been on carriers before during qualifications, but this was different. This
was his carrier, the one that’d be his home for his first deployment. He had
stared up at the tower that loomed over the deck, wondering for a moment if he
would ever be sitting up there as Air Boss or Mini Boss.
The petty officer running the desk in logistics had given him terse
directions to the Admin and Berthing offices. Bird Dog had hauled his gear
down six decks to turn in his orders, pick up a check-in sheet, and get a
room, and then back up six decks to his stateroom. He’d tossed his duffel bag
on the unoccupied bunk and set out to locate the VF-95 squadron Ready Room.
Fifteen minutes later, he’d met the VF-95 XO and been introduced to Chief
Franklin, the chief petty officer in charge of his squadron branch. After
over three years of training commands and Navy schools, Bird Dog had finally
arrived at his first Fleet squadron.
“You’re getting a good group of people, Lieutenant,” Chief Franklin had
said as they shook hands.
The Chief seemed to fill the wardroom. Two inches taller than Bird Dog,
and at least thirty pounds heavier, the senior enlisted man in the AE Branch
was corded with muscle, a massive, powerful presence. A regular at one of the
Jefferson’s three weight rooms, Bird Dog guessed. His dark hair, edged with
gray, was clipped short. He looked older than his rank suggested, his face
worn into grooves by the long hours, constant stress, and deprivations of life
at sea. A hint of resigned good humor played around his dark eyes, which were
circled with white where flight deck goggles had shielded his skin from the
sun.
Perhaps it was his imagination, but Bird Dog felt as if the Chief were
eyeing his shiny bright railroad tracks, as the lieutenant collar devices were
known, with a jaundiced eye. “You’re getting smart twidgets. We’ve got
damned few discipline problems, pretty decent morale, and some strong petty
officers. We keep ’em flying right steady–not often one of our birds will be
down for an electrical gripe,” the chief said.
“That’s good to hear, Chief,” Bird Dog said heartily. “I’m sure we’ll
get along fine.”
“If there’s anything you need, Lieutenant, you can reach me down in the
Chiefs Mess. I’ll introduce you to the troops tomorrow at quarters, if that’s
okay. I imagine you’ve got a lot of settling in to do. This your first
cruise?”
“Sure is. I’m damned glad to be out of the training pipeline, too.
Three years, and I’m finally getting to my first ship.”
“We’ll do everything we can to help you get used to the way things run
around here, sir. You got any questions, you just ask. Nothing wrong with
not knowing something, sir. There’s a lot they didn’t teach you in Aviation
Officer’s Candidate School.”
“Thanks, Chief. Maybe we could get together a few minutes before
quarters? I’d like to go over my priorities for the Branch with you.”
“Your pri-uh, sure, sir. Whatever you say.”
Bird Dog had watched the chief leave, puzzled by his reaction. Wasn’t
that what he was supposed to be doing as a Branch Officer? Setting the right
tone, leading the men and women assigned to him to great achievements?
Somehow, he got the impression the Chief didn’t think that was in Bird Dog’s
job description.
Now, two months later, his relationship with Chief Franklin had cooled to
slightly above freezing. Bird Dog had made several suggestions about how the
branch might work more efficiently. At first, Chief Franklin had resisted,
taking hours to explain why things were set up as they were, and what problems
Bird Dog’s changes would cause. Bird Dog had finally ordered the Chief to
implement the changes, and given the Chief some literature on Total Quality
Leadership to read.
Since then, the Chief had been formal and polite. All of Bird Dog’s
suggestions were implemented immediately, without discussion or argument from
the Chief.
Within days, the Maintenance Officer was chewing on Bird Dog’s butt in
public for disrupting standard operating procedures in the department. When
Bird Dog visited the branch work spaces, the chatter and joking between the
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