“Not a virus, Captain. Like I said, it was just a little program. And I didn’t exactly send it to them either, sir. I hacked into their network.” Shoemaker blinked as he obviously, and suddenly, realized that he was playing at words with the captain, so he added quickly, “I mean, Le Temeraire was hooked up to the base network just like we were, sir, so it was easier that way… to hack in, I mean. The French are years behind us in security, Captain.”
“This message doesn’t tell me exactly what it was that you did, Shoemaker. It just states ‘petty officer in question loaded an illegal program onto the information systems of a ship belonging to a foreign navy.’ Why don’t you expound on that for me? What exactly was the illegal program?”
Edwards saw Shoemaker glance at a few of the onlookers who were holding back snickers. Edwards figured that most of the crew probably already knew about the program. Probably some of the chiefs and officers did, too. There were some things that happened on a ship the Captain was the last one to know about.
“Well?” he prompted the hesitant Shoemaker.
“It was a simple program, sir, just involving a little j-peg image I created. The program would make the image their default desktop background and their default screensaver. Then if they tried to delete the program it would transfer itself to another directory and reset itself. In other words, sir, they wouldn’t be able to get rid of it, not unless they had someone on board who really knew what he was doing. I accessed their network server from our FT division computer and made my way around to each of Le Temeraire’s workstations, loading it onto each one.”
“What was the image?”
“An American flag, sir,” Shoemaker answered simply, immediately followed by a few hastily conjured coughs from somewhere in the back rows of onlookers. He then added, “Mostly, sir.”
Edwards held the message up again and read out loud, “ ‘… illegal program contained pornographic image …’ ” Shoemaker’s eyes fell to the floor briefly and then returned to attention. He obviously knew that he was caught.
“What was the pornographic image, Petty Officer Shoemaker?” Edwards forced himself to ask with vigor.
“We found this picture, sir…. I mean I… I found this picture on the web, sir. It must have been from some strip club somewhere or something like that, but it was a picture of a guy with a … well, he was naked, sir, and wearing nothing but a white dixie cup hat. I cut and pasted the picture onto an American flag background, and added some text lines.” Shoemaker paused for a moment, then added, “The text read, ‘I get off on American sailors.’ ”
Edwards did his best to keep from laughing. He had met Le Temeraire’s pompous captain briefly in the officers’ club on Diego Garcia. The mental image of the captain waking up one morning to a naked American sailor on his stateroom’s computer screen was almost too much to bear. A few chuckles emanated from the sailors clogging the forward passageway, but Edwards couldn’t bring himself to stare them down. He was having enough trouble controlling his own urge to burst out in laughter. But then his conscience got the better of him and quelled any thoughts of levity. Shoemaker’s action could have resulted in serious consequences. Suppose the program had interfered in some unforeseen way with Le Temeraire’s navigation computers and the big French submarine ended up crashing into an underwater sea mountain at twenty knots. He would have to make Shoemaker an example for the rest to take notice.
“And that’s everything, Captain,” Shoemaker said innocently. “That’s all I did, one hundred percent!”
“Petty Officer Shoemaker, I don’t know what to say. One of the reasons we haven’t read your charges is because the XO’s still trying to count them all. Besides this illegal program and the hacking, you’re also guilty of accessing pornographic images on a government computer. Not to mention the damage this incident could do to our relations with the French navy.”
“I’m sorry, Captain.”
“I don’t know if you’re sorry enough!” A hush descended on the room as Edwards took on the role of their captain once again. “You’ve really gone too far, young man. I’m not the only one who has to apologize to the French because of your little joke. The whole chain of command will have to apologize, all the way up to the Secretary of Defense himself. If we hadn’t been called away on this mission, the shore patrol would’ve been waiting for you on the pier with handcuffs and irons ready to whisk you away to the brig. The JAG lawyers are chomping at the bit to get their hands on you. You’re literally one step away from making big rocks into little rocks for the rest of your life.”
Shoemaker’s face took on a deathly pale color as he suddenly realized the weight of the charges against him. Edwards could see a million things going through the twenty-year-old’s mind. He felt sorry for him. He could think of at least a dozen crazier and possibly more costly stunts pulled by his own fraternity when he was merely twenty. Boys would be boys. But there was no room for youthful transgressions in today’s navy. Everyone had to walk the walk politically, professionally, and personally, or they were rooted out. He didn’t write the rules. They were written by people who lived in a white city of marble ten thousand miles away. But he had to live by them, enforce them, and imbue them into a boatload of mostly kids who risked their lives on a daily basis.
“The only way for me to save you now, son, is to throw the book at you and just hope the JAG is satisfied when we return to home port. I’m not sure they will be, though.”
Shoemaker swallowed what he could in a dry mouth.
“Here is your sentence,” Edwards said, pausing long enough for Bloomfield to finish fumbling with his pen and the clipboard containing the mast form. “Petty Officer Shoemaker, you are sentenced to two reductions in rate, half pay for three months, forty-five days extra duty, and sixty days restriction to the ship. The sentence is to go into effect immediately.”
Shoemaker seemed to gather some inner strength and faced the sentence with his head held high. Edwards could see that the young man did indeed regret his actions, and Edwards didn’t want to put him through any further unnecessary misery.
“You’re dismissed, Seaman Shoemaker,” he said.
Shoemaker saluted, turned on his heel, and marched out of the room, Miller and the fire control chief following in file after him.
“Bring in the next case,” Bloomfield announced.
Several officers and chiefs filed into the room taking the spots along one side of the table previously occupied by Shoemaker’s chain of command. They were Lieutenant Commander Van Peenan, Ensign Yi, and Chief Hans, in that order.
At the far end of the table, Shoemaker was replaced by a younger sailor also in whites, sweating profusely, visibly more uncomfortable than his predecessor. He saluted Edwards, then came to attention. The broad chest and shoulders, in stark contrast to Shoemaker’s feeble form, gave away his trade. He worked with his hands for a living and not in front of a computer screen.
“Nuclear Machinist’s Mate Third Class Myron Dean, sir,” Bloomfield announced before opening the mast report to read the charge. “MM3 Dean is accused of dereliction of duty in that he failed to follow written procedures as directed while standing watch as the engine room lower level mechanic thereby endangering propulsion plant systems and temporarily reducing the maximum speed capable of this vessel.” Bloomfield shut the report with an air of nonchalance as if he had just read the day’s lunch menu, and then placed it on the table in front of Edwards. “Dereliction of duty while on watch sums it up, Captain. Another dumb wrench-turner. Pretty cut and dry.”