“I took the ROTC program for the money, Captain. It wasn’t much but with a couple of scholarships I only had to have one job on the side.” She carefully refrained from discussing what the job was. Modeling was modeling but there were a few pictures around of her that she sure hoped never made it into her official packet. Or the fact that her minor had been in dance.
The new commander nodded and went on. “Commissioned as an ensign and took training as an aeronautics maintenance officer. Assigned USS Carl Vinson. Served four years, three on the Carl Vinson. Exited regular service in 1995. Why not continue?”
Sharon wondered how to explain to this career officer. How to explain that despite all the pressure being applied to reduce harassment, an aircraft carrier at sea for six months or more at a time was still no place for a former model. How to explain the decline in morale and discipline during those dark days of the American military. How to explain the frustration of not being able to keep birds in the air because of a lack of parts. Or the pressure to put up birds you were not one hundred percent sure were good. Of having a husband knife her in the back so he could get a few more hours in the air. Of having the same son of a bitch leave her for an “LBFM,” a “Little-Brown-Fuck-Machine.” The Indonesian wife was nice and almost apologetic. But that hadn’t helped.
“There was no reason to continue at that time, ma’am,” she answered, her stock noncommittal response. “I had never considered the Navy a career.”
“Despite a string of ‘Excellents’ on your Officer Evaluation Reports?” asked the British officer. “Despite, ‘this officer manifests maturity and ability far beyond her age and far beyond her peers. Future assignments of this officer should be determined keeping in mind the good of the service and possible future high rank rather than the immediate needs of career placement.’ And it was ‘enthusiastically endorsed’ by the carrier commander.” The professional officer cocked her head to the side in puzzlement. “That’s better than any evaluation I got at the same rank. So, why leave? You had the possibility of a fine career in front of you.”
Sharon raised her hands palm up. “I was never a careerist, Captain. I’m happy that Commander Jensen was so enthusiastic and that Captain Hughes agreed. But I still was not there for a career.”
The new commander cracked her fingers and leaned back in the station chair, fingers laced behind her head. “Bullshit.”
Sharon stared at her stonily. “Perhaps, Captain. But it is all I am required to discuss with my superiors.”
Captain Weston cocked an eyebrow. “Once burned thrice shy?”
Sharon smiled faintly. “More like eternally shy. Ma’am.”
“Okay.” The officer nodded. “Fair enough. Returned to school, Georgia Technical Institute. Met and married one Michael O’Neal.” She stopped. “Parenthetically, I met the Mike O’Neal who won the medal on Diess on a plane just the other day. Nice fellow, if you’ve never met him. Just as short as he looks on TV.”
Sharon smiled thinly. “Yes, he is, ma’am. But I find him quite tall enough.”
Captain Weston looked surprised for the first time in the interview. “Seriously? He’s your husband?” she asked, her accent for once becoming prominent.
Sharon smiled whimsically. “Seriously. I mean, I know he’s not much to look at…” she said and smiled again.
The captain shook her head and trudged on. “Took your masters in aeronautic engineering, specializing in determining maintenance cycling. Went to work for Lockheed-Martin in Atlanta on the F-22 project. The project was then in the process of being ‘downsized.’ I’m surprised you got a job.” She cocked an eye for an answer.
“So was I,” Sharon admitted. “But they were continuing background developmental work, figuring that sooner or later Congress was going to give up and buy the damn thing. I was fresh out of college and cheaper than the people they were letting go. I wasn’t happy about it, but I took the job anyway.”
“But you stayed for two more years. Until you were called up, in fact.”
“I’d hardly been there any time when We Heard.” Sharon finally crossed her legs and interlaced her fingers over her knee. “By then we’d started tinkering with the Peregrine variant. When the parameters came back it looked like the Peregrine would be the answer to our prayers. Now that I’ve gotten a better look at the data on Posleen weapons I think it’s a death trap. But nobody listens to me these days.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” said Captain Weston, enigmatically. She leaned back and ran her fingers through her hair. They came away greasy and she grimaced. “They listened to you at the Board of Inquiry. And that was with an entirely male board and two Russians on it. Have you ever wondered why you are still on this ship when all the other officers have been cycled through like shit through a goose?”
Sharon snorted at the sudden profanity out of the somber officer. “Yes, Captain, actually I have.”
“So, we’re back to ‘Captain’ are we?” asked the officer, with a snort. “As you wish. You realize that none of the officers have been in place long enough to give you an evaluation report.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sharon answered, more carefully.
“Captain Stupanovich tried. He submitted your review despite only being in command for sixty days. The minimum is one hundred and eighty.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Sharon with a grimace. “I saw it.”
“Not particularly good from what I’ve heard,” admitted Weston. “Well, that was one piece of paper that will never see the light of day. If there is a remaining copy anywhere, Fleet has been unable to find it.”
Sharon wrinkled her brow. “I don’t understand. Why would Fleet be trying to purge that review? I can understand denying it, but why purge it?”
“Commander,” asked Weston, leaning forward and pinning her with that deep, black gaze, “how many systems are currently down on this barge?”
Sharon grimaced. “There are seventeen ‘minor’ systems down and four ‘major’ systems, ma’am. The major systems are limited to environmental and defense. All weapon systems and drive systems are on-line.” She shrugged. “The crew is doing wonders, especially the Indowy, but we don’t have the spares! We might have been able to get spares delivered for the heat exchangers and the number six forward fans by now if Captain Stupanovich had bothered to forward the requests!” she finished angrily.
Weston nodded. “Commander, there are seventeen frigates assigned to Earth system defense. You know that, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you know how many are flying?” she continued, aggressively.
“Twelve, ma’am,” said Sharon, wondering where the discussion was going.
Weston nodded again. “Do you know how many have more than fifty percent capability in weapons and drive? The two systems that you correctly pointed out are the most important?” She waved at the air. “It’s hot! The exchangers are off-line, right?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t know how many are out of service and yes, ma’am, the heat exchangers are out,” said Sharon. “Actually, half—” she continued and was cut off.
“I’m not attacking your job, Commander. I’m telling you why you should straighten up your damn shoulders! Having all the heat exchangers off-line can be deadly. But not nearly as deadly as having our lance-launch ability off-line! Do you know what Admiral Bledspeth, whom I have known since I was in diapers, said to me?”
Sharon shook her head, wondering what the Terran System Fleet Commander would have said about this bucket of bolts. She felt like she was being slapped in three different directions by the rapid turns of the new commander.