''Nelly,'' the chief said, ''have the duty watch see if they can isolate the air over the forward two docks. At least re-circulate that air. If they can't, close the fire bay doors.''
''They are happy to report that they have achieved the isolation of that air section. It may take them awhile to get the odor out the air, but it will stay up there.''
Chief Ramirez turned to Kris. ''Well, if that nice computer of yours can keep a look on those wayward boys, why don't you and I enjoy our breakfast. I'd keep it light. We may end up down that way before too long.''
Kris and the chief had finished their meal before Nelly broke in. ''They are now ordering those who vomited to run laps around the station. Oh, and everyone else as well.''
''I better go talk to them, see if we can limit them to the forward half of the station,'' Kris said, paying their check.
The chief dismissed herself to the Command Center when Kris started to jog forward. Jack connected with Kris as she passed the midship row of shops and fell in step beside her.
''You going into that lion's mouth?''
''Goes with the job,'' Kris said. She spotted a gunny jogging along beside ranks of Greenfeld's finest. She angled toward him. Once in step alongside, she asked, ''Who's in charge, Gunny?''
He took her in, without missing a step. ''I am, sir,'' he said in that bull voice gunnies are born with. ''Each senior NCO is authorized to exercise his men independently, Lieutenant.''
Kris would have to remember not to look over her shoulder every time a Greenfeld NCO ''sir-ed'' her. There being no women officers in their forces, ''ma'am'' was a nonstarter.
''Please halt your men, Sergeant.''
''Yes, sir. Platoon, Forward March,'' he said, which took them out of double-time. ''Platoon, Halt. Platoon, Left Face.''
Kris conformed to the rapid-fired commands. Doing a right face for the last one brought her face-to-face with ''Gunnery Sergeant Wittmann at your service, sir.'' Being uncovered and in PT dress, he did not salute Kris. This guy was on the ball. Well, let's see how this goes.
''Sergeant, I'm glad to see you up early this morning and enjoying the services of my station,'' Kris said. ''I require a meeting with all the senior NCOs conducting these exercises. Would you please dispatch messengers to them, give them my compliments, and inform them that the Commander, Naval District 41, requires their presence here, on the double.''
The sergeant had not been briefed on this possibility, but taking time to blink only twice, he shot out orders dispatching eleven of his troopers. As the runners took off in all directions, Kris did an informal about-face and ambled off a bit, Jack at her side.
''I can't watch, Jack, but tell me what's happening.''
Jack took an extra step so that it looked like he was talking with Kris, his eyes downcast, but his report was wide ranging. ''The runners are making fast time of it. Okay, there's one that caught up with a whole lot of whites, I'd say a boatload of Navy. The chief, or whoever's doing the run, has got someone out of ranks to keep them running and is walking this way. A gunny is joining him. They're exchanging words. Another putative chief is trotting over to them.''
''So we're going to be facing a united front,'' Kris said.
''That would be my bet.'' The two of them let a few more minutes go by, then Kris turned. Oh, this bunch was good. The senior chief in charge, or maybe the flagship's chief, had the other five chiefs in a single line and they were double-timing her way. Directly behind them came four Marine sergeants, with their own honcho calling cadence. Around Deck 1, heads in formation runs turned. Kris couldn't fault the interest. What able seaman wouldn't want to see their leading chiefs jogging in ranks like them. But senior Petty officers with no sense of humor shouted them back and Kris concentrated on her own issues.
The super leading chief dropped his small Navy file into march cadence and cut a perfect corner to put them directly in front of Kris. The Marines followed right in step. Then both chief and sergeant halted, the Navy to Kris's right, the Marines to her left. Sergeant Wittmann, cutting his corners perfectly, marched into the last place in the Marine's line.
''Leading Senior Chief Meindl reporting as requested, sir.''
''Gunnery Sergeant Rothenburg reporting as requested, sir.''
''Thank you, gentlemen,'' Kris said. ''This is my first opportunity to welcome you to my station. I am Lieutenant Kris Longknife, Commander, Naval District 41.'' Kris paused to let them get used to the idea that the commander of this Naval district was a lieutenant… and a woman. Oh, and a Longknife. From the looks on their faces, they'd been told this already, but it was still uncomfortable for them to come face-to-face with something that, by all that they'd been taught to hold military and holy, could not be.
''I am glad to see you using my facilities to keep your crew fit,'' Kris said. ''That a fit sailor is a better sailor is something we can all agree on.'' She paused. In front of her, bland faces began to hint with smiles at the thought of a Longknife actually quoting their own regulations back to them.
''No one talked to me about your morning routine, though. I'd like you to confine your PT, as well as any drill and ceremonies to the forward bays of the station. No further aft than that line of service facilities,'' Kris said, pointing to where the Dragon Café was still boarded up.
''May I ask why, sir?'' said the leading senior chief.
''That's a reasonable question,'' she said, though Kris doubted a Greenfeld chief would normally risk asking it of one of their officers. Still, this fellow would be asked to answer questions when he returned to his ship. Probably not easy ones.
''Chief, this is not a large station, and I'm not funded with a lot of housekeeping personnel.'' I'm not funded with many personnel at all, Kris did not add. ''As you may have noticed, some of your sailors are a bit the worse for wear from last night and they've left a mess around the deck.'' Kris sniffed the air. The senior leading chief scowled. ''I don't know how quickly I'll be able to get this area policed up and shipshape. I'd prefer to limit the problem to the forward bay. Unless your commodore wants to discuss the matter further, I'm so ordering.''
''We will remain forward of those facilities,'' he said. ''Unless we receive different orders from our own officers, sir. And our sailors will police up their own, ah, leavings.'' Then he paused and licked his lips before going on softly.
''Ma'am, is there any chance that those facilities might get opened up? We chiefs noticed a movie house, and gaming space as well as several eateries on the station plan we were issued, but a check last evening showed them all closed. Those not on shore leave only have what we've had aboard ship for the last month. It's wearing a tad thin.''
Kris eyed the NCOs in ranks behind him. They were still board-straight Navy and Marines, but Kris could taste the expectation in the air. ''Those are all private establishments, Chief, but I'll see what I can do about talking someone into opening them. Although the discipline of your men on shore leave last night did nothing to encourage the locals that their property and life are safe around your men, Chief.''
The chief was back to ramrod straight and a face devoid of expression. Kris paused for a moment, but there was no further reaction. ''Thank you gentlemen for your attention. Leading Senior Chief, dismiss your crew to their duties.''
Kris turned her back as the chief and sergeant began barking orders. ''That went well, I think,'' she told Jack.
''What was that last about?''
''I think the request for some open facilities up here was an honest chief looking after his men's needs.''
''And his reaction about the shore party?''
Kris walked along for a while. ''What would you do if you'd been ordered to let your men run wild and someone from the other side pointed out how unprofessional it was.''