A very tall and body builder looking Commander, wearing some strange blue hexagonal pattern jump suit, spoke out loudly across the main table. “The Navy needs every ship available these days, even the old ones like this are being refurbished and sent back out. War is coming and we need to be ready to fight like never before.”
The Captain gave the Commander a strange look, but nodded in agreement. “Well Commander Varco, this ship was refurbished as a patrol vessel. I don’t doubt the abilities of my crew or of the armaments we carry, but we’re not setup for serious ship to ship combat just yet.”
One of the brand-new Ensigns nodded and made a statement that sounded more like a concerned question. “Yes Captain, but we can more than handle any sort of pirates or criminals we come across… They still don’t have as great a fleet as we do.”
The Captain nodded and was about to speak when Varco interrupted him. “Yes…but the Navy is not focused much on pirates at this point on time. We need ships to defend our nation against attack from the EU, or Russia, or any of the less than friendly nations out there that are trying to muscle us out of our sovereign rights.” His voice wasn’t solid at all. The words were halting and forced… It was very strange.
The Captain waved his hand in dismissal, and gave a humored laugh. “Less than friendly? You make it sound like we’re already at war.”
Varco nodded and retorted bluntly. “Yes, we are. Sir.”
The Officers gave each other uncomfortable glances at that, and sat in a tense silence. The Commander didn’t seem welcome in the wardroom. It felt like he was intruding but no one did anything about it. Max opened the pantry window just then and motioned Cameron over. “Ready for the desserts?” He whispered to him.
Mrs. Sanchez leaned back in her padded chair and answered for him. “Oh, is that cheese cake?” She exclaimed with excitement.
Max smiled at her an acknowledged, and Cameron began to hand out the plates. Normally everyone wanted a piece of the absolutely famous cheese cake of CS3 Max, who had been a baker back on Earth several years prior, but oddly only several of the Junior Officer’s wanted any tonight. Oh well, he quickly handed out the last few he had…and of course had to give Mr. Schmitz TWO of the largest pieces…and then brought the remaining plates back to the pantry window.
The Officers started to talk about pointless policy changes and Officer Evaluation Reports and all the typical bullshit they focused on, as Cameron desperately watched the old grandfather clock tick by minute after minute. Almost instantly on point as the clock struck its bells to 18:00; the ships intercom, or 1MC as they called it, rang out with a very dramatic and a proper English Gentleman sounding voice. “Now the evening meal is sec-ur-ed.” There was no doubt it Boatswain’s Mate third class Hodges. He was the resident goof ball who was now pushing the limits of what he could get away with. This was his last tour before he left the Navy all together for as he put it, ‘Bigger and better things’. Whatever those things were, no one knew. It wasn’t anything to do with the military or the government, which was for sure.
But that was beside the point, since the meal was now finally over! The Officers stood up and slowly began to set their plates and silverware on the scullery conveyor belt, and depart back to their state rooms and designated watch stations. Cameron diligently began to clean off the tables and secure the condiments, so he could finally go relax and get some much needed sleep. That was of course way too much to ask. Culinary Specialist First Class Lind rushed in almost as if on cue to destroy any hope of getting off early. “Oh, so I guess Kailua is just going to do the Chief’s mess by himself now?”
Cameron shrugged at him, and retorted as a matter of fact. “His job is the Chief’s Mess, mine is the Wardroom. We always do these alone.”
Lind stared back uninterested in anything he had to say. “The water valve broke on the coffee maker in the Chief’s Mess and soaked the entire carpet… Go get a fucking swab and clean it up! You were also supposed to bring the key lime pie and ice water up to the Captain’s cabin an hour ago! Jesus, are you going to work any time today?”
He was so condescending. How did he get away with that? Cameron shrugged at him again, and spoke calmly. “The Captain was literally down here the entire time… Why would I take the pie up to his room? There are seven other mess cooks besides me, AND the meal just ended. Why can’t you grab one of your guys and deal with it?”
Lind stared at him in disbelief. Cameron knew what came next… Another screaming session. “Are you fucking talking back to me?! If you ever speak to me like that again I will write you up for disobeying a direct order and disrespecting a first class petty officer! Go do your fucking job!”
Max walked into the scullery a moment later, most likely drawn in by CS1’s yelling, and flashed him a look of subtle annoyance. “Uh hey CS One, what’s up?”
Lind glared back at him, knowing right then he couldn’t scream at Cameron anymore. He barged past Max and stomped through the pantry door, his tone suddenly more…anxious. Max must have done something to put him in his place. “Get your mess cook under control. Why don’t you be a leader once in a while?”
Max nodded to him with a kind of ‘whatever you say’ expression, and waited for the door to slam shut, before he shrugged apologetically at Cameron. “Sorry man, he can’t talk to you like that...no matter how much he thinks he can. Master Chief already knows about it, and tomorrow I’ll make sure he gets written up… But you DO need to take that dessert and water up to the Captain. Once that’s done, just go back to your berthing for the rest of the night.”
Damn, he went straight to Master Chief? No wonder Lind was freaking out, Master Chief Summers HATES him! Max is fucking awesome! Cameron sighed loudly from exhaustion and started to give Max the run down. “Alright man, everything is pretty much done except for the tables-”
Max cut him off, and grinned brightly. “If anything else needs to be done I’ll just do it for you, bro. Kailua is done in the Chief’s Mess, and the damage control guys are repairing whatever happened in there. I’ll see you tomorrow at oh-five, alright?”
“Yeah…thank you…”
Max nodded and walked out of the scullery. Cameron let out another long sigh, quickly washed his hands, and walked over to the industrial sized refrigerator to retrieve the CO’s items. The obviously store bought key lime pie and a single pitcher of water were sitting right in the front of the refrigerator with a note that read ‘DON’T MESS UP OR ELSE!’ clearly written by Lind.
Cameron promptly crumbled the note up and tossed it into the nearby trashcan, then carefully balanced both the pie and the water on his arm as he walked up several flights of steep ship staircases to the Captain’s cabin. It was going on 19:00 and the ship had been darkened down to just the red night time combat lights, and all the outer windows blackened and secured.
He made his way up the final staircase which brought him onto the command deck, passing by Mr. Faren who flashed him a friendly smile and nod. “Hey Cameron, CS1 has you working the late shift again?”
Cameron shrugged the unburdened side of his body. “Always, Sir… Just counting the days until I can transfer back to Operations Department…” Hint hint, Mr. Faren! Expedite his orders!
Mr. Faren laughed and nodded, he knew what Cameron was getting at. “I can tell you’re very happy about that. Too bad you weren’t coming over to engineering… I’m sure with your kind of drive you’d have no problem making rate quickly.” Mr. Faren passed him a quick two finger salute and quietly closed his stateroom door behind him.
Cameron stood silently in the command deck passageway between the bridge ladder well, the Captain’s cabin, and the Officer’s staterooms. Transfer to Engineering? He hadn’t thought about that. Hmm, the Navy is certainly hurting for members with any kind of formal schooling, especially from an accredited college. No doubt he WOULD advance very quickly, but being stuck below decks, with no windows, and working around the clock to keep the almost ancient reactor systems online wasn’t
too appealing. Besides, his degree was in celestial navigation… it would be pointless to be any rate but a Quartermaster if he wanted to actually use his education…
A loud irritated voice from the Captain’s Cabin drew his attention toward its ornate wooden door, which only now did he notice was slightly ajar... Odd… Cameron crept forward and leaned in toward the open side of the door, and listened in on the obviously frustrated conversation that was taking place on the other side. He could clearly hear the Captain’s voice…and from what he could tell the other voice was that of the weird commander, Varco or whatever his name was.
Varco spoke in a deliberately slow, and somewhat condescending manner. “Captain, I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m simply here to ensure this ship is compliant with all standing orders and requirements for the branch merge. This is a delicate time for our country…”
Captain Palmeri sighed and spoke in a clearly tense tone, which was unusual and unnerving for how easy going he normally was. “I’m responsible for the well-being of my crew; when you try to hold ‘professional development meetings’ with them without my knowledge that says you ARE trying to interfere! If you continue to go over my head like that, I’ll have you removed from my ship.”
The commander shuffled around slightly, and it sounded like he was close to the door. “Your ship? No disrespect Captain, but this ship belongs to the People of the United States. You are not above being removed from your command all together…should you decide not to follow your orders properly.” Wow, that was a clear threat to a superior officer! A Captain even! That was grounds for a court martial!
The Captain adjusted his position in his creaky old leather office chair, and spoke in an almost growling manner. “That will be all, Commander...”
The Commander hesitated for a moment and then opened the door suddenly; but thankfully his back was facing toward Cameron. “For now at least, Captain.”
Cameron swiftly straightened himself up and pretended like he was just about to knock, as the Commander passed by and gave him a quick inquisitive glance. Cameron waited for Varco to walk down the ladder-well and close the air-tight door behind him, before he knocked and entered the cabin. Captain Palmeri was sitting quietly in his chair; palm of his hand over his face in an obviously frustrated pose. “…Yes? Who is it now?”
“It’s just the mess cook, Sir.” Cameron walked over toward the central conference table and set the pie and the water pitcher down silently. Though normally he would have just left as quickly as he had come, something pulled at him to stay for a moment longer. Perhaps it was just how beautiful the room was.
The cabin was like the wardroom, only much more ornate and made of dark, carved mahogany wood. It had dozens of the CO’s family pictures and awards, leather furniture, and most impressively of all a fully retractable glass ceiling to look up at the stars or whatever while underway. Damn…this was night and day compared to the tiny 80 man berthing the junior enlisted crew members were forced to endure.
The Captain let out a long sigh, and turned toward him with a friendly but forced smile. “Just the mess cook is fine by me… Say, is that key lime pie?”
“Yes it is, Captain. Courtesy of Petty Officer Max…though I’m pretty sure it’s actually store bought.”
Captain Palmeri smiled. “Key Lime just so happens to be my favorite, thank you. Let Petty Officer Max know I appreciate it regardless of where it’s from… You’re due to make third class soon, isn’t that right?”
Cameron nodded in agreement. It was nice that the Captain remembered that, despite the 200 other crew members he had. “Yes Captain, I’m hoping to take my Quartermaster test within the next month. I’m confident I’ll pass the first time, but I have to be released from the galley first.”
The Captain slowly nodded and stared at the key lime pie, though it seemed more like he was just staring off into space. “Well, sounds like we need to expedite that and get you doing the job you trained for... Mess Cooking is not a duty for a Petty Officer.” The Captain then went back to face palming himself, and leaned back heavily in his chair. “Thank you again, Seaman Cameron.” There was a dismissiveness to his words…
Cameron nodded respectfully and began to walk out of the room, but then stopped at the last moment. This was way too weird. He had to ask, “Hey Captain, are you doing alright? I know it’s not really any of my business, but you seem a little stressed.”
The Captain sat up straight and sighed. “Ah, it’s been a frustrating few days… There’s a lot of new policies out, and they’re forcing the fleet to accept some very unpopular changes… Now, with this New Madrid thing and the EU issues… any complaints we have are completely on the back burner. It’s just frustrating.”
Cameron nodded in agreement, though he wasn’t exactly sure what the Captain meant by unpopular changes… “I’m sorry to hear that, Captain. Is it something that Commander Varco is doing? To be honest, Sir, I get a weird vibe from him.”
The Captain laughed, and then reached over to the table and cut a chunk of pie off with his fork. His next words seemed rehearsed though. “Commander Varco is a descent Officer from what I can tell… Eh, it’s just I’m and old sailor set in my ways and the Navy is changing too fast for my taste…but this pie is tasty enough… Thank you again, Seaman Cameron. Have a good rest of your night.”
Cameron got the impression the Captain wanted to avoid talking about that topic with a junior member of the crew, so he nodded respectfully and made his way out of the room. “Thanks, Captain. I hope you feel better.”
The Captain forced another smile, but his gaze drifted off into deep thought as the door was slowly shut.
Chapter 25 – Opposing Personalities
The cumbersome, three-hundred foot long carton shaped Civilian Space Freighter descended from the far reaches of the upper atmosphere, and slowly down to the air shipping lanes above the New Denver City outskirts. The freighter flared its engines heavily as it leveled its altitude out at around 500 feet, and slowed its speed down with an unexpected burst of forward thrusters.
The Navy drop ship, hidden in its exhaust plume, began to drift dangerously close toward the ‘quantum funnel’ of the engines, which was a spot so heavily saturated with radiation that not even the ships shielding would protect the crew from a lethal, burning dose of radiation. The two pilots pulled back gently on their cyclic control and gradually drifted the ship back to a safe distance, lest they lose even an inch of control. If they accidentally exited the concealing exhaust plume, it would only be a matter of seconds before they were blown out of the sky by any of the hundreds of surface to air missiles scanning below them. Without the right codes to enter the air space, which they didn’t have, they’d be as good as dead.
They were now above Green House Row, which was roughly several hundred square miles of military fortified Green Houses and synthetic food manufacturing plants, responsible for the food supply of most the United States territories. The Ubarri-Metro Corporation, who held the monopoly on food production on most of Mars, and spared no expense in protecting their assets here. Though some would argue otherwise, as far as the drop ship pilots were concerned it’s probably the single most guarded area in the entire US, and they were flying right through it.
Though that was easier said than done, since the massive amount of radiation from the engines, and other related factors, was blocking almost all of the drop ships instruments. The pilots had to revert back to using the old navigation charts, and calculating and recalculating their speed and distance. Their math had to be exact for their peel off and infiltration; for if they went too slow they could crash into the city walls…and worse yet if they went too fast they could fly straight through a sensor array and the gig would be up.
Jon sighed loudly as he brought up the navigation computer and ran over the calculations for their approach. “Ok, freighter’s speed is 73 knots. Three minute mark in five…four…three…two…one… New distance to target is 7300 Yards… That’s fucking p
erfect, but I’m sick of this fucking song, pick a new song, preferably one that doesn’t suck.”
Bag glanced over at him from the pilot seat and raised an eyebrow. Jon always seemed annoyed, so sometimes it was hard to tell if he was joking or not. Change the song though? This is Credence, its Classic! “Uh, it’s Classic Rock, man…” Bag shot back at him.
Jon grunted a laugh, seemingly amused by Bag’s words. “Time to turn, 2 minutes and 19 seconds… and there’s nothing Classic about this…”
“Other than its genre IS Classic Rock.” He retorted smartly.
“Shut up…” Jon scoffed back to him, then began to slowly flip through the music choices they had quickly installed on the drop ship’s computer console, courtesy of Alighten. He settled on an old country song, with a lot of fast fiddle playing, he then broadcast through the ENTIRE ship. “There…SO much better!” He ended, dramatically.
“Really, Jon?” Bag snorted a laugh. The song certainly wasn’t what he would have picked, but he wasn’t going to argue music with Jon right now. He had a ship to fly.
Jon shrugged, and stated as a matter of fact. “Your music sucks, let’s face it.”
“My song was about Vietnam… There’s American history in it.” Bag was becoming frustrated now. He didn’t appreciate people bashing on music…
Jon shrugged again. “Let’s face it, it sucked.”
Bag half-smiled and shook his head. “You’re a dick.”
Jon began to laugh loudly as he rechecked his calculations on the ships computer. “Time to turn…forty-nine seconds.”
Bag rechecked all the flight controls and system statuses for the ship, more to keep his mind focused in the last few moments than anything else…
33 seconds left…
Jon pulled a cigar from his pocket, and ran its scent underneath his nose, before placing the butt of it in his mouth and producing an old fluid lighter to ignite it. He let out several long puffs to ensure it was properly smoldering, then kicked his feet up on the forward console.
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