''The Navy has its stories, and old chiefs do love passing them along to the young ‘uns. Like today. It'll make quite a story; boot ensign goes out, saves a squad of jarheads with some fancy flying, then saves the whole damn platoon when she flies them over the minefield Gunny and the skipper were enthusiastically planning on dropping them into. Great story. So tell me, why you look like somebody stole your puppy?''
''XO says the skipper is putting me in for the Navy Marine Corps medal.''
''Hell, dearie, everyone on the boat knows that. Skipper ordered it about ten hundred this morning.''
''He's not doing it because Sequim's general manager wanted to put me in for a medal?''
''No ma'am.''
''Then why'd the XO…'' Kris started to form the question, then stopped. Never ask a question you already know the answer to was the prime minister's Rule One.
''I expect the XO is riding you. Like the skipper is, maybe was. Wants to know what you're made of.''
A panel flew open at Kris's last kick. The drawer was upside down; underwear cascaded onto the floor. Kris pulled a pair of gym shorts and a college sweatshirt from the pile, shoved the rest back inside, and stripped quickly. When she turned to the sink, toothbrush in hand, the chief was still eyeing her. ''Why you here? If you don't mind the question, ma'am?''
''I wanted to do some good,'' Kris said, smearing paste on the brush. ''Think I did, today,'' she said, jamming the brush in her mouth to cut off further discussion.
The chief shook her head. ''My sister wanted to do good. She joined the Salvation Army. In case you didn't notice today, the good you did for the little girl is gonna mean some things very bad for the guys that grabbed her.''
''They're getting what they deserve,'' Kris spat through the toothbrush.
''Right, you're one of those Longknifes. But trust me, honey, the bad guys ain't always going to be so deserving or so obvious. Navy shoots what it's aimed at, no questions asked, no answers sought. Politicians like your daddy point us. You sure you want to be out here on the tip of the spear with the rest of us folks with smelly feet?''
''I joined,'' Kris said, rinsing out her mouth.
''So did every mother's daughter snoring out there in the bays. Some joined to get out of that mother's house, or father's. Some joined to dodge a marriage, or the law. There are a couple out there earning money for college. They'll be the first in their family ever to get one of those diploma things. Every girl out there knows why she joined. Why did you?''
''I said I joined so I could do some good,'' Kris snapped.
''And?'' Chief Bo wasn't going to let her off that easy.
''Would you believe I wanted to get away from home, too?''
''Maybe,'' came with a raised eyebrow.
''No, I'm not some poor little rich kid, damn it, who had to join the Navy to get any attention. I had the prime minister and his lady's attention. God, did I have their attention. So much of them, there was no room for me. That's why I joined the Navy. To find a little space for me. To find a little air of my own to breathe. That a good enough reason to join your damn Navy?''
''Maybe,'' Chief Bo said, reaching for her covers and stretching out on her bunk. ''Good enough reason to join. Not good enough to stay. Let me know when you figure out why you want to be Navy.''
''Why are you Navy?'' Kris snapped.
''So I can have these fun late-night girl talks with you young officers and still get a good night's sleep in my own rack. Lights, out.'' In the dark, Kris could hear the chief rolling over, and in only a moment, she was snoring, leaving Kris to sort out a day that was more full than most months back home. Kris tried to organize all that had hit her in the last thirty hours but quickly found that all her mind wanted to do was spin past the day in a blur. Kris measured her breath, slowed it, and in a moment, exhausted sleep found her.
CHAPTER SIX
The Typhoon lifted on schedule at 0600. At 0700, while most of the crew was at breakfast, the XO converted the boat from Air Vehicle/Planet Lander mode back to Acceleration/Non-Combat mode. Kris reached the bridge just as the reports on the Success/Lack There Of began to pour in.
When a Kamikaze-Class Corvette was in noncombat mode; it wasn't a bad ship to be on. The thick hull armor for combat was spread thinly throughout the ship to make spacious passageways and work spaces. The bridge wasn't too claustrophobic, and each officer and many enlisted had their own private room. The XO had followed the book on how to change from one mode to the other and back again. Painful to say, and it was for him, the reconfiguration didn't quite work as the book promised.
Kris got the job of figuring out what the book missed. As Defensive Systems Officer, she was trained to move the ship's skin around in combat to compensate for damage. That left Kris the only one among the Typhoon's ten officers and sixty crew even marginally qualified to answer questions about wayward lockers, storage rooms, tool chests, et al. Kris spent most of the trip back to Squadron Six's base on High Cambria trying to get the Typhoon's insides back where they belonged. Ninety-five percent of everything worked just like the builders' specs said it would.
Kris worked sixteen-hour days on the remaining 5 percent.
It had its compensations. There was new respect in the crews' eyes even as they pestered Kris for this and that.
Quite a few put in a good word about the rescue. And all of them thanked her for what she was doing now, even the last, the owner of footlocker 73b2 and tool locker 23's mechs. After five tries, and five failures, neither space would move to its designated location. Kris solved it, finally, by having the spacers involved empty the lockers in their wrong locations, deleting them, then re-creating new ones in the right space. The Typhoon seemed to tremble with a quiet sigh of relief and a cheer when Kris finished. ''Hope we don't do that again any time soon,'' Kris muttered to herself… and the rest of the bridge crew.
Captain Thorpe raised an eyebrow to the Exec.
''I followed the steps in the manual,'' the Executive Officer defended himself. ''You were looking over my shoulder, sir.''
''Yes, I was.'' The captain chuckled, then turned to Kris and actually let the smile stay on his face. ''Right, Ensign, we will avoid this drill in the future. Before you stand down, Ensign, write me an experience report to forward to ComAttackRon Six for Commodore Sampson's review, entertainment, and referral to the yard for an explanation.'' The bridge team shared a laugh, and Kris stowed away the skipper's smile. It looked like she'd finally made it. She was an ensign, just one of the crew.
Then they arrived back at base and went immediately into stand-down for storage. Except for the captain, all officers went on half pay. They could leave the ship for the next three months, or they could work half-time, rotating with each other. The four department heads planned to do that. The six junior officers like Kris and Tommy were told they had a choice: get lost for all three months or just for the first six weeks, then work the last six for chow and a bunk. Either way, leave a place the Navy could contact them in case of emergency recall.
Kris found Tommy flipping through the freight lines, looking for a cheap ticket back home. ''We Santa Marians always knew we were the wrong end of nowhere, but with these connections, I'll get home just in time to come back.''
''There's a direct liner leaving for Wardhaven tomorrow. We could be there in four days.''
''And what would I do on Wardhaven?''