At 1300 Cheryl and “Sid” Tausengelt, the command master chief, came up to discuss the mast case. Tausengelt was older than Dan, small and lean, with receding hair and a deep-harrowed, leathery face. Staurulakis handed Dan the defendant’s performance record, then briefed. Arthur Peeples was an MMSN, a machinist’s mate seaman. He was accused under Article 134.
“Remind me.”
“Basically, indecent language, Captain.”
Dan suppressed his first response, which was that dinging a sailor for indecent language was like… anyway, that was Oldthink. “Uh, okay. Elements of the charge?”
Staurulakis read, “‘One: That the accused orally or in writing communicated to another person certain language. Two: That such language was indecent. Three: That, under the circumstances, the conduct of the accused was to the prejudice of good order and discipline in the armed forces or was of a nature to bring discredit upon the armed forces.’”
“All right, three elements: that he said it, it was indecent, and it impaired discipline. Got it.” Dan leaned back, considering. Each week the command master chief, Tausengelt, convened a disciplinary review board in the chief’s mess. The DRB’s recommendations went to the XO, who conducted an inquiry and decided either to dismiss the case or to forward it for the CO’s nonjudicial punishment, or as the Navy had always called it, captain’s mast. “Did he admit saying it, Master Chief? What was his defense?”
“Sir, he admitted saying it, but he told us at the DRB it was a joke. Also, that the words didn’t mean anything.”
“Yeah, I’m not exactly sure why this case had to come up to me,” Dan told Staurulakis. “The way I read his records here, Peeples is a solid worker. A little rowdy ashore, but not enough to not rate a good-conduct stripe. Don’t we have some bilges somewhere that need scrubbing?” When she didn’t answer he added, “What exactly did he say?”
She looked off to starboard, squinting against the glare. “He called his supervising petty officer a ‘hucking skunt.’”
“Um… a what?”
She repeated the phrase, deadpan. Dan stared at her, then at Tausengelt. The master chief shrugged microscopically and averted his eyes.
“So, I assume his petty officer is female.”
“Correct. MM3 Scharner.”
“And this is symptomatic of something ongoing?”
“Peeples has a rep for blowing off authority,” the exec said. “Especially if that authority has a double X chromosome.”
“Okay, I guess… But what worries me is element two. They could reverse us on the grounds ‘hucking skunt’ is not actually indecent language.”
“Basically, he made that point, yessir,” Tausengelt murmured.
“It was intended as indecent,” Staurulakis said, but as if she was advancing it as an argument, not an assertion. “Therefore it’s indecent. If he calls the master chief here a rucking fetard, is that indecent?”
“It’s certainly offensive,” Dan granted.
“And prejudicial to discipline, if we let him get away with it,” the officer of the deck put in. Noah Pardees had come on at eight bells, noon. Tall, laid-back, dark as any inhabitant of the land to starboard, he honchoed First Division, usually the roughest gang aboard ship. By all accounts, the boatswain’s mates worshipped him. Dan and the XO stared at him. After a moment Pardees cleared his throat and strolled back to the far side, where he buried his face in the radar hood.
Dan’s next question was, “If it’s a sexual harassment thing, why aren’t we charging him under Article 93?”
The exec said, “We considered that. But according to the UCMJ, you can’t sexually harass someone senior to you. ‘Any person subject to this chapter who is guilty of cruelty toward, or oppression or maltreatment of, any person subject to his orders shall be punished as a court-martial may direct.’ I know, that doesn’t really make sense, but the specifications and elements haven’t caught up yet.”
Dan checked his watch against the clock over the nav table. “Look, we convene in five minutes. I need a shower. This guy’s a decent machinist. Possible career material. Bart’s gonna be there to vouch for him, right? But they call masts ‘delayed admin discharges’ now. With nonjudicial punishment in his record, he’s going to find it hard to get advanced. Or even to stay in, if his rate’s overmanned.”
“He should have thought of that before he called her names.”
He looked away from the exec’s flat gaze, sighing inwardly. Solomon would have shaken his head at some of the cases that came to mast. “Okay, let’s go on down.”
Ticos didn’t have a space well suited to holding a legal proceeding. In port, he used the bridge, but that was impossible under way. The wardroom had been cleared, and a fresh tablecloth laid. Staurulakis had set up the varnished lectern at which Dan presided so that he would be backed by the large canvas of the Battle of Savo Island that Tom Freeman, the artist, had donated to the ship. Dan ran down the laminated pages in the binder, making sure he had the names right. Checked the alignment of his ribbons on the fresh short-sleeved tropical white uniform. Glanced at the exec. She ran her eye up and down him, shoes to cap, and nodded. He cleared his throat. “Bring in the accused.”
The master-at-arms, Chief Hoang Quoc “Hal” Toan, thrust the door open. “Accused: forward, harch. Right turn, harch. Accused… halt. Come to attention. Uncover… two.”
They halted facing Dan, swaying with the very faint roll of the ship. Behind Dan stood Tausengelt and the exec. Behind the accused, others filed in: the injured party; the accused’s division officer and department head; and, an unexpected addition, a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman so curvaceous it was hard to look away.
Lieutenant Amarpeet “Amy” Singhe. His strike officer, in charge of Savo’s offensive power. To his surprise, Singhe stepped up beside Scharner. Maybe he was imagining it, but he was pretty sure he could smell sandalwood even across the space between them.
There hadn’t always been that much of it. Space, that is. After dark, in his at-sea stateroom, she’d leaned forward, explaining her plans to flatten the ship’s hierarchy, modernize its management. He’d only just managed not to tumble her, he was fairly certain not unwillingly, onto his bunk.
He tore his attention off her breasts and focused on the tall, thin young man in front of him. He was white, as was his accuser, which removed one possible complication. At attention, but his eyelids drooped. His pale chin showed dark stubble. Haircut, within current regs. Shoes, polished. Whites, neat and clean. The fingers holding his cap next to his thigh were white too. With tension?
Dan said, “Seaman Arthur Peeples, you are suspected of committing the following violations of the Uniform Code of Military Justice: Article 134, in that you did use indecent language to a senior in your chain of command, to the prejudice of good order and discipline. You do not have to make any statement regarding the offense of which you are accused, and any statement may be used as evidence against you. Has the accused been notified of his rights?”
“Here, sir. Signed and witnessed.” Staurulakis placed pages on the lectern.
“You are advised that a captain’s mast is not a trial and that a determination here is not a conviction by a court of law. Further, you are advised that the formal rules that apply in courts-martial do not apply at mast.” When Peeples nodded Dan held up the paper. “Is this your signature?”