New Homeport Island (4 page)

those pea coats were the envy of all the branches of military
 service, that and all the shoreline.
Sergeant Kleason was running a twelve man team clearing
 the roads in two separate locations calling the ship with updates
 and asking for specific locations of priority. Our main priority
 was actually set to the bus routes with a slight detour to roads
 the ships personnel and base personnel needed cleared. The
 radio calls were every fifteen minutes. “Kleason to U.S.S. Paul
F. Foster…” came across a ridiculously large handheld radio
 with absolute clarity as Mr. Mormus stepped through the
 hatchway into Central control. I stood at the island table top on
 the damage control central side of the space adjacent to the
 consoles for power and propulsion; I was reviewing the street
 maps and comparing them to topographic maps as well as
 comparing weather reports to a farmer’s almanac. “I’m glad
 you’re doing something vaguely relevant Lyon…Who’s
Kleason?” asked Mormus. I replied, “He’s here on the list sir,
 national guard sergeant. He’s the one I spoke to about the roads;
I faxed him these.”  
I showed Mr. Mormus the list of priority roads and
 electrical switching stations. Just then chief Casius stepped in
 and said, “The governors’ office just called and wants a status
 update sir.” Mr. Mormus retorted, “She’s talking to you Lyon.” I
 replied, “Aye sir, thank you chief.”  
I called the Governors’ office and spoke with a young
 woman named April. She said she didn’t want any ‘fucking
 around’ and was already getting calls about a military cue da ta
 in progress. “Mr. Lyon,” she said, “There’s already been an
 incident with one of your guardsman refusing to allow a man to
 visit her sister in the nursing home and she suffers a low grade
 of dementia, without her brothers visits the nursing staff become

quite irritated.” I replied, “April we are doing what we can as
 quickly as we can and there was an expectation to some degree
 of paranoia”. She responded, “This is not paranoia Mr. Lyon,
 this is the military overstepping its bounds. I once worked as a
C.N.A. at a nursing home myself. You will correct this issue.”
I retorted, “The issue I will and am correcting April, is loss
 of electricity and the roads being closed”. April hesitated and
 continued, “I’m sorry you’re having a bad day, Mr. Lyon…Rob;
 get it done quickly and quietly as we planned.” I said, “It’s as
 good as done.” That ended our conversation, most of the roads
 were cleared and the navy detail was finishing up resetting
 breakers in the switching stations with one change out of a
 transformer pending.  
I headed back to Central where the X.O. still had the radio.
“Did you get the message Lyon?” Mr. Mormus asked. I
 answered, “Yes sir, ‘get it done and quietly’; by our standards it
 wasn’t even an incident.” Mr. Mormus looked a little surprised
 and glanced down at the radio checking the channel switch and
 looked back at me, he asked, “That was the message?” I replied,
“Yes sir, I may need that radio…or is it a satellite phone?”
Mormus responded, “It’s a whole damn radio station Lyon.”
Then he keyed the radio, “Kleason…forget everything I just
 said.” Kleason replied, “Understood.”
I passed the X.O. my notes from the phone call and updated
 the notes on the map as to the incident report. Mr. Mormus
 keyed the radio, “He’s asking for status updates every fifteen
 minutes.” Kleason called back with a buzz from the radio, “All
 the listed roads are complete; Navy is restoring power to one
 remaining neighborhood and they’re not under my direction, by
 the orders sent by you Lyon I am to secure my operation and
 head in…and Lyon, how about a god damn ten four once in a

while?” I responded, “Operation complete and secured...ten
 four” the radio buzzed again as the battery was dyeing as it gave
 his retort, “Kleason out”. I keyed the radio, “Lyon ten seven”
 and set the radio down. Mormus pointed at the radio and as he
 turn to walk out said, “Don’t lose…ten seven? …Don’t lose
 that.”  
Navy electrician mates were tending to a switching station
 after ice had brought down a power line causing the breaker to
 trip. EM1 Haydel had the lead and when a news crew showed up
 she was cold, confused, and befuddled. “Can you tell us what
 you’re doing here?” The news reporter asked. He was dressed
 for the cold until they started transmitting and he dropped his
 coat. There he stood in a three piece suit with a red nose and ice
 in his eye brows. Haydel responded, “What are you doing here?”
The news report Tim Flanely gave a disapproving glare and
 inquired more demandingly, “Please, tell us what you are doing
 here.” and he gestured pointing at his shoes. Everyone there was
 suffering cold shock and a degree of hypothermia, Haydel in
 shock said, “I guess I’m doing my job…What the hell are you
 doing here?!” Tim replied, “I am also doing my job, little miss.
Tell me what is your job?” Haydel scoffed and called for
 another member of the detail. They all called out to her, “we’re
 nearly done; you deal with it.” Tim saw this and her outrage, and
 taunted her by saying, “I guess you’re not in charge here, maybe
I should ask one of the fellas…” Haydel still in shock decided to
 handle things differently. She smiled widely and said, “Well,
I’m here freezing my ass off, having my period, and talking to a
 jack ass.” As it happens, that was the only part that made it on
T.V. and the news room mocked the ‘Heroes of the destroyer,
Foster’ openly on air for the remainder of the day.

Once power was restored, the detail returned to the ship
 and Haydel said she wasn’t talking to any more dicks today.
With that I notified the governor’s office the mission was
 complete and power had been restored to a couple of locations
 and all the necessary affected roads had been cleared.
The entire ship was in anxious posture, it seemed these
 matters which ruled out spending time on the route days’ work
 would persist until the storm let up. Instead, with the captain
 dragged in, the X.O. looking to keep things military, and the
 command master chief asleep in the chief’s mess, it was back to
 normal shipboard life.        
The engineering plant was preparing for an evaluation of
 safety and readiness, which the officers repeatedly mistook for
 some sort of barracks and uniform inspection; “Work it may,
 shine it must”. This perspective wasn’t held by the executive
 officer, one analogous reference to an emissions inspection on a
 vehicle for smog certification with an egotistical owner
 demanding that ‘it is his car, he is paying for the inspection, he
 is giving up his time, and there for demands that he be
 complimented on how shiny his hood ornament is and given a
 passing certificate’; was all it took to eliminate any further
 miscommunication. There was however a lot of resentment from
 his subordinates, it wasn’t what they had ever hoped for during
 their ‘prior to service’ fantasies and they were still coming to
 terms with the notion of the captain being at the wheel never
 ever happens.  
With the recent publicity we had made our political
 enemies within the navy. To some it was a question of “who are
 they to have stolen the lime light?” and for others it was a matter
 of “If that is the exemplary navy unit then by god we will make
 sure they reflect only the best of the navy!”

In my view it wasn’t that the standards had been raised it
 was simply that they were finally being adhered to. All too often
 political hand washing and backscratching was the law of the
 land. I was immune as an enlisted E-4 with no desire to be
 promoted or to seek any kind of career out of the circus I found
 myself trapped in.  
     
Chapter Two
The new old standard
 The snow has settled throughout our area of responsibility,
 and despite the winter wonderland effect there is an ‘aftermath’
 feeling amongst the crew. Navy legal department; naval station
Everett; has formed a watch station in anticipation of various
 legal charges and complaints that simply put would have
 happened immediately if it were going to happen at all, but show
 boating and grandiosity has been ‘Navy’ since those original
 immigrants came to change this land. A ‘nation of immigrants’
 is a label in common usage due to the concepts of immigration
 reform being argued in courts and on the senate floor. We here
 languish in the rhetoric and correct the phraseology, that it was
 in fact a ‘nation of sailors’.  
Much like merchant marine ships, navy ships have a
 minimum underway time per fiscal quarter and a training cycle
 that must be maintained for the ships certifications to remain
 current. Ice had been forming inside the hull just below the
 water line, this was our excuse to set to sea and leave the
 lawyers in their drama class.

Captain Artimus was going to hold a meeting of all
 commissioned officers followed by a ‘sit down’ with the chief
 petty officers. “I’m glad you made it in today” Artimus
 announced from the head of the ward room table. Mr. Mormus
 commented, “It was the least I could do.” Artimus retorted,
“And, your good at that.” the snarky infliction was not unnoticed
 by anyone seated there. “We could be appreciating the severity
 of the weather from the comfort of our own homes, instead we
 find ourselves here…apparently this is home to some onboard.
That is what I want to address with you today.” Ensign Clarkson
 interjected, “Are we being this formal for a reason sir?”  
Artimus pointed at her with a disdainful glare then shifted to an
 obviously false smile and said, “The attitude of this ship is
 somehow mixed, we’re so officious that we absolutely have to
 be on station but don’t intend on doing anything, but watching
 me be the Captain. I know I voiced serious objections to having
 a co-ed ship, but it’s a destroyer…and, I’ve come to terms with
 that.” Ensign Clarkson interjected once again, “Well…in your
 own way” as she gestured by extending her empty hand as if to
 literally present her summation as an offer. Artimus glanced at
 her again and with a chuckle and a mean smile strewn across his
 face said softly nearly as a whisper, “Hold…your…tongue.”
Ensign Clarkson was grinding her teeth then under her breath
 she said, “Well, I don’t want to change the subject…” and she
 glanced down into her lap and continued, “just…later.” as she
 looked up she adjusted her posture in her chair. Captain Artimus
 looked up at the overhead and with a sigh said, “If you’re
 through…”
Just then Ensign Spayner entered, “Sorry, I’m late the snow
 was bad.” Ens. Spayner shares a stateroom with Ens. Clarkson
 and knowing this Captain Artimus glanced again at Clarkson

and noted she seemed quite pleased with herself perhaps even
 vindicated, at least in her own mind.  
Artimus waited for Spayner to sit down and reengaged the
 group. “I want to point out,” he said, “this ship seems to have
 developed an attitude that is absolutely insubordinate. It just
 seems to be your way. I wanted this to be a good ship that would
 fill it’s sailors with pride; instead I find nothing but contempt.
I…I don’t think I have done anything to deserve this type of
 treatment. I have never seen a captain treated this way, and I will
 make it stop. I’m telling you now, stop.”
Lt. Capes politely leaned in over the table and asked,
“What changes do we need to make captain?” Artimus placed
 his hand on the small of his back and leaned backwards in a
 slight stretch and responded, “The insubordination has to stop.
We have a third class on board that I won’t name, but he is one
 of many that seems to believe if you are following the manual
 then you out rank anyone that wants to do it differently than
 prescribed. And every time I have tried to correct him his
 response has been, ‘that would make an interesting courts
 martial’.  
The chiefs were down on the main deck in the chief’s mess
 awaiting their ‘talking to’. Rumor had already risen as to the
 captain not seeking to punish those that attempted to ‘call in’
 and not show up to work, neither was he looking to congratulate
 those that cleared the roads with the National Guard. Wardroom
‘mess cranks’ were cleaning the officer’s lounge adjacent to the
 dinning space. The ‘mess cranks’ sent from various divisions
 and work centers are to support the galley operations of cleaning
 and providing meals to the crew, and their political allegiances
 amongst the assistant managers that being chief petty officers
 and managers those being junior officers, varied. The chief’s

always had their eyes on what was being planned or conspired
 about…always. To the point of not have any concern of
 impending doom or grandeur, their manipulations simply
 became a matter of maintaining an image and some self-respect.  
The word from this particular grape vine was that the
 captain wants everyone to bow when he enters the room and
 we’re going to do everything different because the third classes
 were out of control. They also said he was considering removing
 broccoli from the ships menu; which was just some sarcasm
 regarding a former president.  
Chief Pete whispered to chief Casius, “Are they really
 going to rewrite all the manuals?” Casius coughed and said,
“That’s the least of their ludicrous ideas”. Master Chief
Hauldbalm looked at the two chiefs and said, “Quit the
 whispering; pass notes like the rest of the class…then,” he
 continued with a sarcastic defeated tone reserved for those of
 age, “I’ll have it in writing.”  
Artimus was just beginning his rally call in the wardroom
 when the phone rang, Ens. Swishzel answered, “Wardroom
 ensign Swishzel.” The voice on the phone replied, “Mr.
Swishzel, this is the Quarterdeck, we’ve received a call for the
 captain to contact the squadron commander.” Swishzel replied,
“I’ll let him know.”  
Artimus stood up and tugged on the sleeves of his short
 sleeved khaki shirt and with the posture of a statesmen said, “I
 will have order, I will have rule, and I am this ship’s captain and
 commander. Its crew will take its leadership and guidance from
 me alone.” Swishzel interjected, “Sir, the quarterdeck received a
 call…you need to call the squadron commander.”
Artimus looked at Swishzel sternly and said, “Sit down.”
Swishzel sat in his chair at the table and Artimus continued, “Do