deck.
Bird Dog started off down the flight deck again, not waiting to see if
she obeyed. Damned airman was getting out of hand. I’m going to talk to the
chief about her again–for all the good that will do me.
After his last confrontation with his senior enlisted rating, he’d come
away with the sneaking suspicion that he’d made an ass of himself. Despite
his best intentions, the chief showed little to no interest in being led by
the pilot that was responsible for the work center, although he had briefed
Bird Dog religiously every morning on Shaughnessy’s extra duty assignments.
Come to think of it, the chief’s last suggestions sure wouldn’t have done
any good either. If Bird Dog hadn’t assigned Airman Shaughnessy the extra
duty immediately, neither of them would have already known she was a slacker.
An hour later, showered and back in uniform, Bird Dog went looking for
the chief. He finally found him by calling the Chiefs’ Mess. Mindful of his
last performance there, Bird Dog asked the chief to come up to the ready room
for a few minutes.
“Evening, Lieutenant,” Chief said, when he finally appeared in the VF-95
ready room.
“Thanks for coming up, Chief,” Bird Dog forced himself to say. He’d been
waiting for almost thirty minutes for the senior enlisted member of his
division.
“Just had to take care of a few things first, sir. We’d had something
planned for the chiefs’ mess, but the squadron comes first, of course.”
Bird Dog felt the subtle rebuke in the chief’s words. There was some
justification for it, he admitted. The matter of Airman Shaughnessy could
have waited until the morning, when Bird Dog would have seen the chief at
quarters. There was no immediate need to interrupt the chief’s evening to
resolve her disciplinary status.
Still, Bird Dog was a lieutenant, and senior to the chief. If he wanted
to see his branch chief in the middle of the night, he had the right to wake
his ass up and talk to him.
“It’s about Shaughnessy,” Bird Dog said, and related how he’d seen her up
on the flight deck fooling around with one of the aircraft during the time she
should have been at her extra duty. After a few sentences, he heard how weak
his own argument sounded. The chief listened politely, although his face
turned a little red.
“Well, Lieutenant, I can see your point,” the chief said after Bird Dog’d
petered out. “You tell a sailor to be somewhere, that’s where she ought to
be.”
“I’m glad you agree with me, Chief,” Bird Dog said. “Nothing seems to be
getting her attention. Quite frankly, I don’t think we’re going to be able to
nip this problem in the bud. If her blatant disrespect and disobedience
continue, we’re going to have to consider Captain’s Mast.”
The chief was silent for a few moments, intently examining the worn
linoleum on the ready room floor. Finally, he looked back up at the young
lieutenant. “You’ve got it wrong, Lieutenant. I don’t agree with
you–haven’t about this whole thing. I made that real clear to you in the
beginning. You want me to push this, I will. You’re the boss. But let me
tell you–you’re making a big mistake here, sir. That young airman was up
there checking out our aircraft, taking some initiative and responsibility.
Okay, maybe she was late for this bullshit extra duty you’ve got her on. But
I can tell you, I’d a hell of a lot rather have a safe airplane than a shiny
clean deck in the ready room, or an extra coat of paint in the division
spaces. You start punishing people for taking the initiative, you’re going to
end up with more problems than you started with. Sir.”
The chief stood up, towering over the young lieutenant. Bird Dog stood
hastily, not willing to be intimidated by the older man.
“Lieutenant, you concentrate on flying. Leave the troops to me. It
works out better that way–trust me.”
1920 local (Zulu -8)
Operations Center
Hanoi, Vietnam
“It is time to give them something else to think about,” Mein Low
declared. He pulled the delicately annotated chart toward him. “I want the