in the Chiefs’ Mess. The Mess was a combination galley and lounge that
provided some privacy for the more senior enlisted members on the ship. Its
door was decorated with an intricately woven display of “fancy work,” a
collection of specialized knots and braided line that enclosed the anchor
insignia of a chief petty officer’s collar insignia.
Bird Dog knocked on the door and then pushed it open without waiting for
a response. Twenty chiefs, both male and female, were clustered around the
room, drinking coffee, playing cards, and just generally trying to unwind. A
few glanced up as he entered the compartment. It wasn’t unheard of for an
officer to look for a Chief in the Mess, but it was considered bad form to
discuss business in the Mess. Common courtesy and tradition dictated that the
officer merely ascertain the presence of the Chief, and then take care of
business outside in the passageway or in their work center spaces.
Chief Franklin stood up as Bird Dog stormed into the Mess.
“Evening, Lieutenant. Something I can help you with?”
“Shaughnessy was up on the aircraft without a cranial on,” Bird Dog said
abruptly. A slight chill seemed to settle over the Chiefs’ Mess. “You know
the rules, Chief,” he continued doggedly, ignoring a few pointed glances from
the master chiefs.
The older man rubbed his face thoughtfully. “She’s bad about that,” he
admitted. “But I gotta tell you, Lieutenant, she’s a damned fine technician.
Got a real feel for those Tomcats, and takes her job real serious. Good
sailor, right attitude. She’s gonna do real well.”
“She’s no good to the Navy if she falls off an aircraft and cracks her
skull open. And if she can’t follow safety rules herself, how competent does
that make her as a supervisor? Damn it, Chief, a good sailor in my book
follows orders!”
“I see your point, Lieutenant. I’ll have a word with her. And no
disrespect, sir, but which would you rather have? An up aircraft or all the
nit-picky little rules followed?”
“I don’t consider safety rules to be nit-picking. My Branch follows all
the rules, Chief. It’s not up to Shaughnessy–or you or me–to decide which
ones we’re going to obey and which ones we aren’t. I don’t expect to have to
talk to you again about this. Put her on extra duty–two hours a day for two
weeks. Maybe that’ll teach her a lesson.”
“Sir, I don’t think–we’ve got shit hitting the fan out there,
Lieutenant. As tough as the flight schedule’s going to be, those techs are
going to be dragging ass. And Lieutenant,” the chief continued, his voice
unexpectedly gentle, “no disrespect, sir, but you’ve just been through a
pretty nasty experience. It’d shake anybody up. Those guys on the flight
deck saw everything, too, and I guarantee you even the old timers are being
super cautious up there. It hits you real hard, the first time. Every time,
maybe. Now, don’t get me wrong, I agree with you about Shaughnessy. We got
to do something–that’s why they pay us the big bucks, to make sure these kids
don’t get hurt. But why don’t we think about this overnight, give things a
chance to settle down. Might be that there’s a better way to accomplish what
you want. This extra duty–I don’t know that I’d recommend it.”
The sympathy in the older man’s voice infuriated him, insinuating that he
was making decisions based on emotion, that he couldn’t handle what he’d seen
on the flight deck! For a moment, Bird Dog wanted to punch the Chief, to make
him take back the words that Bird Dog somehow knew were true.
“Extra duty, Chief. I want a report from you every morning about what
she’s been assigned to do. That clear?”
The Chief uncurled from his chair and stood rigidly at attention. The
other chief petty officers in the mess looked studiously away.
“Sir, yes, sir!” the Chief snapped. His normally good-natured expression
had faded into an impassive mask.
Bird Dog stalked out of the Chiefs’Mess, slamming the door behind him.
From the passageway outside, Bird Dog heard the murmur of voices increase in
volume.
CHAPTER 13