“In private, if you please,” Jaen said.
“Privacy is a rare commodity on a ship,” Hocieniec said, looking over at Gunnery Sergeant Frandsen.
“I’m up to my ears in paperwork,” Big-Foot growled. “So you can take it somewhere else. Or I can pretend I didn’t hear it.”
“Come on in, Jaen,” Hocieniec said.
“Berg just got done with his first Wyvern training,” Jaen said, closing the hatch and hitting the lock. “All six hours.”
“Shiny. How’d he do?” Hocieniec asked.
“Pretty good for the first two straight hours,” Jaenisch replied. “After that it sort of went downhill.”
“Too bad…” Hocieniec said, frowning. “He seemed… Wait, you mean two hours straight? No breaks.”
“No, Gunnery Sergeant, I mean six hours, straight, no breaks,” Jaen said, trying to remain blank-faced. “He still scored an 88 percent, but most of it was in the first two hours.”
“Who in the grapp did that?” Big-Foot said, looking up from his paperwork. “Sorry, ears off now.”
“Who’s in charge of simulator training?” Jaen replied.
“I am going to grapping kick Driscoll’s fat lazy ass,” Gunny Hocieniec said, standing up.
“While that would be fun and I’d love to hold his arms,” Jaen said, “I’d rather you weren’t in Portsmouth.”
“I outrank him!”
“Yeah, but the court-martial wouldn’t care, Gunny,” Jaen said. “I managed to cool off on the walk over here. If I might recommend, could you bring it to the first sergeant’s attention?”
“Damned straight we will,” the gunny snapped. “Follow me.”
“What we are dealing with here, is hearsay evidence,” the first sergeant said. “I will look into this. Return to your duties and I will have a word with Staff Sergeant Driscoll.”
“Top…” Gunny Hocieniec said.
“Return. To. Your. Duties,” the first sergeant stated bluntly. “And I will have a word with Staff Sergeant Driscoll and look into this event. Is that clear, Gunnery Sergeant?”
“Yes, First Sergeant,” Hocieniec said, coming to attention.
“You and Jaen hang out,” Powell replied. “I’m probably going to need you two, and Berg, at some point. Where’s Two-Gun?”
“In his rack, First Sergeant,” Jaen said, also at attention. “I told him to chill. I also got an authorization for a second shower. He needed it.”
“He should have stepped out the minute he got nauseated,” the first sergeant said with a sigh.
“Two-Gun wouldn’t quit if his leg was being slowly gnawed off, First Sergeant,” Jaen replied. “He might be on the wrong side of gung-ho, if you know what I mean.”
“Ain’t no wrong side of gung-ho, son,” Top said. “One potential failure here was to ensure he knew it was authorized to stop if he became physically ill. Now, you two go back to your duties, but don’t get into anything I can’t snatch you out of. I’ll look into this.”
“Just answer Top’s questions and otherwise keep your mouth shut,” Jaen said as he knocked on the first sergeant’s hatch.
“Enter.”
Staff Sergeant Driscoll, wearing a furious frown, was standing on the left side of Top’s small office. Gunnery Sergeant Hocieniec was on the right, one jaw muscle twitching furiously but otherwise blank-faced.
Sergeant Jaenisch entered at a march and came to attention parallel to Hocieniec.
“Sergeant Jaenisch reporting with a party of one,” he stated.
“Move over, Jaen,” Top said. “Okay, PFC Bergstresser, a couple of questions. Staff Sergeant Driscoll handled your prep for simulation, yes or no?”
“Yes, First Sergeant,” Berg said, sweating.
“What was the continuous duration of such training?”
“Six hours, First Sergeant.”
“And did you remain in your armor and in VR for that entire time?”
“Yes, First Sergeant.”
“Was that your understanding of Staff Sergeant Driscoll’s orders?”
“Yes, First Sergeant.”
“And did he or did he not instruct you to take a break every fifty minutes?” the First Sergeant asked.
“He did not, First Sergeant.”
“I thought he’d be smart enough—” Driscoll snapped.
“Silence,” the First Sergeant said, quite mildly. “PFC Bergstresser, did you become physically ill during simulations training on the last watch?”
“Yes, First Sergeant.”
“PFC Bergstresser, were you informed by Staff Sergeant Driscoll that if you became physically nauseous you were to discontinue simulations?”
“No, First Sergeant,” Berg said.
“Were you, at any time in training, instructed that that was to be your action during simulations?” the First Sergeant asked.
“No, First Sergeant,” Berg said after a moment’s thought.
“You may expand upon that if you wish,” the First Sergeant said.
Berg thought long and hard on that one.
“During Basic we had monitors during training, First Sergeant,” Berg said. “Also during Force Recon Operator’s Training. I had never previously been in training without a monitor. We were specifically ordered during training to remain in armor unless told to discontinue simulation by the spotter. As far as I was aware, Staff Sergeant Driscoll was acting as spotter, First Sergeant.”
“Like I have time to—”
“I said silence,” the first sergeant said, much less mildly. “Sergeant Jaenisch, PFC Bergstresser, you are dismissed. Gunnery Sergeant Hocieniec and Staff Sergeant Driscoll will remain.”
“I think I just made a serious enemy in Staff Sergeant Driscoll,” Berg said.
“Everybody hates Driscoll,” Jaenisch said. “And he hates everybody else. Most miserable son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”
“Yeah, but the Ops sergeant has so many little ways to grapp with us,” Berg pointed out. “It probably would have been a better thing to keep our mouths shut.”
“Let Top worry about that,” Jaen said. “Driscoll’s going to be pretty careful about how he grapps with us for a while. Just get the damned WCT test right. That’s going to be his first real chance to grapp you over.”
“I will,” Berg said. “Unless he tries to grapp with the numbers. He’s got full control over the information.”
“Point,” Jaen admitted, frowning. “Let me look into that.”
“Jeff,” Miller said as the Marine first sergeant entered their shared compartment. “You look like you had a bad day.”
The chief warrant officer had a small collection of dried flowers laid out on the table. It was the same ones he’d left Earth with but every few days he rearranged them in the vase.
“That I did, Todd, that I did,” Powell said, sitting down at the small fold-up table in the room and pulling out a bottle marked “Poisonous! For topical use only!” He poured some of the clear liquid into a cup and raised it. “Hair of the dog?”
“Got my own,” the SEAL said.
“So, you used to be a team chief, right?”
“Many a year, Jeff,” Miller said, pulling out an Aunt Jemima syrup bottle and squirting some syrup in a cup. He took a sip and picked up a ribbon, tying it onto a mum.
“Ever have a completely efficient son of a bitch working for you?” Powell asked. “One that couldn’t get past the son of a bitch part?”
“You had a problem with Driscoll,” Miller said, chuckling. “Yeah, had an assistant team leader one time like that. Guys hated him but he was so grapping efficient I hated to lose him.”