Josiah West 1: Kaleidoscope

by C. T. Christensen

  From Josiah’s left, Commander Phelps spoke up and added to the Admiral’s question, “We are also a little confused about the apparent lack of sufficient training to account for your skill in handling the shuttle and the rather extreme level of knowledge of its systems.”

  Josiah sat for a moment thinking that someone had finally noticed, these people are sharp; no doubt about it. He reached to the black pouch attached to a belt clip at his left side and withdrew his logic pad. As he unfolded the screen he started answering their questions, “At the Academy I was surrounded by the best of the best. It was inspiring to have those kinds of people teaching you things. My first, and only, posting was to the Maxim Caldwell; it was a shock. Almost every officer above the rank of full lieutenant was some sort of reject. It was like a naval dumping ground.”

  When those last words came out of his mouth, the Admiral and the others stirred and looked around at each other. “Did I say something wrong, sir?”

  The Admiral gave a small laugh, “No, no, it’s just that those very words were heard in this very room about that very subject. Keep going and I don’t want you to smooth any rough edges.”

  Admiral Jacks had been Division One Commander for almost six months when he had arrived on the Caldwell to oversee Operation Blackberry. The realization now came to Josiah that he had known it was a crew of losers when he arrived and that he probably..., “Admiral, you thought I was one of them didn’t you?”

  Admiral Jacks developed a slightly embarrassed smile and Josiah saw Beltozi, Hoffman, Ataxis and May-Reynolds all smiling and nodding enthusiastically, “Well, you showed up looking like a dirty rag, gave a four star Admiral solid grief, and came seriously close to suggesting I do something anatomically improbable with myself; what was I to think?”

  It was Josiah’s turn to look embarrassed as he got an idea of how he must have come across to them. He nodded slowly and picked up the thread of his thoughts about the Caldwell, “Ok, well, it took me a few months to find out how the competent people lived on that ship. It was like there were two civilizations living side-by-side, and one of them didn’t know the other was there. Most of the top officers were either incompetent or wanted to live in their own little kingdoms, or both. The situation was duplicated to a somewhat lesser extent among the NCO’s. We, the competent group, kept things running. We saw to it that the ‘other’ group was kept out of the loop as much as possible. Orders were changed whenever possible, or some excuse was invented as to why something had to be changed, or we would assure them that it, whatever it was, would be taken care of. I crossed swords with a lot of those losers before I earned an invitation into the underground group; by then I had racked up a lot of bad reports and that is why I’m still an ensign nearly five years down the road.”

  He looked back at his pad and tapped a few things on the screen. “Admiral, will you please set your pad for a file download and give it to me.”

  That caught Admiral Jacks a bit off guard but he pulled out his own pad, unfolded it, and tapped some things on its screen then handed it to Josiah. “Admiral, I am going to upload a file that may cast a bit more light on things.” As he explained his actions he placed the Admiral’s pad next to his, activated a limited proximity upload, and then entered a rather long password. He then looked back up at the Admiral, “Our group kept a full set of training and performance records that was totally off the normal ship’s data system; it was the only way to keep track of whom has qualified to do what; you know, like the Navy is supposed to do. The upper level officers that would have normally done this record keeping usually couldn’t be bothered.”

  Josiah checked the pads, tapped on both screens, and handed the Admiral’s pad back. He took it and started examining the file. A minute later he looked up at Josiah, “Do you mind if we all see it?” indicating the others sitting around them.

  “No, sir, I don’t mind.”

  There was abrupt activity as everyone got out their pads and prepared for a download. In a moment the Admiral looked around, “Ready?” Seeing all nods he tapped and started transmitting. In a few seconds it was done, and the room grew silent as everyone started going through Josiah’s real service record.

  Josiah withdrew his pad activity from the secure file system, double folded the screen again, and replaced it in his pouch. A couple of minutes later, Phelps was the first to break the silence as he looked at Josiah with a look of disbelief, “Are these ratings real? This looks like you have ratings for just about every class of anything that flies in the entire Navy, including...” here he looked back at his pad and paged from one entry to another “...every Marine assault boat type now in service and...” he paged again “...these numbers on simulator time must have had an extra zero mistakenly added. Explain this.”

  Questioning looks and confusion occupied every face in the room, even the ones that were still focused on their pads. It was pretty much the response he had expected, “I suppose I could describe it as being held hostage in a candy store.” That raised a few more heads but did nothing for the confused looks. “The mission of the Caldwell is to support fleet activities. That includes equipment maintenance and training. Even though my specialty was just that of a shuttle pilot, the general personnel retention problems of the Navy were magnified further by the particular personnel problems on the Caldwell. We don’t have an overabundance of competent people with which to get the job done so if you can handle it, you get to do it. That includes any kind of training and job assignment. If you keep digging, you’ll find that I am a Frame, Drive and Power Systems Technician First-Class, a Weapons Systems Tech First-Class, an Armorer Second-Class and a Simulator Master Programmer. We also have a constant series of online and guest instructor classes in a wide variety of subjects; all under the table.”

  At this point he hesitated to tell them the next thing but the looks on their faces were just so...comical that he couldn’t resist. He gave a little wave at their pads, “Under the heading ‘Odds and Ends’ you will find descriptions of two actual hot missions in which I piloted Marine assault boats during that Argentina Incident.” The Admiral took a deep breath and was preparing to say something. Josiah stuck up his hand before he could start. “I know, I know, Navy personnel are not supposed to be driving Marine assault boats into combat situations. However, there are certain people in our sister service that are, somewhat, aware of the odd nature of the Caldwell command structure and made a special request of our group. The Marines also have manning problems. It was kept very quiet; even the Marine assault teams I took in thought I was ‘Captain Smith’, and my drop points were perimeter support missions that took very little ground fire.”

  Josiah leaned back in his chair, put his elbows on the armrests, and interlaced his fingers across his stomach, “Sir, I’ve spent almost another five years in another kind of academy getting less sleep than I did at the first one. When you first saw me in those greasy work greens, I had been working on a plumbing system getting my Environmental Systems rating.”

  Silence filled the room while they flipped from page to page and tried to assimilate information about a facet of their command responsibility that they were only beginning to suspect. As he looked at each one in turn, the idea began to form that an ensign had just upset a four star Admiral and his entire staff.

  Admiral Jacks looked around, “Any further questions or comments?” There was only head shaking and stunned looks. They all knew that there were long nights ahead. “Are we agreed to continue with the rest of our planned agenda?” That brought a brightening of the prevailing mood and comments like, “Indeed” and “You bet.” The Admiral folded his pad and returned it to his pouch; the rest did likewise. Admiral Jacks picked up another data pad. At that point, Captain Beltozi excused himself and signaled for Commander Sun and Molly to follow him to the conference table were they put their heads together and talked quietly. Admiral Jacks pushed the data pad over in front of Josiah, “Ensign West, you are due to leave the Navy in three months; I want y
ou to re-up.”

  As you get older, you learn things that you should and should not do. Some of those things that you should do include looking both ways when crossing a roadway, or doing a thorough pre-flight check, or always underestimating a woman’s age. On the other hand, you should never look down the barrel of a loaded gun, or open both ends of an airlock to space, or, in this case, sign up for another five years in the Navy.

  Josiah’s reply was a bit slow in coming as he looked at the reenlistment form waiting for his signature; and I had hopes of getting out early. He looked back up, “Sir, when I left the Academy, I thought I was looking at a career. After a year on the Caldwell I was totally fixed on doing my time and getting out. I was lucky to be part of the underground group, and I buried myself in it. But, I knew I would never go anywhere in the real Navy, if there was one. With my official record, I knew I would be passed over for promotions, and the opportunity for command would never exist for me.

  “Look at me; I’m crowding twenty-nine years old, still an ensign, and still hiding in the bowels of the biggest loser ship in the Navy.” Josiah leaned forward, “Admiral, tell me I didn’t misread you and make a big mistake by telling you about the real Navy people on the Caldwell. If you’re the man I’ve heard you are and you do want to clean up this Division then you have a core group of people that you could have only dreamed of until now.” He eased back in his seat again, “As for me, I’m angry, frustrated and burned out; I’m looking forward to getting out. Sorry Admiral but I have no interest in doing more of the same.”

  Admiral Jacks was nodding slowly. When he stopped, he acquired one of those small smiles Josiah had seen earlier, “I’m glad you put it that way, that you don’t want to do more of the same. How would you like to do something different?”

  The Admiral leaned forward and pushed the case across the table, eased back in his chair and just sat there watching Josiah. Everyone was watching Josiah, including Beltozi, Sun and Shepard from across the room. It looked like his turn to do the obvious, so he pulled the case to the edge of the table and opened it.

  The first thing through his mind was one of those clichéd scenes in the vids where someone opens a box and the contents cast a bright glow. He was looking at a pair of shoulder boards with the two gold bars of a full Lieutenant on the red background of a staff officer. It took awhile, but he finally managed to look back at the Admiral and say, “You’re kidding, right?”

  Admiral Jacks brought his hands down hard on the arms of his chair, pulled himself to the edge, and stuck a finger in Josiah’s face, “You think you’re fed up with the Navy? I’m the one that has to clean up Division One and I need help.” He relaxed a bit, put his hands back together and his elbows on the armrests. “Up until that crash, you were just another piece of trash that was heading for the dump, but your performance started us checking you out. The blatant discrepancy between your Academy record and service record got us digging deeper. We found that the higher level personnel on the Caldwell that even knew you existed thought of you as just some below average clod in the churn while those closest to you praised you highly. We had an idea that there was something odd going on, but we never suspected what you just told us.” He raised his hand and indicated someone to his right, “Commander Phelps is my pilot but he’s headed for the War College, and we have been looking for a replacement for several months.” He pointed down at the open case, “We, obviously, chose you but we knew it would have to be a hell of an offer.”

  Once again the Admiral picked up a data pad; in fact, he spread the remaining four in a row and pointed to the first one. “This one modifies your service record to show a promotion to Lieutenant Junior Grade sixteen months after leaving the Academy.” He pointed to the next pad, “This one promotes you to full Lieutenant twenty-six months later.” His finger moved again, “This one restores all lost back pay and this last one authorizes payment of twenty-thousand credits for retention in service of a critical specialty, that of shuttle pilot.” He now pointed at the data pad in front of Josiah, “You sign that one and I sign these.”

  While the Admiral was talking, Commander Sun had walked up behind him and leaned over, “Admiral, we need you to look at something.”

  He nodded and said, “Excuse me,” and followed Sun across the room.

  Commander Phelps leaned over and touched Josiah’s sleeve, “Being a staff officer is great, and being the Admiral’s personal pilot is a fantastic job. You get to hobnob with the top brass and heads of state, and in the most luxurious shuttle you ever saw. The Admiral has an old D model Panther assault boat stripped out and fitted with all of the classiest gear available.”

  That caught Josiah’s attention, “You have a Panther D?”

  Phelps grinned, “Yes indeed, it’s the only one still flying, and it is beautiful. Of course it will take a few weeks to get you your command rating what with having to schedule simulator time.”

  Josiah absently waved a hand as his mind wandered through some old memories, “Oh, that won’t be a problem; I already have full Systems and Command ratings for a Panther D. I will need a check ride though.”

  That got at least four “Whats”, two “Huhs” and one “That’s not possible.” Commander Marks pointed to his logic pad pouch, “There was no mention of any such ratings in either of your records and the Panther line ended around fifteen years ago.”

  Josiah understood the confusion, “My family operates a flight systems service company in California. It was started by my grandfather, and my father now runs it. They are both ex-Navy. When I was fifteen we got the job of rebuilding a Panther D for the Marine Memorial Garden up by Jacksonville. By the time we finished rebuilding all of the systems, making it airworthy only took a few more days and it was cheaper to fly it to Jacksonville than to ship it. We spent six months rebuilding systems, and for the fun of it, my dad made sure I took all of the system and command rating exams. I was the one that flew it to Jacksonville. If you go there you’ll see my picture as part of the exhibit. They were kind of surprised when my father told then that he was the co-pilot and the sixteen-year-old boy was the PIC. The ratings are part of my civilian records, not the military records. Here...” He got his pad out and opened it. The others got the idea, and, in a minute, he had uploaded his civilian flight ratings to their pads.

  A couple of minutes went by as they scanned his civilian ratings. An occasional “Good Lord” or “Wow” was heard. Lieutenant May-Reynolds looked up at him with an expression of disbelief on her face, “You got all of these ratings by the time you were nineteen?”

  He smiled at her, “Actually I was a week short of my nineteenth birthday when I entered the Academy. I got my first rating, a class 2 atmospheric shuttle rating, when I was twelve and it became sort of a game to see how many I could get.” He scanned their faces with a grin on his, “You have to realize that I had a complete flight service facility to play with. We got all manner of equipment through there: Privately owned, corporate, foreign and even the occasional military job. The only restriction on my command ratings was that I could not fly as PIC with any unrated passengers aboard until I was sixteen. Of course, what did I care? I was doing flight testing by myself before I was fourteen. I did my first sub-orbital flight around the Earth on my fourteenth birthday.”

  Everyone’s attention shifted as Admiral Jacks, Beltozi and Sun returned to the group and resumed their seats. The people sitting next to Beltozi and Sun handed them their pads so they could read his civilian ratings. Admiral Jacks addressed the entire group, “Beltozi, Sun, and Molly have been checking on the authenticity of the record data that West supplied us. We called up some of those officers that signed off on your various activities over the last four plus years.” The Admiral was now focused on Josiah, “It appears that the record is genuine. I have ordered Master Chief Shepard to scan through that record for any awards that you are now known to be qualified to receive. The most obvious ones are for those Marine assaults that you participated in. It is
not normal practice to award Marine campaign ribbons to naval personnel but I will sign off on them. Those, and anything else that Molly comes up with, will be yours before you leave this room.” He raised his hand and pointed at the open case still lying in front of Josiah, “Now, there is still the question before you.”

  Captain Beltozi stood up and with a formal air to his voice turned to face Admiral Jacks, “Sir, the staff would like a moment to confer privately with Ensign West.”

  The Admiral appeared mildly surprised but rose from his seat, “As you wish.” The rest of the staff also rose from their seats and Josiah joined them.

  As the Admiral turned to walk away, May-Reynolds handed him her pad, “Sir, you will want to read this.”

  As the Admiral went slowly toward his desk reading Josiah’s civilian ratings list, Captain Beltozi steered Josiah to the back corner of the room against the windows. The entire staff surrounded them, “We want to be very clear about things before you make your decision. When you walked into this room we were all about ninety percent sure that the offer would be made to you. The only thing that bothered us was your service record. Now, with that cleared up, you definitely have the job if you want it.”

  Phelps took over, “Being the Admiral’s shuttle pilot is only part of the job. You will be given all manner of assignments from checking the quality of the food in the chow hall to working with foreign military and diplomatic personnel.”

  Now it was Lieutenant Edwards’ turn, “The term ‘work hours’ has no meaning. Even if you are on leave, you’re not on leave.”

  Commander Scott put a hand on his shoulder, and he turned toward her, “You’ll still only be a lousy lieutenant, but you will find that those red shoulder boards are like keys to a Magic Kingdom. You will find that everyone is very friendly to you, including other admirals.”

  Lieutenant Ataxis started speaking in his precise East African British accent, “Because of that influence you must be very careful how you deal with people. There is a temptation to be a tin-god.”