I didn't know what to expect, but it was just the admiral, also in a plain steel suit. “Come on in boys, have a seat!” He said when we walked in. “What do want to drink?”
“Just a soda,” Meyers said.
Admiral Duffy grunted. “You're going to be the designated teetotaler?”
Meyers shrugged.
The admiral looked at me. “You'd better order a beer at least.”
“A beer sounds good, sir,” I said.
“Great! That's more like it!” He punched in an order, and a few minute later a waiter brought them in. Eros doesn't have a ton of gravity, but it came in glasses, and when we ate the food was on plates. It was a nice change.
Admiral Duffy tried to make small talk for a few minutes, but you can't even talk about the weather in space, and so it got quiet and a little awkward before long. He looked at me and Meyers, and said, “This is not a formal event, you know.”
Meyers just gave his little shrug, but I said, “What is it then, exactly?”
He sat back. “Truthfully?”
“No bullshit,” Meyers said.
Admiral Duffy leaned forward and said, “Boys, I've been in the navy a long time. I've seen a ton of changes, good and bad, but sailors are still sailors, and it doesn't even matter after a while if you're an officer or enlisted. We're all brothers.”
“Really, sir?” Meyers said.
“Damn straight,” the admiral said. “I'll prove it to you. You know what they called me when I was a green O nothing running my first division? Duff the Fluff.”
“Fluff?” I said. “That's the best they came up with?”
“It stands for Fat Little Ugly Fucker,” he said with a grin. “So it fit, was able to be used in polite company, and still made the guys that worked for me giggle. A perfect nickname.”
“But we can't call you that,” Meyers said pointedly.
“Not normally, no, but since when were sailors ever normal?”
“That still doesn't answer the question of why we're here,” I said.
“Sure it does.” He sat back and took a big swallow of beer. “Were you two going to get off the boat at all while we were here?”
I looked at Meyers, and then shook my head. “No, sir. Didn't feel like it.”
“Uh huh, and a sailor who doesn't chafe for liberty like a dog for a bone is not right in the head.” He belched and scratched his belly. “I'm not saying you have to go get drunk or laid, or in a fight. But you can't go through life avoiding uncomfortable things, as you both should well know.”
“What if we're just not interested?”
“To a certain extent, do whatever you like, within regs,” the admiral said. “And if it starts to look like a problem, expect someone to intervene, and kick your lazy butts into gear.”
Meyers gave a halfhearted grin. “I'm not sure if I should say thank you or fuck off and die.”
“Either would be an improvement,” Admiral Duffy said. “Just do it with a little more enthusiasm, would you? I'm a big boy, I can handle it.”
Meyers rolled his eyes.
So we had a pleasant dinner with a guy who was not unlike most other sailors, even if he had the authority to throw us out of an airlock. We talked about our families, bitched about the navy, and told sea stories. And then he sent us to a social, and we both had a better time than we expected. But several times I noticed the security guys Meyers had pointed out, and it made everything seem a little less normal. Three days later, we were underway again, and that felt better.
Two months after that, we arrived in Port Nimitz, and even there, my life continued much as it had while underway. Endless interviews, the dog-and-pony show that never ended. I coped with it as best I could, with help from Meyers, the survivor group, and occasionally from Admiral Duff himself, but it was both monotonous and draining. I traded long emails with my Grandpa about it, and he gave me some tips for getting through. I also talked to Katy every chance I could, and we had a constant flow of emails and messages, and that helped, but not as much as it would have if I could have held her occasionally. And I also got promoted to Fire Controlman Second Class.
We had been in port for almost a month when everything changed. It started out like a normal day, and the first two interviews I gave went pretty well. But by the third, I had already hit my wall for the day. Not only did their questions not change much, neither did my responses. I was bored and more than a little frustrated, but thankfully, I only had five scheduled that day, so if I could get through this one, I would be over halfway there.
It started out easy enough. The reporter was a very attractive blonde, with ruby red lips, long eyelashes, and a megawatt smile. An attractive interviewer always helps, and I determined to be a little more charming and engaged this time.
“Petty Officer Wright,” she began, “I know you know who I am, but I, and all my viewers, are dying to get to know you.”
I blinked. “Um, no ma’am, I don’t know who you are.”
“I’m Yolanda Consuela.” The smile left her eyes. “I’ve visited plenty of ships, and I know I’m very popular among the enlisted men. They have my posters up everywhere.”
I thought back over my time on the Rosy Roads. “I don’t think posters were allowed on my ship. I never saw any.”
“Oh, well, that’s okay.” She cocked her head. “But you have heard of me, haven’t you?”
She had charm in buckets, but I couldn’t lie. “No ma’am.”
“You can google me later,” she said without missing a beat. “Just be careful. I think there are some pictures of me that could get you in trouble with your girlfriend.”
“Okay,” I said. I didn’t care about finding out more about her, or seeing her naked. I had talked to a lady the day before, a redhead, who had been more interesting in every way. Yolanda felt like some of the girls I knew in high school who expected the world to kneel before their obvious beauty and superiority. I hadn’t cared for those girls either.
“So tell us your story,” she said, batting her eyelashes.
I went through my scripted response, and I could tell that I was losing her interest very quickly. I had just talked about the death of my ship when she cut me off. “Everyone's heard that before. I want to know more about the man behind the myth. Do you have a girlfriend?”
I still didn’t know what to call Katy, but I wasn’t going to let this woman know anything about her. “No ma’am.”
“A single man? My viewers will love to hear that. How about a boyfriend? Did you have one of those on your ship?”
‘Excuse me?”
Her charm was turning quickly to smarm. “You served on an all-male ship, correct?”
“All warships are sex segregated,” I said.
“Well, you know what they say, 100 sailors go out and 50 couples return.”
MC1 Galloway signaled me to laugh it off and keep going. “It’s an old joke, sure,” I said. “Ha ha.”
“I heard you tried very hard to save a petty officer Otewa. Was he your lover?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I said. Galloway was frantically trying to get my attention, but I ignored him.
“Well, he survived the initial attack, and you didn’t make any move against the miners until he died,” she said. “I’m guessing he was pretty special to you.”
“So because I tried to save a man’s life, you think that it was a sexual thing?”
She gave me a wicked grin. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who came to that conclusion.”
I took a deep breath. Galloway just stood with his mouth open, like it had never occurred to him that his kind of crap might happen. And it might not have. But hell if I was going to let it stand.
“Well,” I said. “That’s a stupid fucking idea, even for a civilian.”
It was her turn to be shocked. “What did you say?”
My hands were trembling, but I managed to keep my tone fairly even. “My ship was attacked and everyone fucking died. In fact
, out of thousands of sailors in the battle fleet, I’m the only survivor. And you think I delayed my counter attack because I wanted to get my rocks off? What, do you spend your breaks looking for glory holes?”
“I don’t think I know what that is…”
“A two-bit whore like you? Come on, a woman as beautiful and empty headed as you must have slept her way to the top. You don’t think your viewers think you earned your spot on your intelligence, do you?”
The smile had turned into a snarl. “I average a hundred million hits per episode. That’s not nothing.”
“Get your head out of your ass, lady,” I said. “I didn’t say it was nothing, I said that you are an ignorant twat who probably gets her deep insights about human psychology from looking at porn all night long. I said that you are vacuous cunt who probably got her degree in spreading her legs and did her postgraduate work on her knees.”
The color drained remarkably from those perfectly rouged cheeks. “We’re live streaming, you dickwad.”
“There it is,” I said. “I’ll bet you can out cuss me if you put your mind to it. After all, I’ve only been in the Navy five years. You look like you’ve been servicing johns for twenty or more.”
That did it, and boy did she did unload. It was a good five minutes of every other word being fuck or shit, and I just laughed at her. When she ran out of breath, I said, “I apologize.”
“Really, asswipe?”
“Of course,” I said. “You're a rank amateur compared to the greenest recruit. And you wouldn't last ten minutes on a female warship.”
“Fuck you!” she snarled. “Fuck you, fuck the navy, fuck all your dead sailors and fuck this interview!”
The screen went blank. I looked over at Galloway, but he just had his head in his hand. His shoulders were shaking, and I was afraid I had finally driven him to tears. But he got a breath and let out the loudest guffaw I had heard in a while. “Oh, man, that was beautiful!”
I grinned. “I thought you would be mad.”
“Sure, in one sense, I’m furious,” he said. “It was an absolute disaster, and I can just about guarantee you’re going back to the fleet.”
“I probably made life hell for you, too.”
“Sort of,” he said. He turned his tablet around, and showed me a graph that spiked sharply. “She wasn’t kidding about having a hundred million views. But she just hit almost three times that, and if the comments I’m seeing are any indication, it’s not because they thought she was doing such a great job. I’ve got fifteen people monitoring these things, and they are all reporting that everyone loves you, and everyone is laughing at her.”
I had to meet with about a dozen officers after that, all of whom reamed me pretty hard for what I did. But finally it was Admiral Duffy again, who sat me down in his office, closed the door, and just shook his head. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”
“Yes sir,” I said.
“And I really want to be mad at you,” he continued. “Hell, my whole staff thinks I should find some reason to string you up, but all I’ve got is a minor infraction of conduct unbecoming. And quite frankly, a one stripe JAG could get you out of that since you’re enlisted, and that statute really applies to officers.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
He shook his head again. “You remind me of an old joke. An Army General, a Marine Corps General, and a Navy Admiral were all talking about how brave their men were. The Army general says, ‘Watch this.’ He calls over a private, and says, ‘Son, take out that tank over there.’ The soldier says, ‘Yes sir!’ and runs towards the tank with nothing but his rifle. He gets run over and dies. ‘That’s nothing,’ says the Marine general. He calls over a sergeant and says, ‘Take out that enemy machine gun nest with your K-BAR.’ The Marine says, ‘Yes Sir!’ and charges into oncoming fire with only a knife, shouting ‘ooh-RAH!’ the whole way. He gets shot up and dies. The Admiral says, ‘That’s nothing, watch this,’ and calls over a deck seaman. ‘Sailor,’ he says, ‘I want you to climb up as high as you can on this mast, and take a swan dive off the yardarm.’ The sailor looks up the mast, looks back at the Admiral, and says, ‘With all due respect, fuck you, sir.’ And they all agreed, that was the bravest act of all.”
I grinned. “With all due respect—”
He stopped me with a glare. “Don’t get cocky, son.”
“Aye aye, sir,” I said.
He turned towards his computer. “I’ve got some influence in these things, so I’m going to send you to SC-1503, the USS Niagra. She patrols the space between the Earth, the moon, and the L points, stationed out of Port Houston. It's considered quiet, boring, unglamorous duty. I’ll bet you will enjoy that.”
“The more boring, the better,” I said.
“It’s still a warship, though, and if needed, will end up on the front lines.” He gave me a hard look. “Do you understand?”
“Sure. And I've only got a year or so left in my enlistment, so I think I can handle it.”
His expression softened. “Nobody told you, did they?”
“Told me what, sir?”
He used a gentler voice than I had ever heard from him, but every word still sounded like a nail in a coffin. “Enlistments have been involuntarily extended due to the war. You don't have one year left, it's more like three, at least.”
“Needs of the Navy,” I said, trying not to sound bitter.
Admiral Duffy nodded. “It’s part of the job.”
Chapter 7
I tried not to be bitter about it, but I did fight it. Even though it may have been the fleet admiral who said it, there's always a technicality that can get around things.
But not this time. I even had my Grandpa inquire through all of his connections, but there was no special out for me. I was stuck. They cut the orders, and I left the Lincoln and boarded a fast transport from Mars to the moon.
A month-long nap should be refreshing, but it just leaves you disoriented. Katy had missed me, but I hadn't been able to miss her, and it made things awkward for a bit. Same with all the other people in my life, though I spoke to few of them as regularly. I emailed Meyers as soon as I could, and his response was as terse as I expected: Glad you made it. Good luck. That made me miss him pretty intensely.
But I got to Port Houston without much problem and checked in with the base. The Niagra was out and wouldn't be back for two weeks; they put me on Temporary Assigned Duty, told me where to find my bunk, and gave me a contact for the next day: OS1 Ballun.
I found my bunk, got my stuff somewhat arranged, and headed out to see if I could find some chow. An older woman in the common room stopped me by saying, “Petty Officer Wright?”
“Yes ma'am,” I answered.
“Oh, you don’t need to be formal,” she said, holding out her hand. “My name is Kathleen Sanderson, but you can just call me Kathleen.”
“My friends call me Pete,” I said, shaking her hand. She wasn't wearing any kind of uniform or badge but had an air of being in charge. “Are you some kind of ombudsman or something?” I asked.
“Oh, heavens no,” she said. “I just take care of the newbies and such that end up here.”
“Oh, okay,” I said, still not sure what to make of her. “I just was on my way to get something to eat. Can you recommend someplace?”
“What do you like?”
“It's probably a long shot, but are there any Tex-Mex places?”
She smiled. “In a place called Port Houston? We have a dozen or more. Come on, I'll take you to my favorite.”
As we left the barracks, and throughout our walk to the restaurant, it seemed like every other person said hello to Kathleen, and most of those addressed her as Mom. I wondered about it, but I also scanned the people we passed for potential threats—and the security personnel I knew still watched over me. Fortunately, I saw none of the former, but I did pick out several of the latter. Which meant there were perhaps a dozen I didn't see.
It only took about twenty mi
nutes of walking to get to the big food court, but Kathleen led me through it down a side passage to a little place called Amigos. I kind of expected her to leave at that point, but the hostess greeted her and asked her if she wanted her normal table. She said yes, and we were led to a big round corner table. The yellow walls and faint mariachi music made me momentarily homesick, but I pushed it aside and said, “Are you expecting more people?”
“No, but they always seem to find me,” she said.
“Do they all call you Mom?”
She smiled. “Some do, some don't. It just depends.”
I didn't really get to ask her more while we ate, because sure enough, people came and went from the table. A few stayed to eat, a few just said hi, but it seemed like everyone knew her. The food and the company were excellent, even though the conversation stayed fairly light.
The next morning when I checked in with OS1 Balun (Bally, for short), I asked him about Kathleen. “Oh yeah, she's the Mom alright,” he said with a chuckle. “She went a long time without a title or any official position, but the base CO changed that a few years back. Now she is the Civilian Liaison and gets a small stipend. Deserves ten times more than they give her, by the way, and everyone knows it.”
“But what's the deal?” I asked. “Why does she do it?”
He shrugged. “Someone told me her son used to be a squid, but that's about all I know.”
He put me in charge of a work detail (rank has privileges sometimes), and I spent the rest of the morning wrangling half a dozen deck seamen to get a few spaces detailed for an inspection. Man, those guys wanted so badly to resist every little thing they needed to do. But when I picked up a vacuum and joined them, their attitude shifted enough that we got done early. It didn't seem like that big of a deal to me, but they assured me that it was. I wish I could remember their names, but those two weeks went by in a blur. Having some solid manual labor helped me more than I realized, I think, because when the Niagra pulled in, I didn't feel nearly as resentful about joining the crew as I had.
Till the Conflict Is Over Page 6
