Even with that, it was a long two ande. Nobody broke anything, but it was hard on the nerves, which translated into exhaustion when first meal rolled around. Staying with the ship’s schedule would mean three ande of duty, followed by another two of flight ops; that wasn’t going to work. Chief Joshua made it official after the meal; starting now, enlisted would operate on the same schedule as the officers. Peters didn’t see Todd, or any of the Grallt he knew, at the meal. After shoveling something in he went directly to his room and went unconscious.
That set the pattern for the rest of the month. After the first day, half of the primary crews saddled up and headed out before giving the deck over to the nuggets, but that made very little difference in the workload. Most of the alternates started picking up on the requirements of their new jobs, but everybody on the deck learned the name of Samuel Joseph Carson, Lieutenant (Junior Grade), USN, and an informal contest began for the most scurrilous biography possible; son of a bitch was an insult to the entire canine species, as one wag noted.
The man hadn’t managed to splatter himself all over the stern yet; he also hadn’t yet managed to notice that there was air inside and none outside, and coming in nose-up and hot was likely to wipe the vertical stabilizers of the Tomcat off against the overhead. It didn’t help that he was a bad caricature of a Naval officer and hotshit pilot, incapable of accepting criticism from his peers and regarding enlisted as something like technically adept worms.
The planes started picking up dings, and splat patches appeared on wingtips and stabilizers. People got hurt, as happens when you get intense in a small area with multiton machines; nothing major, slips and strains and an occasional pressure cut from walking into wings. One genius managed to get a hand under a wheel, which put him in the infirmary until further notice. He’d be OK, the medics advised; they’d caught it before the full weight of the Hornet came to bear, but he’d have to change hands in the head for a while.
The third man on each retarder console got sent to the shops to help with maintenance; that meant there wasn’t as much flexibility for breaks and meals. Then the second man went for the first half of each shift, to bear a hand at prepping the planes. Finally people started rotating through other jobs, things they were barely qualified for. Peters found himself chocking wheels and shoving boarding ladders in place. That brought him back in contact with Todd for the first time in days.
“Yo, Peters, thought you had a cushy job catching butterflies,” was his greeting.
“I did.” Peters grabbed the boarding ladder. “I reckon the Chief wants some cross-trainin’ done. This how it goes?”
“NO, God damnit, if you do it like that you’ll ding the strake. Give me the Goddamned thing.” Todd took the ladder, shoved it into place. “Like that. You got it?”
“I got it, I think, but gimme a little slack.” Peters opened his arms in a placating gesture. “I ain’t got a brown shirt, and up to now I never thought I might need one.”
“Yeah, shit, sorry, I guess I’m a little stressed out.” Todd shook his head. “Look alive now, here comes Ms. Travers. Just watch what I do.” Travers was one of the first-line crews, only her walk distinguishing her as female in the bulky poopy suit. Todd followed her up the ladder and helped her strap in, ending the exchange by slapping the officer’s helmet lightly. Then he swarmed down the ladder and started pulling it away. Peters jumped in to help and got a nod of thanks; the thing was heavy when you weren’t working on adrenaline overdrive.
The Hornet rolled away, leaving the two sailors a moment without demands. “How ya been?” Peters asked. “I ain’t seen much of you.”
Todd pulled off his helmet, rubbed his forehead. “Tired about sums it up. How long have we been at this, anyway?
“Ten days. No, Hell, it’s eleven now, ain’t it?”
“I guess.” Todd shook his head, began putting his helmet back on. “Come on, we’ve got the 206 bird to prep. Over there.” He gestured and began walking, and Peters fell into step. “Peters, sorry as I am to take you away from your job, I’m glad to see you. Need to ask you something.” He paused. “Except I don’t really want to.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I am catching one Hell of a lot of shit over being the only Third Class with a private room when there’s First Class still doubling up.” Todd stopped, shook his head again.
Peters eyed him, a smile starting. “And what you want to ask is if you can move in with me, is that right? ‘Cause if so, start ferryin’ your shit. I got no objection.”
Todd’s shoulders slumped. “Jesus, thanks, Peters. I’ll get at it right after we stand down.”
“I’ll even help,” Peters assured him as they started walking again. “But before you start shifting your stuff, you pick a First Class who’s doubled up, and you offer him your room.”
“That’s a thought.” Todd smiled for the first time in their exchange, and his stance came more erect. “I even know who to ask. Howard.”
“The CT?”
“The same. He doesn’t have much time in grade, and he got lost in the shuffle that first day. He’s in with a Second Class tin-bender, and says they don’t speak the same language and that’s one he isn’t interested in learning.” Todd looked at Peters, eyes twinkling. “Perfect. It even works when the Chief asks.”
“How’s that?”
“He was bugging me at chow the other day, wanting to get started learning Grallt. I told him to look you up, you were ‘way ahead of me.”
Peters shook his head. “Ain’t seen him.”
“We’ve all been busy. If I move in with you and Howard moves in next door, we’ll be all set for language lessons, and there won’t be anything anybody can say about it.” Todd looked across the bay, grinning. “Hah! I love it. When we go to chow after standdown I’ll look up Howard and tell him, and after that I’ll start moving my stuff. Jesus, Peters, thanks again.”
“No thanks needed. Truth to tell, I been feelin’ a bit lonesome.” Peters smiled too. “And after we get done shiftin’ your shit, I got a proposal. You get your pay on schedule?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
“Then I propose we go have a beer.”
“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all week.” Todd paused. “All settled for now?”
“Far’s I know.”
“Then let’s get on with it, we’re running behind. Peters, this is an F/A-18E Hornet, last in service in 2018. It used to have a pair of GE108 turbofan engines with afterburners, but now that it’s been resurrected from Davis-Monthan it’s got a shiny football like the rest of them. If you’re going to be helping on the prep line, you need to know how to check ‘em out. Start here, with the nosegear oleo…”
They were on their way back to quarters from first meal, which was lunch on their five-ande schedule, when the bay doors began opening with the usual commotion. All the planes were safely tucked away in the midships hangars, most with panels open for correction of some deficiency; the three dli were idle in the aft hangar among the clutter they hadn’t been able to clean because they weren’t supposed to go there; the “truck” sat all the way forward, ditto. What was this?
Running a retarder was Peters’s job; he more or less automatically headed that way, to find a Grallt in blue-and-whites at each console and Keezer standing by. The engineer nodded and pronounced the phrase that literally meant pleasant greetings. “Hello, Peters. Why are you here? Your assistance is not needed.”