The Command

“No fuckin’ way they can search a ship like that in half an hour,” Marchetti said. “These guys have containers three high on deck and just as tight below. It takes time to get up to them and cut the padlocks. Then you got to go through them, and put the seals back on.”

Dan studied his shaven head as the senior chief went on to explain that particularly in the larger vessels, containerships and tankers, they had to check every space and every container. The only way to cut down on the workload would be to stand up a third boarding team.

“That might not be a bad idea,” Dan told them. “Have you got anyone who could stand up as a boarding petty officer?”

Marchetti said he had a first-class sonar tech might have the leadership and judgment to take on the job. “A sonar tech?” Dan said, taken aback.

“Sir, Crack Man’s not a weenie like the other ping jockeys. And they don’t have squat to do up here, the water’s so shallow. I’d shuffle the others around so you get a mix of raw and salty in each team. Blue, Gold, and … Green.”

“All right,” Dan said. They were glancing at the door when he added, “How are you going to man the new team?”

“We’ve got a waiting list, sir,” Marchetti said.

“Is Wilson on it?”

“Wilson?”

“Commander Hotchkiss tells me she makes all the musters and workouts and familiarization fires. Think she deserves a shot?”

“I’d rather not, sir.”

“Why not?”

“These ragheads hate Americans anyway. I’d hate to think what they’d say to a woman. You heard the stuff they say over the bridge to bridge, when one of the girls goes on.”

“That the reason? Spare her feelings?” Dan asked him.

“No, sir.”

“Okay, what’s the real reason?”

“She’s not going to be able to do the job.”

Dan said, not wanting to order him to do this, wanting him to do it because he thought it was worth a try; to get him on the side of giving the girl a chance: “That’s your opinion. Right?”

“An opinion based on a hundred and twenty-one boardings.”

“Is it possible you could be wrong?”

“No, sir.”

“Not even remotely?”

“No, sir.”

“You’re never wrong, is that it?”

“I didn’t say that, sir,” Marchetti said, face about as closed as it was possible for a rock-armed, slick-headed, tattooed senior chief’s to get. “I said I couldn’t be wrong about that.”

“All right, I’ve heard enough. Put her on the team, Senior Chief,” Dan said.

Marchetti snapped stiff. “Aye, aye, sir.”

“You can cut the bullshit, too. I expect you to treat her like any other team member. That goes for you, too, Sean. If I hear she’s not being treated with the respect due a shipmate, you’ll explain why to me.”

The Machete said aye, aye again. Dan let him stand at attention for a couple more seconds, then dismissed them both, telling Cassidy the commodore wanted to see him but that he probably had time for a quick shower first. Thinking as the scowling senior chief left that he wouldn’t want to be in Wilson’s boots over the next few days. But maybe it would work out.

Or maybe it wouldn’t. But that was the whole point, wasn’t it. To see.

He leaned back, staring blankly at his Compaq. Unless the environment in Washington meant they were going to be integrated even if it weakened fighting effectiveness. Blair didn’t seem to think that was the case, and she was in the thick of it. He had to believe Congress had at least some modicum of responsibility.

Or did they? A conversation from when he’d been working in D.C. came back to him. With a staff aide to a congressman. What had Sandy said? Something about how the guy she’d worked for had tried to do the right thing once. And paid for it. That no one in government had any other goal than to keep their jobs.

He slicked his hair back, feeling the sweat and grit that coated it. He didn’t think of himself as above that. But he’d decided a long time ago that if he couldn’t do what struck him as right, he didn’t need to stay in. Probably not an attitude that would get him to flag rank, but it let him keep some sort of relationship going with Dan Lenson.

He was thinking about that when the 1MC clicked into life. “General quarters. General quarters. Set condition Zebra throughout the ship. Class Bravo fire in main engine room number one. This is not a drill. Class Bravo fire, main space fire in main engine room number one. Repair Five provide.”

16

Cobie was squatting on her boots beside the PLCC, working on her quals for the local control monitor, when she heard the explosion. It was the loudest thing she’d ever heard in her life. So deafening it paralyzed her for a second. She had no idea what had happened, only that her ears were ringing so loud all she could hear was a noise from the generator flat that sounded like a Tyrannosaurus sicking up a bad dinner. A hoarse, deafening ROWF, followed by a steadily decreasing RRRRrrrrrrrr. She didn’t know what it was, only that sparks were flying through the gratings, and she tucked and rolled instinctively, balling herself tight under the heavy steel counter.