The Command

So the pink tinge to her ears was anger. He filed that for reference, and leaned back, clasping his knee. He gained a few seconds from the phone, which beeped to inform him of a crossing contact on the starboard bow. He told the officer of the deck to maneuver to avoid and to make sure CTF 61 and CTG 61.1 had the same track data. Then shuffled the pictures and squared the edges, careful not to look at them again, and put them back in the envelope, wishing it was as easy to get the issue out of sight.

“Okay, you may have something there. What’s your suggestion? How should we handle it?”

“We need an outside investigation.”

He quelled his first impulse, which was to say that might be overreacting. Instead he went to the porthole and pushed the curtain aside, looking out.

Beer and partying and the shirts come off. Some might see it as harmless. But Tailhook had changed the way the U.S. Navy thought about what had once passed for innocent fun. If it pissed Hotchkiss off, he’d better think about it again.

On the other hand, reporting it up the chain of command would mean what Aronie and Blair had asked him to do, make this experiment work, would go up in smoke.

Or was he starting to think like the senior officers he used to hate? Covering his ass. Trying to keep bad news from going upstairs.

No, this wasn’t about him. They were all in unfamiliar waters, the leadership as much as the rank and file. He didn’t think a couple of topless pictures were a big deal, as long as he didn’t know about them. But the longer he pondered, the more he saw that now they’d found them, the leadership had to react. To let it go would send the message it was okay to ridicule and belittle the women. Inviting Blair’s hostile ten percent to go a little further, and a little further after that.

To react too harshly, though, would drive the splinter of the male crew’s irritation under the skin, to fester and turn ugly.

When he thought he was there, he turned from the sea. “I’d like you to hold off taking it outside the ship. At least for now. I’m not ruling it out. It may be the way we’ll go eventually, but before we do, I want you to conduct your own investigation.”

“An XOI?”

Dan said yes, an XO’s investigation. He told her to start with Lieutenant Sanduskie, the intel officer, to find out who’d developed the photos, presumably using the ship’s equipment, chemicals, and paper. That should lead to whoever had snapped them. Hotchkiss asked how she should charge him, and Dan suggested Article 134, disorders to the prejudice of good order and discipline. He then stopped her dead by saying, “I want the women charged, too.”

“I’m not sure I heard that right, sir. That’s blaming the victim.”

“Not quite. If one of my male sailors decided to disrobe in public, I’d expect to see him at mast. Granted, it’s a topless beach, but it’s still conduct prejudicial to good order. Discipline applies to all hands.” He glanced at his watch and said, more harshly than he actually felt, “Clear?”

Hotchkiss hesitated, then nodded.

“As long as you’re here. I want the chain guns and fifties manned as we go through the Ditch.” She started jotting on her clipboard. “Make it a rule, as long as we’re within sight of land in the Red Sea and Gulf, I want the ship’s self-defense team manned up. Check the rotation and get more people trained if we need to. I want at least three sections qualified. We’ll stay in three sections in Combat, too, with a qualified TAO on watch at all times.

“Second, once we get into this operating area, we’re going to be doing a lot of MIO. Make sure we’re taking a strain on our boarding team; they’re not going to have a lot of time to break in. We’ll get there, and probably an hour later we’ll have to put guys over.”

“Want me to get more people qualified there, too?”

“If we need to. I think Marchetti’s got one team already, but back-check the weapons officer on that. I already told you about food … Camill’s working on the chop message … I guess that’s all for now.”

A tap on his door. The duty radioman. “Sir, message from CTF 61.”

Hotchkiss got up, too. As she left, she brushed so close he could smell her hair. Strawberry scent. He looked after her as she went down the passageway, fanning himself with the message, before he saw the radioman watching him, eyebrows raised.

11

Manama City, Bahrain

The smell of strawberries took him back — to his college days, carefree, or as carefree as a young Arab could be trying to get good grades and make his parents proud.

Back to the days in America.