CARRIER 6: COUNTDOWN By Keith Douglass

it is clear that you regarded this escapade as a prank, something that

could harm no one. I gave you brig time because I want you to have some

time to think about that ‘prank’ and maybe to think about just how

precious a commodity privacy can be aboard ship. Understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” The voice was firmer now, though still low. The bread and

water, Brandt thought, had jolted him hard, like something out of

another time, another world.

The fact was, under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, Brandt could

have hit him with up to three days in the brig and broken him by two pay

grades and fined him half of his pay for the next two months, or given

the nature of the man’s offense, even recommended a summary court.

Something like that would wreck the rest of the kid’s Navy career.

“Very well,” Brandt said at last. “Dismissed.”

For a long time after they led the kid out, Brandt stared after them.

The only part of the punishment he’d just meted out that he really

regretted was the sensitivity counseling, but that was mandated by

current Navy regulations. Back in the ’70s, when the Navy’s reputation

had been blackened by several ugly race-related incidents, all hands had

been required to attend consciousness-raising programs intended to stop

prejudice and bigotry.

Seminars and programs to fight sexual harassment among naval aviators

had been instituted in the wake of the infamous Tail-hook scandal.

Today, all officers and men were routinely put through such programs.

Hell, Margolis would have gone through one in boot camp and another upon

his arrival aboard the Jefferson. Unfortunately, Brandt had yet to meet

any Navy man who admitted that he’d learned anything from such sessions,

and most regarded them as a complete waste of time. Men went into them

with their attitudes and prejudices already fully formed. Increased

awareness? Brandt grimaced at the thought. Too often, what increased

was their resentment against women for the additional burden of

bureaucratic micromanaging and official harassments collectively and

colloquially known as “Mickey Mouse.”

In two centuries of American naval history, the government had yet to

find an effective way to legislate the way people thought, and attempts

to try always made things worse.

“Never mind the Russians,” Brandt told Tombstone. “God save us from

adolescent hormones.”

“Yes, sir.”

Weston returned to the quarterdeck.

“Okay, Master Chief. What’s next?”

“Fire Control Technician Third Class Frank Pellet, Captain,” the COB

said, handing another folder to Brandt. “Charged by Commander Frazier

with negligence and inattention to duty.”

“The Dickinson.”

“Yes, sir.” He looked like he was about to say something more.

“Well? What else? Spit it out, Master Chief.”

“Captain, it has come to my attention that FCT3 Pellet is gay, and that

there was an, um, incident the night before the battle. It was reported

to me unofficially by a first class in the MAA’s division.”

Brandt closed his eyes. “Sex again. God damn it, sex and salt water

…” He stopped himself, then slapped the folder down on the podium.

“Master Chief, this one gets held over for a court. We may have to wait

until a full inquiry into the Dickinson incident is complete.

Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In any case, this’ll be a matter for the CID. Pellet is confined to

quarters until we can get him the hell off my ship.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Criminal investigation?” Tombstone asked, one eyebrow raised.

“I was there in CIC when it happened, sir. The kid got confused and

threw the wrong switch.”

“Seventeen men died aboard the Dickinson, Tombstone. Can we tell their

wives, mothers, and sweethearts that they died because a twenty-year-old

kid got confused? Forty-three more were wounded. What do I tell them?

The Dickinson is barely afloat and limping back to Narvik at a time when

this battle force needs every anti-air and antisubmarine asset it can

muster. That kid’s inattention nearly cost us a ship, and it might have

cost us a battle.

In any case, any time lives are lost, there has to be an inquiry …

and criminal charges. It’s out of my hands.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The hell of it is, even if he gets shipped back to the States for

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