely, see if my unit can scrounge up some decent food. Whatever they have that's Christmas-y enough--think of it as a care package. There should be plenty of space on the transport for that, right?"

"Probably, yes. Is that alright by you, sir?"

Benson shrugged. "Well, the Rangers are paying for it, so I don't see a problem. It's good for morale, and God knows, we need that. If there's room--Leo's right, there should be--make it happen."

When the Catalina left, sunset catching the floats beneath its wings, Leo and Tom headed back indoors. Commander Benson volunteered both of them for whatever help Elaine needed, but the samoyed shook her head: she had basically finished her work for the day, and it was time for supper.

"Neither of you need to look at me like that," she promised. "It'll be fine."

And dinner, in any case, turned out to be halfway decent: the ship's cook had managed to obscure the origins of whatever had gone into the chicken pie. He ate with Tom Benson and Elaine, who remained conspicuously lightly dressed. The officer's mess was significantly warmer than the radio room had been; even still, Leo was happy the pie had arrived freshly steaming.

"It's almost like civilization," Elaine said, indicating the pie she cut into daintily. "Close enough that it keeps us from mutinying. I even found a bottle of wine, when I first showed up. I don't know if it belonged to the guy before me or not... but it belongs to me now."

"Saving it for a special occasion?" Tom surmised.

"Finishing this installation. Whenever it happens, I think I'll have earned it. And if I haven't earned it, I could stand to soothe my nerves a little to deal with that. You two are welcome to a taste, if you're still around."

"We will be," Leo said, although the prospect of whatever wine had managed to end up on a near-abandoned tanker wasn't especially enticing as a bribe. "Commander Benson and I are apparently in, ah, 'for the duration.'"

"It's good to have company! Particularly another civilian, I have to say. No offense, Mr. Benson, but I haven't seen anybody not in uniform since October. It's like I enlisted, and I don't even get the cute hat. Just the bunk and... being stuck a very long swim away from home."

"We'll get you back stateside soon enough, ma'am. Soon as myself and Mr. Moore can, trust me--no need to swim." Tom didn't look as enthusiastic about the bite of chicken pie he took as his two companions had. "Yeah. Trust me: we'll all be better off. Where is home for you, anyway, Miss Ledford?"

"Now? Northern Idaho. My family used to live in Colorado, but when everything happened..."

It was an incredibly common story--Leo's own, in fact, although the specific regions differed. She didn't need to explain further. "Winter must be more agreeable," the fox surmised, gesturing to the exposed fur of her arm.

"Than it is here? You better believe it." Elaine shook her head. "This ship is a prison nobody told me I'd been sentenced to. I was only supposed to be here for three days."

"What happened?" Commander Benson asked.

"Well, they were two months behind when I came aboard. After they fried another transmitter, the foreman quit... that's supposed to be the advantage of being a civilian, isn't it? Admiral Morris offered me thirty dollars a day if I'd take over... although he also told me that they'd taken care of the problems they found during the test. He said it would only take a week and a half to finish everything else."

"When was that?"

"Mid-October." She gave the wolf a thin smile, thick with suppressed frustration. "Some of that is my fault, since I wouldn't approve a full test until we'd gone over the dynamo, and Mr. London didn't want to authorize any repairs on the plant. Apparently, you don't own this ship?"

"Not yet, no."

Another, more important question struck Leo: "Why didn't you quit, too?"

"Somebody needs to do the job. If it wasn't going to be the guy before me... well, that means I'm up."

"For a civilian," the wolf observed, "you have a pretty healthy sense of duty."

She laughed. "Also, it's the only way I'm getting home."

That much was true for all of them. Until then, though, the SS Santa Fe Trail would have to do. With her reduced crew complement, there were separate quarters for the two guests. Spartan, true, but the bunks were freshly made and after an exhausting flight Leo couldn't bring himself to minding the decor. No sooner had he settled in than morning light jolted him awake.

A consummate naval officer, Tom Benson lived by the god of shifts and sleep grabbed in bite-sized chunks: he was already awake. Elaine was up, too, sitting in the officer's mess finishing off what looked to have been a serving of biscuits. "Glad you could join us," she said, and pointed to the counter where Tom was standing. "Coffee's over there. So's some... sausage?"

"It was sausage, once upon a time. Try some if you don't believe my skepticism. The coffee will do you right, though. Elaine and I were talking about what we can get done today. I'd like to know what upgrades they've made to the ship, for a start. I don't know how familiar you are with the specifications..."

Leo shook his head. "Not at all. I'm a pilot, Tommy, you know that--I stay off ships where I can. But, from what you said yesterday, it's a good place to start. Was that explained to Miss Ledford?"

"He did tell me, yes, at least in broad strokes. I'll do what I can to catch you up, Mr. Benson--I can give you a walkthrough of the equipment, too. But some work needs to be done outside, and I'd like to take care of that before it gets any warmer."

Leo perked an ear: warmer sounded appealing. "Anything I can do? It'd be good to feel like I was doing something, if I can lend a hand."

"Maybe. You're a pilot, right?"

"A dangerous question..."

"That's the idea. How do you feel about heights? I need someone to run a new cable up through one of the blocks on the radio mast. We'll use it to fine-tune the transmitter. If you don't mind, I mean. You look brave."

He couldn't tell if she was teasing him, but her hopeful smile looked genuine. "I guess I can manage heights. I haven't climbed a mast before, but..."

But it was warm outside, pleasantly so for the moment, and he was more limber than the samoyed. Leo paused to savor the breeze, and then inspected the mast to the best of his ability. The guy-wires supporting it seemed to be in good shape. Deceptively thin, considering they bore the strain of the 250-foot mast, but he had to trust the engineers.

It felt remarkably solid, making his way up the rungs along the structure's side. It swayed in time with the gentle rocking of the Santa Fe Trail--steadily, and easy enough to anticipate that by the time he was halfway to his goal the fox was completely used to the movement. He covered the remaining distance in good time, and tied his safety rope to the platform, a third of the way up the mast.

The view was spectacular--or it would have been, if there'd been anything to see. The Pacific stretched unbroken off in every direction. Identical clouds dotted the sky no matter where he looked, and the wind was not enough to lend them any sense of movement. Somewhere there was excitement; somewhere there were things of consequence unfolding.

A hundred feet above the waterline on a motionless tanker ship, though, was not that place. The placid view made it possible to forget what was happening back east. Two months after the declaration, conflict had amounted to a few skirmishes with German commerce raiders, and the relative calm had become ominous: it could boil over any minute.

I should be there. I should be back at Pearl Harbor making sure the squadron's ready for whatever happens. At least, the fox should know what was happening: the Santa Fe Trail was isolated without her radio gear functional, with only flying boat couriers and news from the AFPN linking her to the world. What's going on in New York City? Dear God, what about in Richmond? Have the draft riots gotten worse?

With those thoughts in mind, the horizon no longer seemed so relaxing. As requested, he slid the cable through its waiting block, feeding enough line that it reached the deck below him. Making his way back down, he tied the cable off and went looking for Elaine and Tom Benson.

The two of them were occupied, though, reviewing the tanker's inner workings, and remained that way for most of the day. The samoyed gave him a few odd jobs--enough, mostly, to keep his mood in check. In mid-afternoon, at last, he found the electrician by herself: atop the superstructure, crouched over a winch.

She acknowledged his approach with a friendly wave. "Good job with this. Exactly what I needed--thanks."

"You're welcome. Do you mind if I ask what is it that you're doing, exactly?"

The samoyed focused her attention forward, watching the cable that ran from the top of the mast to the ship's bow. "I'm pretty sure we have the problems licked with the dynamo. But I want to test it with a calibrated load before I wind up spending New Year's, here, too."

She didn't seem especially deep in concentration, and he decided the silence was worth breaking. "Instead of in Idaho?"

"That's right. I live in Coeur D'Alene. You know it?"

"No. But... they keep threatening to send me to Idaho, so I figured I'd better ask."

Elaine stopped the winch, looking over her shoulder at him and nodding. "Is that so? The Rangers, right?"

"Yeah. They want a senior officer to run the joint training exercises. It's supposed to be a promotion, but, uh... well, nobody's volunteered. I guess that happens when you're mostly warm-weather folk."

"You'd like it in the summer," she promised, and began winching again. "Would you be at Mountain Home or Buttonhook, do you know? Mountain Home is the new Army Air Force field. Buttonhook is where the feds have a seaplane base. Closer to where I live, up north."

"I don't know. We work most closely with the Navy. 'Up north' means... glaciers? Polar bears?"

"Yeah. We all live in igloos." She shot him a look, snickering and rolling her eyes. "Coeur D'Alene is a boomtown, now that the rail link to Calgary is finished. It's a nice place."

"I'll take your word for it."

"What's Christmas like in Hawai'i? Isn't, um..." He saw her muzzle scrunch up in thought. "'Mele Kalikimaka'? That's what you say there?"

"I've heard something like that," he allowed, although it had never been the fox's priority to learn more. "Last year, there was some kind of celebration at the barracks. Normal stuff, though. Goose and fruitcake and... I don't know, that sort of thing. You speak Hawaiian?"

"Just that one phrase. I suppose you're not from there, though."

"No. I transferred back in '42."

"And you haven't bothered to learn?"

"I suppose I've..." he tried to think of how to phrase his feelings diplomatically. "My mind has been on other things. Especially this year. Especially this season, even. With the Leedstown and..."

"Oh." She was momentarily taken aback. "I see. Do you have family in the south?"

"No. But... American ships opening fire on American ships?" The incident, which marked the nadir of the draft riots and precipitated Roosevelt's arrest of the entire Alliance of Southern Governors, was only two weeks old. Between wartime censorship and the remote nature of his work, Leo had only fragmentary information. Even fragmentary, it was plenty troubling. "I haven't felt like hanging up Christmas lights."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"As I said: my mind's been on other things."

Elaine stopped the winch again, and gave him a weary glare. "Just because I was naïve enough to take this job doesn't mean I'm stupid, Leo. I know things are difficult. I also know that we can't change them, not from here. We have to do what we can, but I'm not going to deny myself whatever happiness I can find. Or do you think that would fix something?"

"I don't know. Maybe not."

"Tell me breaking my transcription disks in half will turn the clock back a decade and you'll never hear 'White Christmas' again, I promise. If you can't tell me that, I'm not going to make myself miserable just because everything else is awful."

He sighed heavily, and offered no protest when the samoyed suggested he might find something to keep himself busy indoors. Commander Benson was nowhere to be found; instead, Leo pulled out the navigational charts. He lost himself in them: some of the maps were old enough to reflect borders that no longer existed, and cities that now belonged to other countries.

Elaine was, after all, right. The only way to keep going was to find something productive. He didn't belong on the Santa Fe Trail. There was work to be done back at Pearl Harbor, organizing the patrols Tom Benson would need: finding pilots, and keeping the planes armed and fueled, and scrounging up spare parts for their engines.

It wasn't the samoyed's fault he'd been pulled from his duties to sign some paperwork. It definitely wasn't her fault that he chafed at being so far away from anything that mattered--that even if she, too, was stranded on the Santa Fe Trail it was respect for her expertise that brought her there to begin with.

You should take the next flight back. That made sense. Tom was a professional, and he'd understand. Elaine had no reason to miss him. Leo would be better served spending his time with the Rangers. He could come back with the first patrol, if the direction-finding radio was ready to test by then.

Dinner was tense. Even Commander Benson, who knew nothing of his conversation with Elaine, picked up on it. The wolf looked increasingly more uncomfortable with the clipped smalltalk, but volunteered precious little of his own. And that night, when it was time to turn in, he decided that he was going to sleep outside: "Too cold in the barracks."

"Naturally," Elaine said, and watched Benson leave. "You too, Leo?"

"No. I slept outdoors enough when I didn't have a choice. If somebody offers me a pillow, I'll take the pillow."

To his mild surprise, she chuckled. "I guess I appreciate that."

"I didn't mean to be so dismissive, when we were talking earlier. I'm sorry."

"I was a bit... curt when I told you to leave. I was going to blame the heat."

He shook his head. "No. You were within your rights to yell at me. I just... I'm not doing anything useful here. Maybe trying to, uh..." Saying it out loud made him feel a little ridiculous, but the fox was now committed. "Trying to take a break from my work by celebrating the holidays reminded me a bit too much that I don't have important work here. Like you do."

Elaine briefly looked on the verge of debating his final assertion. "Maybe. I understand, though. Everyone's on edge. I'm on edge. I can't expect everyone to have the same ways of dealing with it as me--right?"

"Right." The ensuing silence began to itch uncomfortably. "I... I think I'll catch the Catalina back, when they show up. Benson wants the Rangers to put a patrol on station. I know you said you liked having civilian company, it's just..."

"I do. But I understand that, too. You should take the opportunity."

At breakfast the next morning, Tom's night sleeping on deck seemed to have put him on edge. The wolf was distracted, and it fell to Elaine and Leo to carry on any conversation at all. The fluffy dog settled for talking about Coeur D'Alene, and what she expected the downtown to look like at the peak of the holiday season

When a red lamp began flashing, all three noticed it simultaneously, and even Elaine was happy for the distraction. "Some kind of signal," she explained, before pushing her seat back and heading for the radio room. Curious, Leo followed, and watched the samoyed tuck the speaker into her fuzzy ear. "VHF. Medium-range. It's--yup."

"'Yup'?"

Her next words were spoken into the microphone. "I read you loud and clear. We'll broadcast on 640 kilocycles for you to home in on us." She powered on the turntable and then, canting her head thoughtfully, flipped another switch. Music filled the room, filtered through the intercom speaker near the ceiling. "Flight from Pearl Harbor," she explained, speaking over Bing Crosby's tinny voice. "They can't be more than thirty minutes out."

It was the same Catalina he'd flown in on, although the flight crew was different and the passenger area was packed with supplies. Benson ordered the crates taken aboard and pulled the new pilot aside. "What's the flight schedule now? Will you stay while we install the radio and test it out?"

"No, sir. We've been ordered to return immediately, as soon as we offload and refuel. Admiral Morris wants an update--I was asked if I could trouble you for a memo to that effect, sir."

The wolf looked at the flying boat, as if judging how long it would take to turn the Catalina around. "I should brief him directly. I'll head back with you."

"He said a memo would be fine, sir. Understanding the need for urgency here, and all."

Benson shook his head. "There's some sensitive topics we need to cover. Leo, you'll stay in charge on the ship... I don't think any matters directly concerning the US Navy will come up, but if they do, I'll be back when I can."

Leo wasn't sure what objection he could plausibly raise. The wolf would need to talk to his superiors about requesting support from the Rangers, if nothing else. He suspected, more cynically, that Tom felt he'd be able to explain the delays on the Santa Fe Trail better in person, rather than let a memo set him up for taking the blame.

All the same, he stayed on the dock; watched the Catalina taxi, and then depart, with no small sense of some frustration. Elaine picked up on it immediately when he joined her indoors. "Well, hello! I wasn't expecting to see you again, Leo. I guess that means you're still stuck here, too?"

"It does. Until the test. Do you have what you need?"

She was picking through open crates, checking them against her printed manifest. "Well. What I need is the same thing you do: a return ticket. I have what the radio needs, though. And did I hear someone say there was food?"

"Yes. I asked them to send what we had for Christmas."

Her ears perked, and her thick tail briefly wagged. "That was a nice gesture. Very sweet of you."

That wasn't how he'd meant it, not really--just seemed the kind of thing that would help keep the crew motivated--but he took the offered compliment. "Least I could do. I hope the chef can make something of it. I don't know what exactly came."

"He's a miracle worker, don't worry. And with any luck..." She got up, smoothed down her skirt, and set the manifest aside. "So am I. I'd better get to work, if you want to get out of here."

"You, too, right?" She shrugged. "I'm sorry. To say it again, uh... I was a little blunt yesterday. You've been better company than to have deserved that."

"That's very sweet of you, too."

"I'm also asking what I can do to help, Elaine. I know my way around using a radio, but not much about how all the parts work on the inside."

"Well, then... let me teach you."

The first part of being 'taught' amounted to bringing boxes and equipment into the radio room. The second part, with the samoyed posed before an open bay full of wires and mysterious components, also proved to be the end of it--Leo had no idea what he was looking at.

Elaine's protest that the cables were tidy, the components clearly identifiable, and the entire arrangement eminently logical didn't help: it was simply an assertion, without supporting evidence. She explained that they were checking the new scrambler unit, which made voice communications to Pearl Harbor impossible to intercept, and he took her at her word.

The dog went to work on it, checking to make sure nothing had been damaged, while Leo observed silently. He tried to follow along, drawing connections between how a radio was built and how he operated one, but Elaine spoke in jargon and her paws moved with a surgeon's quick precision. Mostly he felt overwhelmed.

She didn't notice, or she trusted him to be smarter than the fox decided he actually was. When she'd finished, an hour or so later and in very good spirits, she grinned and poked his chest with a burnt-out vacuum tube: "See? That wasn't so hard." It seemed to have taken less time than she'd thought it would. "I appreciate you being willing to stick around!"

From there it was on to the next gadget--this one right next to vents that dumped cold air straight onto machinery and personnel alike. The samoyed didn't mind, of course, but she had the coat for it and the chill cutting through his russet fur drove home just how much he did not. He managed to find a place where he could keep observing while standing out of the direct path of the vents.

That helped, until Elaine asked for him to bring one of the crates over. She stuck out her tongue at how he leaned away from her as soon as she'd confirmed that he had the right box. "Sorry. We'll finish up here soon."

"Just... the fan, that's all."

"Uh huh."

"Will it always be run so strongly?"

That got the dog to roll her eyes, although he didn't quite know why. "Heat isn't good for these components. Fortunately for the transmitter, that's a solvable problem. Would that we were all so lucky."

"Yeah. You didn't need to blame it for yelling at me, but I'm sure it affects you." She gave him the same withering glare Owen Neely had faced, only barely subdued. "I get it. I mean... I'm not always comfortable in Hawai'i, either. God--it took them so long to get ready when we were departing. The cockpit gets like a greenhouse. At least you have the air conditioning."

"How much do you think that actually helps?"

"I don't know. Look, I'm not saying I understand it the way you do."

"But you... sympathize? That's a new one." Her expression had become less baleful, and more puzzled. "Thanks, I guess? This is not a conversation I expected to be having."

"I can't be the first..."

"You'd be surprised." The perplexed samoyed shook her head. "Just... hand me the box of tubes, okay?"

"Sure. I didn't mean to--" as he turned from her to pick up the crate, his muzzle snapped shut and his ears pinned as several disparate pieces of information clicked into place. "When you say 'heat,' you're not talking about the temperature. Christ. I'm sorry."

Elaine waited, patiently, for him to turn back around. A look of mild amusement had replaced her baffled stare. "Did you actually not notice? Don't you..." she gestured at his muzzle.

"I didn't notice, no. Maybe... you know, maybe because I'm a fox, I don't--is that--wait, is that why Commander Benson left?"

"That would be worrying, wouldn't it? 'Officer and a gentleman,' isn't that the phrase?" She took one of the tubes from the box and, without showing any sign of being daunted by the dense wiring in the open cabinet, slotted it into place. "I should hope lieutenant commanders aren't susceptible to being... clouded by hormonal lust. Don't you?"

"Yes."

"That would be a strategic vulnerability, I'd think." Elaine installed a second tube, rummaged around, and pulled her paw free holding a third. She held it up to the light, giving the fox an occasional sideways glance. "Throw the whole war effort into disarray. Right?"

"It could."

"A sort of... seductive biological weapon, really. Say... would you mind if I replaced this? It's not on the list, but it would sure make my life easier..."

It took Leo a moment to realize she was batting her eyes at him. "I'm not the electrician between us. And I'm... I'm really sorry for not noticing. This is very awkward."

"I know." She found a replacement vacuum tube, bent the pins on the old one, and swapped their places in the box he held. "But you're being a good sport. Honestly, it's quite funny, in retrospect. And I could use the laugh."

She stopped teasing him, though, and they made their methodical way through the rest of the work. A surprising number of the boxes wound up being required: startling less for the quantity of repairs that had been needed than, in Leo's judgment at least, the familiarity Elaine had with it.

The fox thought of the time he'd brought his friend into the cockpit of a Catalina on a ferry flight, and given him control. Ethan had panicked at the gauges, and the weight of the yoke in his paws, and the roar of the engines when Leo encouraged him to firewall the throttles. How do you make sense of all this?

He found himself similarly awed, but his questions netted only confusing answers. Elaine had him bring over a wooden crate, and he looked at its contents in open bemusement. "What is this? Is it going to blow up?" The heavy contraption inside seemed to consist mostly of a large dial. On the other hand, it had been encircled in a red ribbon, with DANGER: EXPLOSIVE scrawled at the closest end. "Are you a saboteur?"

"That would be exciting, wouldn't it? Variacs aren't dangerous. But if one fails, it's not always pretty--sometimes not for the person using it. Can you hand it over?" She took the device, pulled the ribbon free, and slid it into one of the open bays in front of her before busying herself with its wiring. "I don't know where the ribbon came from--must be surplus. Maybe they just wanted to protect the metal contacts. It's a variable transformer, anyway, if you're curious. For the transmitter."

She went quiet for a few minutes, hooking everything into place. Then she pushed herself to her feet, dusted herself off, and took a deep breath. Leo cocked his head. "Are you finished?"

"For today, I hope. It was the last part I needed for the next test. And now, if my calculations are correct..." Elaine turned the variac's dial, watching one of the gauges on the wall carefully. "That looks pretty good. A stable current... exactly what I expected."

"So the transmitter's operational?"

"No. The test load I was working on yesterday--I scrounged up a few lights," she explained. "To see how the generator handles the current it needs to deliver. Nobody cares if a bulb explodes. I'm not getting stuck here through January if we break anything that matters."

"Makes sense. You're happy with the results, though?"

She kept staring at the gauge. At last, the samoyed cocked her head, considering her words for a few tentative attempts. "Relieved. I'm relieved with the results. It's taken a lot of work to get here, and I'm glad it's over with. Whenever the seaplane comes back, we can check that they're receiving us."

"And until then?"

"Until then, we'll just switch the old radios back on and wait." She flipped one of the other switches--and immediately there was a loud pop!, and a half-second of silence before the fan started back up. "Oh, hell."

"What happened?"

She glared daggers at the fox, and settled to her knees, pulling the front off the radio cabinet. "Can't very well diagnose it by sound, can I? It looks like..." Elaine leaned back, scanned the dials, and pointed to one of them. "Give that a tap?"

The ammeter needle read zero; nothing happened when he flicked the dial with his claw. "Keep going?"

"No. Something with the radio telegraph." She took a deep breath, bunched her paws into fists, and growled. "Just... son of a--God da--darn--God bless it!" she managed, finally. "I did not need this."

"FUBAR," he offered. She didn't say anything. "It means--"

"I know what it means!" Leo saw her screw her eyes shut tightly while she calmed herself down. "It's fine. Everything else seems to work."

"Don't mind the language, is all," he reassured her. "If you want to take a break and wait until tomorrow, I'd understand that. If you want to fix it and there's anything I can do that would make it easier..."

Elaine stared into the radio's innards for a spell. "I should try to repair it. Maybe... give me a bit of space."

Eventually he made his way back to the radio mast, watching the sun settle lower. He understood the samoyed's frustration at being trapped aboard the Santa Fe Trail, and his apology the previous day had been genuine. But it went beyond that, he decided. Christmas wasn't the point, not exactly--it was that, stripped of any normalcy in a chaotic world, embracing whatever was still left to be found made perfect sense.

He grabbed two plates for dinner, creating the nicest assemblage he could. Elaine's ears were pinned in concentration, and her muzzle was tense. She looked more confused than anything else at his return. "What's..."

"Dinner. Ham and... I bet these are trying to be potatoes au gratin? Don't take my word for it, though. I figured I'd see if you wanted to eat."

"I don't. But I should. I'm almost finished with the repair--I might work through dinner, but..." She stared at the plate he was holding. "That was very thoughtful. You wouldn't be too offended if I ate here?"

"Nah. I've been in your shoes."

She smiled faintly. "You wouldn't fit in my shoes. I'll come find you when I'm done--how's that? It shouldn't be long now."

But it was two hours before he saw her again. Leo was braced on the railing, facing deep twilight, when he heard the samoyed's footfalls. "Well?"

"Well, the potatoes weren't the best part of dinner, let's say. I repaired the radio."

"What was wrong with it?"

"A bad transformer. Not by birth--I'm sure it was good, once. Before it shorted and took the oscillator down, too. I suppose we just needed the excitement."

Leo grinned. "I'm not sure about that, honestly." He was happy to see her grin back, though. "What now?"

"Now? I figured I would... I don't know. Take advantage of that bottle of wine I found. Sip it and watch the moon... it should be a beautiful night, and we've earned some relaxation, I think. Haven't we?"

"You have, at least."

"Well, you helped. You put up with my use of the turntable. And you put up with me saying unladylike things to the wiring repeatedly."

Leo had to laugh at that. "I respect your talents. And besides--I'd probably say worse."

"And I could've done better. I wish they'd listened to me earlier. Could be home now, but it's no use dwelling, is it? Even if I'm being taunted--yes, taunted. Did I show you the wreath? No? At the bottom of a box. It's seen better days. I think they were just using it for packing." She turned away from the railing and headed back inside.

The wreath had, indeed, gotten the worst of being shipped from the mainland--also, probably, for packing. Many of the needles had fallen off, the few berries left were crushed and oddly shaped, and cargo had smashed it nearly flat along one side. "It's missing something."

"It's missing several things," Elaine countered.

Leo searched the empty crates for the ribbon that had protected the variac. He tied it into a bow--not particularly competently, he had to admit. But, when he held it up for the samoyed's inspection, she laughed and threaded it through what remained of the needles.

"It'll do. You're resourceful! For your next lesson, I'll teach you some carols."

"I'm not sure you're going to have any more success there than you did with the radio."

"Is it just because you're sober?"

She didn't wait for him to answer before heading inside again, coming back without the wreath but holding a bottle opener, her pilfered wine, and two glasses. She pointed with her muzzle to what was, most days, a flat storage locker. At the moment, covered with a blanket, it had been converted either to a chair or to Tom Benson's bed.

The two of them sat, and Elaine freed the bottle's cork. "Do you know anything about Bordeaux?"

"Not really. I'm a pilot, you know? I go for whiskey. You didn't find any of that, did you?"

"No. And that's very... cowgirl. Very Annie Oakley. I can't even shoot a gun, Leo." She could, though, deftly pour wine. "1941. A very good year."

"Was it?"

"Well, it started a chain of events that ended in me finding a bottle of wine when I needed it. So... yes. Merry Christmas," she said, lifting her glass up.

He clinked his against it. "Cheers."

He did not, in fact, know anything about wine--Bordeaux or otherwise. This was red, and tasted like... wine. It tastes like wine, Leo. You're not even sure if it's gone bad. Elaine had other concerns. "'Cheers'? 'Merry Christmas.'"

"Merry Christmas," he echoed. "Just for you. Think of it as a toast."

Elaine patted his thigh. "I appreciate that. It's not all bad, this Christmas. I mean, it won't be. Tomorrow, that is. Dinner will be good... I will make you sing along with my turntable. You'll like it. It's not perfect, no, but... it's not all bad. Maybe we're meant to be here?"

"Maybe. I'm sorry you can't be in Idaho."

"Me, too. Missing out on a white Christmas."

Her ears had drooped. Leo glanced to his leg, and then to the blanket atop the locker. Both had acquired bits of samoyed fluff. He gestured to her bare arm, and picked up a bit of fur from the blanket. "I mean..."

When she realized what he meant, Elaine nudged him in mock reproval. "Very funny, Leo."

"Doing what I can. I don't know all the traditions, but it still must be good to spend Christmas with friends, at least."

"It is. Are we friends?"

"Well, we're not coworkers."

"True." She sipped thoughtfully at her wine. "Both civilians, really. So not... comrades-in-arms."

"No, we're not that. What else would we be?"

"Cellmates?" But, smiling, she dismissed that with a shake of her head. "Selfishly, I'm glad you stayed. I get to know you! Tell me about yourself. You're not from Hawai'i, but then..."

"My parents from New York. We moved when I was too young to remember any snow on Christmas--I can tell you're thinking about it. I grew up in Barstow... ROTC at Berkeley had an Air Corps detachment; that's where I learned to fly."

"A Californian, huh? So when I said I was from Colorado..."

"Yeah. I understood. After things got bad, my parents moved back to Syracuse. I'd already enlisted." That didn't necessarily explain everything--plenty of soldiers had gone AWOL in those dark months--but Leo trusted she wouldn't need him to explain that he hadn't deserted. "We covered the retreat north, and what was left of my squadron got reorganized in Seattle. They disbanded it about six months later--couldn't pay us. A lot of us joined the Piasa Legion. That's when I transferred to Hawai'i."

"My father's company does a lot of work for them. I thought the Legion stayed out of the Pacific theater, though."

"Now, yes. All their operations at Pearl Harbor were sold to the Nevada Rangers. I stuck around, 'cause, uh. Well, they asked me to. Uh." He toyed with his wineglass, debating how many of the memories he was willing to part with. "Because Japan gave the California Republic all those fighters when they seceded, so I had combat experience flying against Zeroes. They thought it would be valuable."

The samoyed gave him the kind of gentle nod that implied she would not pry further. And that was reassuring, although having mentioned his history it all seemed like a terribly long time ago. Not, when all was said and done, appreciably more real or tangible than 'white Christmases' or sparkling lights. He couldn't explain that properly to Elaine, and he felt they could benefit from a change of topic. He let her try to ground him in her family's holiday traditions, instead.

And then: "Wait. What's that?"

The samoyed straightened, and he discovered she'd been leaning against his side. She followed the direction he was pointing, at the flashing red lamp meant to summon their attention. "A signal? This time of night?" She got to her feet and headed inside.

Whatever effect the wine had gave way to adrenaline born of curiosity, and the puzzling nature of the disruption. "They can't be relieving us already..."

"No, I wouldn't think so." Elaine took a seat and looked over the radio dials. "Morse code, on the long-range band."

With the signal being played over the speaker, he could translate it as well as the samoyed. "'KPAVV calling all stations.' Not sending a distress signal, though. Do you recognize those letters?"

"No. I don't think it's a ship. The direction-finder seems to be moving faster than that." She held up her paw to quiet him, and tapped her reply out with the signal key. "And now, we wait to see if..."

The transmission crackled, but not enough to prevent understanding it. "Clipper North Haven to NQJE, how do you read us?"

"This is the SS Santa Fe Trail. You're weak but readable, Clipper North Haven."

"Roger. Say, uh... how close are you to Midway?"

Leo went to grab a navigational chart, although in retrospect he wasn't surprised when Elaine spoke before he could show it to her--she would've known their location well. "Midway is about three hundred and fifty miles north-north-east. We currently have you somewhere off to our southwest."

"We were told to skip Wake and proceed directly to Honolulu, but... couldn't seem to raise Wake or Midway. Now flying northeast, with seven hours of fuel left."

"Your signal is getting stronger. We'll bring up our lights to help you find us." She let her finger off the microphone's transmit button, and pointed to the adjoining equipment room. "You remember the variac I installed, Leo? Make sure the knife switch is off, then turn the dial all the way up."

The switch--now labeled XMIT POWR, in the samoyed's neat handwriting--was already off. He did as she'd asked, although without apparent effect, and returned to the radio. "It's done. And the skies are clear, so..."

"Unfortunately, we have to contend with that waxing gibbous. So pretty, too..."

Ten minutes went by, while Leo did some figuring on the map, before the Clipper North Haven checked in. "We might see you, Santa Fe Trail. Or maybe Midway got much brighter than I remember..."

"You are loud and clear, Clipper North Haven. So it's probably us." Leo set his chart in front of the samoyed, who grinned, mouthing thank you. "From our position, Midway is 345 miles on a bearing of 350 degrees. If you fly due east, you'll intersect the big island of Hawai'i in just over nine hundred miles. Winds are steady, from the west-south-west, at seven knots. I'm going to turn the lights down, then turn them back up."

Leo went back to the equipment room, listening to the radio through the open hatch. "We copy all that. Uh--yes! The lights just went out, and... and now they're back. We definitely see you. And you're a real sight for sore eyes, I hope you know."

"Just doing our part, and glad we were here for you."

"Amen. Uh, Santa Fe Trail, we're going to continue on to Honolulu. You say due east?"

"Yes. Your bearing to Pearl Harbor from us is 85 degrees, 8-30 miles."

"Got it. Thanks for the help. Clipper North Haven, out."

Elaine waited a little longer, but there were no other messages. She put the microphone aside. "You want to see if we can catch a glimpse of the North Haven?"

"Sure, yeah. I don't know what Pan Am is using on this route. Sikorskis, maybe? But--" And then he caught himself, because he'd walked through the open door and could see all the way to the ship's bow. "Oh my God."

Leo heard a giggle from next to him. "I told you I rigged some lights to test the ship's power."

She'd used the winch, he now understood, to run a whole series of lights from the bow to each of the masts, in turn. They were arranged in blocks of ten lights: red, white, and green in a constantly repeating pattern. Each by itself was bright enough, but with all of them together the Santa Fe Trail's deck glowed in striped, garish reflection. "How long did you spend..."

"About a day. A lot of the work was just making sure I had the power draw calculated right."

They glittered, twinkling intermittently in the water next to the stationary tanker: brighter than the stars, and so ridiculous that when he laughed it took Leo another few seconds to realize he wasn't simply in shock. "It's very festive."

"I thought you might learn to appreciate it."

"I could learn to," the fox agreed. "No caroling, though, right?"

"Not yet," Elaine said, patting his paw with a laugh. "Later. Right now, we have other things to do."

"We do?" He turned towards her; the samoyed's head was tilted up so she could look at him. "What comes before caroling? Eggnog, or..."

"The plane." Given how near to him she was standing, and the keen focus in her expression, Leo didn't expect that was what she'd actually intended to imply. But he, too, could hear the drone of propellers growing louder.

Clipper North Haven was a Boeing 314, one of Pan American's newer flying boats. In the moonlight, her sleek silver hull was nothing but a dim shadow; a darker patch marked the contours of the American flag on her nose. The big airplane's wings rocked in greeting--or thanks--when it crossed low overhead.

And then, starboard wing dipping, it banked off towards the east. They'd be landing in Honolulu by dawn. The notion occurred to Leo that he could've suggested they land and take on fuel--asked to accompany them on the final leg of their journey. Next to him, Elaine's voice sounded awed and wondering. "Gorgeous plane, isn't it?"

For now, you were meant to be here. "It is. Hope they have a pleasant flight. Good thing you got the radiotelegraph back up, huh? I'm sorry I couldn't be more help with everything."

"You were very helpful. I'm glad you stayed."

His ears strained; he could barely hear the 314. "So am I." Saying the words out loud, they sounded unmistakably like the truth. "Next question: when am I supposed to say 'Merry Christmas,' anyway?"

"Any time you want." Elaine rolled her eyes. "Leo, I swear. Come here." When he stepped closer, the samoyed wrapped her arms around him, squeezing the fox in a hug. "There you go. You've been good company. Thanks for that."

"Yeah? Uh... Merry Christmas?"

He hugged her back, although when the fox relaxed his hold the thick-furred dog was slower to do the same. He could feel her breathing, the rise and fall of her chest taking a forced rhythm. Finally she looked up and their eyes met; her expression was soft, and he might've called it unreadable had the embrace not carried on so long.

"I'm sorry you couldn't be back home with your family," he murmured.

"I know. Can't be helped."

"Your, uh... parents? Siblings?"

Elaine smirked. "Are you trying to figure out if I'm owned, Leo?"

"I'm trying to figure out if we should be this close, yes."

"Well. Maybe not outside... I should turn off the lights, after all. You know, now that the plane is gone?"

But she skipped the radio room, and the equipment space next to it. She led them to her quarters, instead, and when the samoyed shut the door and slid her arms back around him Leo realized he no longer felt the chill of the air conditioning.

Or, perhaps, he didn't care.

Other priorities, after all, intervened. Their lips met and, as he pulled the dog closer, her eyes slid shut. Elaine gasped, pushed herself against him, and made no protest at all. And when she broke the kiss, out of breath, she grabbed his paw and tugged him onto her bunk.

"You're cold, right?"

"Actually, I hadn't noticed."

"So then you don't need--"

His bushy tail lashed. "Practically freezing in here, really, I--"

She wound up all but in his lap and, in a practical sense, her thick pelt did prove remarkably adept at sparing him the cold. More than that it was luxuriantly soft under his fingers--she was warm; the weight of her body a tantalizing promise settling against him.

If he suggested, gave her the slightest nudge, the rest of it would unfold inexorably. He summoned up a bit of resistance, a bit of officer and a gentleman, and leaned back to give himself a little space. "How far do you you want to... what, ah... I mean..."

"I know what you mean." Her tongue brushed the tip of the fox's nose. "Let's see what happens. I'd like to find out. Wouldn't you?"

"Just thinking that, you know, if you're..."

"It's not the biology." She took a deep, shaky breath, and then laughed. "Well, it's not just the biology. We both know what we're doing, right? It's not like you're some lieutenant comm--"

This time when he kissed the samoyed, he used his paws to guide her back and onto the bed. She rolled, in turn, so that they ended up on their sides, facing one another. He deepened the kiss, growling into her muzzle. Elaine's lips parted; she whimpered a high moan as his tongue sought out her own.

The fox's paws roamed, stroking down her back. By the time he reached her waist he was too far gone to stop himself from squeezing her, groping the snowy furred dog's rear and tugging her firmly to him. Her moan broke into an oath, panting over his whiskers--then he felt her leg behind him, and the painfully exquisite pressure of her hips pushing against his.

Even if he'd considered apologizing for the immodesty of the firm bulge there, she pressed herself to him again, and when he thrust to meet that movement she shuddered in his arms. Being a gentleman was rapidly becoming more difficult.

Especially when she made up for his hesitation in an even sharper grind. "Figuring out what happens," she explained, slurred by breathlessness into an uneven growl. "Fairly obviously."

"Maybe." Leo had started to pant, too. "I mean--"

"More than maybe." The deliberate, heavy squirming worked herself right against his crotch. "That much is obvious."

"Just--a little awkward. If I'd known we were going to end up like this, I... would've asked them to bring some condoms. Otherwise..."

But she grinned, and gave him a brief kiss. "If I'd found those packed with the vacuum tubes, our earlier conversation would've been even more awkward."

"You're the one in heat."

The samoyed's soft nose stayed on his. "You're the one who didn't notice. It's probably fine." Her eyes glinted but she said nothing else, waiting, the fuzzy triangles of her ears perked in anticipation.

And he could feel the unsteadiness of her breath, underlining the look she gave him, wearing him down from whatever resistance he managed in the fifteen seconds that followed. "Get your clothes off," he gasped at last.

It happened in a blur, so fast the samoyed was panting with the exertion when her soft-furred frame tumbled back into the bunk, and Leo scarcely remembered the haste with which he'd torn off his pants and shirt. It wasn't worth remembering to begin with, anyway--not with her thick pelt downy between the fox's groping fingers, and her lips hot on his.

She slid closer, wriggling to find the right position, and at once he felt his stiff, ready shaft slip between her thighs. The samoyed draped her leg over his, hips arching until his tip found wet, bare flesh. Warm, slick enough that even her gentle squirming started to push him into her. She broke from his muzzle to whine, ears back, tongue lolling.

The angle was too awkward to do more than tease, but teasing was plenty. A subtle touch of his paw on her shoulder and the dog rolled, onto her back, pulling the fox atop her and settling him between her spread thighs. He kissed her again, quickly, fiercely... and then pushed forward. Steamy, welcoming heat enveloped him--smoothly, easily, taking him without resistance as he sank to the hilt in one heavy thrust.

She'd only managed a gratified yelp when he took her, but the samoyed recovered first: her paw grabbed the fur of his cheek, tugging him into a desperate, almost possessive kiss that muffled a hoarse, whining moan. Leo pulled free an inch or two, bucked in again, and held himself still against her shivering hips until the dog fell back, panting raggedly. "God, Leo..."

"You're alright?"

"Good." She nudged for his muzzle sloppily, gave up, and raked her claws through his ruddy pelt instead. "Now fuck me."

He would've questioned the language had he not heard it directed at the disassembled radio. And had his mind not been elsewhere--if he'd been anywhere else but with the samoyed pinned under him, every inch of his throbbing cock buried in her. As it was, he took her harder and harder until she moaned again, and her paws gripped him tighter.

He was growling now, pounding into the dog swiftly. Everything about her felt amazing, from her ragged breath washing his muzzle to the yielding push of her fur when their bodies met. The sodden, slippery velvet of her sex, pressed snug about his length, drove him to rough, ramming strokes while she jerked her hips to match the eager fox.

And even though he'd told himself his reaction had nothing to do with her being in heat--that he hadn't even noticed it--there was something unmistakably good about the way it felt to claim her. Rutting into her, feeling how slick and warm she was deep inside, slaked undeniably primal urges in his mind. Hers, too--Elaine's ears kept swiveling back at the final part of each thrust. And then, as she started to succumb, they stayed back.

On a heavy, all-embedded plunge Elaine's muzzle fell open--locked, silent for long, quivering seconds before a keening, breathless howl tore free. The dog shuddered and thrashed, and Leo had to confine himself to short, firm shoves that only served to ensure--fuck, that's it, tie her. Make sure she takes that knot--

That his swelling shaft would end with him locked in her properly. He could still pull out when she relaxed, though. Or seemed to relax--slipping his knot into her drove the samoyed into a renewed, full-body shudder. "Elaine..." He began to pull back, let her feel the catch, the tension.

"I know." He abandoned the attempt, pushing forward and in once more, and once more she shivered. "God, yes..."

The fox tried to resume his thrusts but pulling out had become a complete impossibility. And then rhythm joined it--his head dropped, and he gripped her shoulders to hold the samoyed in place, and it was the only thing he could manage consciously. The rest of it was pure energy--his hips humping quickly, the growing need to claim her fighting a losing battle against lingering propriety.

Heat filled his ear. Sharp pressure--teeth, taking the sensitive rim, biting down gently. A husky whisper: "Give it to me..." followed by a breathy, pleased exhalation as his pace became frantic and purposeful. His knot had swelled until he felt her grip at its base: coaxing him, reassuring him that he'd tied his mate, that his seed would go right where it was meant to when he filled her, that he had to breed her--now--and--"make me yours, Leo!"

Snarling, her name in echo guttural and coarse, he rammed the dog into the bunk and pinned her hard as he began jetting slick, creamy vulpine cum into her. Pulse after pulse splashed sticky heat against her walls while the samoyed panted and gasped, taking his slowing, erratic thrusts while he spent himself.

He recovered to find his nose jammed into the blankets, each strained inhalation teasing his muzzle with the dog's scent and tickling him with her fur. When, at last, he pushed himself back up onto his elbows, she eyed him with a warm grin. "So now we know what happens, huh?"

"Yeah."

"I guess the crew does, too." She slid her arm from around him, and held the fox's muzzle shut for a few seconds until he understood what she meant and his ears swiveled back. "Oh, God, no--it's fine, I was kidding. I don't think you were that loud."

The moment of panic having ebbed, he rolled onto his side with her. "Probably not good enough for those carols, then, sad to say..."

Elaine licked his nose impetuously before laughing. "Oh, it's fine for that. If I thought you were being serious. Which I don't, but that's fine..."

"We'll have to see. I'm..." He took a deep breath, and pulled the dog close. "I'm glad I didn't go back to Hawai'i. I mean, that I wasn't allowed to," he corrected himself.

"Sometimes it takes a bit to realize where you're supposed to be." She snuggled herself into his chest. "Probably past midnight now, I suppose."

"Yeah? Mele Kalikimaka." He felt, rather than heard, her giggle. "How do you say that in Idaho, anyway? In case I happened to get deployed there..."

"In case, huh?" Elaine canted her head when she looked up at him.

"I'm not saying definitely. Just... preparing, that's all." And it was the truth--he didn't know exactly where he'd end up. But if he put in for Buttonhook, they'd approve the transfer. And if he did that, there'd be something to look forward to.

Elaine's tail was wagging, her eyes bright and lit merrily from within. "Good idea. I'm trying to remember the traditional way, but I think... I think how we would put it is..." He perked his ears, straining to hear her voice when it softened, leaning closer as she trailed off...

Until she kissed him, and by the time it was over he'd forgotten why he'd ever even needed to ask.