I trudged toward the engine room, already dreading the heat and noise. The ship hummed around me. That’s the kind of environment you live in when you are stationed on a Naval vessel. It’s never quiet, not ever. From the grind of machinery to the sound of forced air in nearly every compartment, all you get is noise. Then there are the smells: the oil, the fuel, the cleaning chemicals. It’s an assault when you first board ship, but then you get back on land and suddenly you forget how to walk straight because the ground is no longer rocking and rolling under your feet.
I moved along the same bulkheads I’d passed every day for the last twelve months. Boring, white, yellow emergency lights in every corner. I didn’t see any other crewmen and that was weird. Maybe everyone was up early for mess. Was there an inspection I’d forgotten about?
Earplugs inserted, I descended a pair of ladders and stopped for a cup of shitty coffee before heading to main control. The whine of the turbines would be deafening without earplugs. As it was, the tone was slightly less annoying that having a tooth drilled. The engine was insulated and taller than a greyhound bus. I glanced at a couple of dials. Everything nominal.
The Chief Engineer was sitting at the console while newly-minted Chief Harmikle stood watch over the room. I was surprised he didn’t have his nose up CHENG’s ass. I tossed him a quick salute but he didn’t bother responding. Petty Officer Mahan had the helm. He was spinning the giant steam valve to slow the ship. It looked like we’d just come down from Flank 1.
“How long we been at Flank?” I asked him.
“Too long if you ask me. Some crazy stuff is going on back home, man. You’re my relief, right?”
“Nah, I got Smitty.”
“Damn, he’s ill too. They took him to sick bay an hour ago.”
“What happened?”
“No clue, man. I’ve been stuck here all damn night.”
“Say again?” CHENG barked into the phone. Then he banged it on the desk a few times. “Say again! Don’t make me come the fuck up there!”
“S’going on?” I asked Chief Harmikle.
“Some fucking bullshit on the bridge. Sent Keen up to take a look.”
“Does he even know where the bridge is, Sir?” Keen was so new he hadn’t washed the creases out of his BDU’s.
“Doubt it.” The Chief Engineer said, hanging up the phone and hitting me with that “officer look” that’s supposed to intimidate. I towered over him by a good seven inches and had arms the size of his neck, but somehow he always made me feel like he could take me in a fight. Maybe because he never wilted or looked away from one of my “pissed off” looks that sent other guys scurrying.
“You go look for Keen, Creed,” he ordered.
I almost smiled. Just a few minutes on watch and I was already on my first errand. Looked like some coffee in mess would be my first stop.
“And Creed, don’t get lost up there.”
I nodded, took my pounding head out of main, and started back the way I’d come. Well, fuck me six ways from Sunday. This watch was off to a shitty start, but at least I was out of the hot engine room.
I headed starboard hoping I’d run into Keen’s skinny ass. Instead, I ran into a riot.
Something was happening, something big. The passageways on a ship are already small and when a bunch of screaming guys are occupying the one ahead of you it’s not like you can find a way around. I’d have to walk back until I could cut across the center of the ship.
I assessed my options. Walk all the way back on a mission to find Keen? Nah. I decided I’d rather get into some trouble. My last Captain’s Mast was six months ago.
Fuck it. I was due.
I passed berths and came to a cross-section filled with a riotous crowd. I hung back but didn’t see any engineers to rescue and couldn’t figure out who to hit first. Getting into a fight wasn’t the best cure for a hangover but I’d settle for it today.
I didn’t personally know most of these guys but they were still familiar. You spend a few months at sea with a hundred and seventy-five or so guys and pretty soon you know a lot of names. They looked like electricians with their pressed shirts.
“Can someone let me through before I start breaking stuff?” I bellowed.
That got attention, but the wrong kind. A Lieutenant with fresh bars turned on me and looked at my stenciled name.
“Creed. Get some security here, now. And don’t yell on my ship again. Got it, Sailor?”
“Yes Sir,” I muttered, wanting to punch his fucking lights out. Then I saw blood on his hands.
“Sir?”
“It’s…I don’t know. One of the radio techs bit one of my men and then both of them went nuts. Go wake up the Marines.”
That was all I needed. Crazy-ass nerds biting each other? That wasn’t my problem. I was going to continue my search for Keen but then remembered that the LT knew my name. He also knew my size and it’d take about three seconds to find me.
I knew where the Marines bunked but never ventured down there. Why should I? They never came to my side of the ship.
I huffed it down their ladder and found myself in near-darkness. It was still the middle of the damn night, so that made sense, but a couple of black guys in tank tops were throwing cards at a table. One of the men jumped up on his chair and threw the little Joker.
“Suck it!” He yelled.
I cleared my throat. “Sorry to interrupt, fellas, but some LT sent me. Some guys are biting each other and the LT wants security.”
“See my shirt?” asked little Joker. “Do you see ‘babysitter’ stenciled on it?”
I looked. I squinted. I peered.
“Huh. Nope. Umm…what’s your name, man? I need to know for the LT; you know how it is.”
“GENERAL QUARTERS, GENERAL QUARTERS, ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLESTATIONS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. GENERAL QUARTERS…” The voice trailed off this time without screams, but screams or not I was really starting to get a very bad feeling about today.
“Thought it was a joke before.” The Marine nodded toward the speaker in the ceiling.
“That sounded legit,” one of the other guys said.
They looked at each other and then back toward their bunks.
Then I heard a sound I’d never heard on a ship before. Gunfire.
The Marines went into some turbo mode, moving around each other like they had a secret language. Before I could scratch my balls more than once, the black guy that had given me a ration of shit was back and half-dressed. He buttoned up a shirt and stared at me like I was a stranger. His stenciled name read ‘Kelly.’ He wore an oversized vest of some sort and slapped it over his body, securing straps and Velcro here and there as he patted down pouches and pockets.
“Weapons locker!” One of the other Marines yelled and suddenly there were guns everywhere. Kelly strapped a belt around his waist with a holster and pistol. My fists were the only weapon I’d ever been even halfway shitty with.
“Secure yourself, Sailor! Stay or go — just keep out of our way.”
“Fine man, whatever. Just don’t shoot anyone by mistake. Especially me.” I rattled off the coordinates I’d marked in my head when I’d left the LT. As soon as the men were assembled, Kelly nodded. He pulled his sidearm and racked the bolt back, did an inspection, and let it slam home. He slid it back into his holster and then was up the stairs as fast as Spiderman.
I followed them and hit the passageway while they moved out. I wasn’t more than a few steps from the ladder when a guy screamed and bore down on me. I knew his name but not much else. Bauman was a skinny little guy that wore his pants too high on his hips. He was covered in blood from a wound on his skull. The blood streamed down his head and into another wound on his face. Christ! Most of his cheek was ripped away! He howled, creating a weird hissing sound.