She followed him into the shower, carefully removing her own clothes.  Kurt hesitated, then allowed her to climb into the small cubicle with him.  She washed his back, her breasts pressing into his body, then turned so he could do the same to her.  Kurt was struck by the sheer perfection of her young body, almost completely unscarred by age or experience, and felt a pang of guilt.  He was cheating on his wife with a girl almost young enough to be his daughter.  The guilt grew stronger as he washed her, then stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel.  What was he doing?

“Do you think,” Rose said, “that the other CAGs have fun with their pilots?”

Kurt flushed, angrily.  “I think they have the shower because they’re not meant to fly or sleep with the pilots,” he retorted.  Ideally, the CAG wasn't meant to identify with any of the squadrons under his command.  The Royal Navy worked hard to encourage a certain rivalry between squadrons, but the CAG was meant to be above it.  “And because they’re important people.”

“Don’t get too big-headed,” Rose warned him.  “You’ll never be able to leave your office.”

“How true,” Kurt mused.  He turned to look at her, then looked away, embarrassed, as she slid her panties back over her knees.  Those weren't regulation panties, he noted ... but who was going to know?  It wasn't as if even the most stringent inspection included ordering pilots to lower their trousers long enough for their underwear to be checked.  The very thought was absurd.  “And I wouldn't be able to fit in the cockpit either.”

He looked over at his terminal, feeling another pang of guilt.  Part of his duty as a CAG was to analyse the alien starfighter tactics and propose countermeasures.  He hadn't been doing it, first because he’d been too busy being a Squadron Leader as well as CAG, then because he’d reasoned they were trapped and about to die when the aliens caught them.  There was no point in doing paperwork when no one would ever read it, even the XO.  But if he returned home, he could look forward to a year or two on the beach, helping the tutors at the Academy to prepare new starfighter pilot trainees for combat.

I could see Molly and the kids every day, he thought.  He might not have to take up a teaching post – and, if he did, his family could come with them to the moon.  And then ...

The communicator bleeped, pulling him out of his thoughts.  “CAG, report to the briefing compartment,” the XO ordered.  “I say again, report to the briefing compartment.”

“Good luck,” Rose said.