"What's he like? You've never said much about him."
"He's my father. Don't worry. It's no big deal."
Jen walked into the wardroom, exchanging greetings with the other officers there whom she knew, while Paul hung back for a moment. No big deal? Give me a break. Her father's the captain of the Mahan? Life just keeps getting more complicated.
Chapter Four
There wasn't any one place on the Michaelson even remotely big enough for the entire crew to gather, so the change-of-command ceremony took place in a special hall on Franklin Station which existed for just such functions. With the exception of a skeleton duty section remaining behind on the Michaelson to watch over the ship, every other officer and enlisted were gathered in the hall, the sailors ranked by their divisions, the divisions grouped into their departments, and the officers in charge of each standing out in front of their division or department. Chief Imari, the leading chief petty officer for Paul's Combat Information Center division, walked down the ranks of sailors in their unit, trying to form them into straight lines, align the ranks front to back, and correct any sailor whose idea of standing at attention didn't conform to Navy standards.
Grumbling under her breath, Chief Imari came up to Paul and saluted. "OI division assembled and accounted for, sir," she reported, using the shipboard designation for the unit.
Paul returned the salute, feeling stiff in his formal dress uniform. "Thanks, Chief. They look pretty good."
Imari glanced back at them. "For sailors, I guess. Just be glad there aren't any Marines around to make them look bad. And that they don't have to march anywhere." She shook her head. "Sailors don't march worth a damn, sir."
"I know." Paul remembered being a midshipman at the Naval Academy, where slightly sloppy marching was often considered a sign of distinction. Army cadets at West Point or Air Force cadets at Colorado Springs marched in perfect formations. But Navy midshipmen were above all that, except when the officers and senior enlisted training them cracked down. Paul turned his head and spoke in a clear but low voice. "OI Division, puh-rade rest!" With a slightly ragged movement, the sailors went from the erect posture of attention to the slightly more relaxed position of parade rest, their legs spread slightly and their arms crossed behind them with their hands overlapping at the base of their spines.
Commander Garcia walked rapidly across the front of the divisions in his department, glaring at each unit in turn. Apparently finding no problems he could hammer anyone for, Garcia took his proper position in front of the rest, his back stiff even at parade rest in an attempt to look very, very professional.
Paul and the rest of the crew waited. Aside from an occasional scuffing sound or a brief cough, everyone remained silent. The minutes crawled, and Paul let his mind wander. At least at parade rest individuals could maintain their stance for long periods without cramping anything, but inexperienced sailors could still pass out if they held themselves too tightly. Paul, with years of Academy experience of standing around at parade rest waiting for something to happen, didn't have any problem, but after a long enough time he came to attention, pivoted 180 degrees, and checked over his division carefully to see if anyone looked about to fall over. No one did, so Paul pivoted to face front again and resumed his parade rest stance.
Finally, a door at the back of the hall opened and Commander Kwan strode briskly to the front and center of the room. "Attention on deck!" he snapped.
The crew of the Michaelson came to attention, not with the crisp snap Marines would have easily achieved, but with a slightly drawn out rustle of uniforms. Kwan eyed them narrowly, then turned to face the door through which he'd entered. "Post the colors." From somewhere, the "Star-Spangled Banner" began playing. "Hand salute."
Paul brought his right arm up, his hand flat, the index finger against his right temple. If his sailors had been carrying rifles, they'd have been ordered to present arms, but since they didn't have rifles they stayed at attention. Three sailors entered, the front one carrying at a slight angle a short flag pole from which a brilliant American flag hung, the other two behind him with the flags of the US Navy and the US Marine Corps. The honor guard marched slowly across the hall to the front center, placed the flags into stands awaiting them, then stepped back and saluted as well. The music continued for a few more seconds, while Paul recited the words in his head.
Silence fell for a moment. "Two," Commander Kwan called out, and all those saluting brought their arms back down to their sides. Kwan saluted again as Captain Gonzalez and Captain Hayes started to enter.
A bosun mate standing at the door piped a full wail. Six other sailors, arranged three to a side on either side of the door, came to attention, fulfilling the ancient role of sideboys. Some of the "sideboys" were women, of course, but in the change-of-command ceremony they retained the name given back when ships traveled under sail and were built of wood. Another sailor bonged a bell four times in pairs of two bongs and announced "USS Michaelson, arriving" as Gonzalez passed through. Hayes was heralded with the announcement "Captain, United States Navy, arriving." The captains returned Kwan's salute, and Kwan marched to stand to one side.
Gonzalez let her gaze wander over the crew for a moment. "Parade rest." Another prolonged shuffle followed. "I am here today for one of the most painful tasks any officer must face, the need to say farewell to a ship and a crew who have served me and their nation well. My superiors tell me I'm leaving the Michaelson with a good record, that while I was in command the ship performed well and her crew performed better. But I know the only reason I look good to my superiors now is because of the crew I had the honor to lead for the past year. I thank you. I could talk at length about your sacrifices, about the deeds you accomplished, about how well you met every challenge. But I'm not a big talker, as you know. I hope I have nonetheless offered praise each time it was merited to each of you who merited it. Now, rather than hold you in formation for an extended period while I reminisce about the good old days and go over my career day-by-day, I will cease this speech and let my actions, and yours, speak for me."
Captain Gonzalez pulled out her orders, but stopped as Senior Chief Kowalski stepped forth, carrying a large object. "Ma'am, with the compliments of the crew of the USS Michaelson."
Gonzalez smiled slightly and took the object, then carefully pulled off its wrapping. A gleaming model of the USS Michaelson emerged, its football shape shone to a high-polish instead of the vision-defying dullness of the real ship. Captain Gonzalez's face lit up. "Thank you. This will be the center of my love-me wall, I promise. Thank you very much."
Paul found himself smiling as well. A "love-me wall" was the slang for the place where a sailor hung up all the pictures, plaques, and medals acquired in the course of a career. Paul's own "love-me wall" (if he'd a wall to use that way) would be very sparse at the moment, limited to his Academy diploma and his ensign bars. He imagined Gonzalez's wall, made up of the achievements and assignments of more than twenty years in the Navy, with the model of the Michaelson shining in the middle. It felt nice to think about.
Kowalski went back to his position and Gonzalez returned her attention to her orders, reading them aloud as tradition required. She went through the boilerplate in every set of orders, to the heart of these. "When relieved as Commanding Officer, USS Michaelson, proceed to duty on staff, Joint Chiefs of Staff, Pentagon, Washington D.C." Gonzalez licked her lips, her eyes lowered, then stepped back.
Captain Hayes stepped forward and held up his orders. Paul watched, barely listening, until Hayes reached the important part. "… Proceed port in which USS Michaelson (CLE(S)-3) may be, upon arrival assume duties as commanding officer."