To Honor You Call Us (23 page)

He looked up and met the COB’s eyes.  “The skipper?  I think he’ll do, COB.  I think he’ll do.”   

Chapter
10

07:08Z Hours 24 January 2315

Spending his naval career eating in messes and Wardrooms, Max had never taken meals on board ship in an intimate setting with a small number of people, except for rare invitations to dine with the Captain, in which case he had generally been too nervous to pay attention to anything other than not trailing his sleeve in the gravy.  Accordingly, before his latest promotion, he had never paid particular attention to what people ate and certainly never associated their food preferences with their backgrounds.  It was, therefore, something of a surprise to him that, when the steward delivered the trays containing the breakfast selections of each of the officers present, Max could instantly tell which tray would be delivered to which man.

Max was having breakfast this morning with the four officers whom he had begun to think of as his “brain trust.”  Garcia, from Texas on Earth, was having a thick slice of ham, two scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits and gravy, and grits.  The doctor received a colorful assortment of fruit and melon slices, presumably all canned or frozen.  Brown, born on Avalon, received a tray containing what Max considered a particularly large and peculiar array of dishes:  baked beans, sausage, three poached eggs, fried mushrooms, toast, and bacon.  When Max asked the Engineer if he had enough different kinds of food in front of him, he was surprised to receive “no” for an answer, as Brown advised him that the supply situation had rendered unavailable that traditional and essential element of the classic Full English Breakfast, fried tomatoes.

Kraft, having spent the first nine years of his life on Neue Prussen, a world whose settlers were almost exclusively German, had a slice of pumpernickel bread, a few slices of Black Forest ham, a roll, some salami, assorted cheeses, jam, and honey.  Max, from Nouvelle Acadiana, was eating a breakfast that bore a distinct family resemblance to that of Garcia, containing eggs, bacon, grits, biscuits, and sausage.  The main differences between Garcia’s plate and Max’s was that Max didn’t have any ham, Garcia didn’t have any sausage, and instead of gravy Max ate his biscuits with the vaguely yellow, slippery substance the Navy supplied in place of butter.  Max would have also liked some beignets, but the culinary staff on the ship could never get them completely cooked in the middle without burning the edges.

From the moment the breakfasts were laid out on the small table and Max could see how radically different they were from one another (except for his and Garcia’s), they seemed odd to him, and the more he contemplated them, the more this impression of oddness increased.  Why should it be that these five men, four of whom left their home worlds before puberty and in the intervening years had not returned there for more than a week or two, would retain in this meal such a clear marker of their origins?  And, why this meal only, as Max knew that at lunch and supper what these men chose to eat, particularly given the limited selections afforded to them by the Navy, differed very little from one to the other.  

Perhaps it was nothing more meaningful than habit.  Because there is usually a wide variety from day to day in what people eat at noon and in the evening, these men had learned as children to adapt to variety in what would be served for these meals.  Taught from a young age to expect different things, when the Navy gave them unaccustomed lunches and suppers, they adapted as they had been taught to adapt from an early age.  But, in most cultures, people break their fast with a highly limited variety of dishes.  Accordingly, these men did not learn in their childhood to adapt to a changing menu and so, twenty years after leaving home, they insisted upon eating the same foods they had eaten as small boys at their mothers’ tables.  The Navy implicitly recognized and accommodated this difference by offering a changing but limited bill of fare at lunch and dinner while providing an unchanging but very long breakfast menu.

Because he was a leader of men and, as he was beginning to learn, a talented one, Max was always open to lessons about human nature.  He wondered whether there was such a lesson on the table before him.  He had always been taught that men were flexible—that they can adapt and adjust themselves to changing circumstances as needed.  But, perhaps, this breakfast was telling him that, although men are adaptable, they possess this trait only when and where they have had to be adaptable.  And, where they have not had the habit of malleability forced upon them, they are as rigid and inflexible as any toddler. 

Seeing that every man had finished eating and was sipping his coffee, Max opened the meeting.  “I asked all of you here to breakfast because I thought it was a convenient way for all of us to get caught up on what’s going on without having to put a ‘Senior Officers’ Meeting’ on the schedule.  First, Lieutenant Brown, any sign of our little drug factory being put to use?” 

“None so far, skipper, but the doctor has done some complicated statistical and epidemiological analysis—right over my head—and has concluded that some person with an existing stockpile is going to need to make another purchase within the next twenty-four hours.”

“Twenty-one hours,” corrected Sahin.

“So, we need to be ready to put the bag on this bastard sometime in the next day,” Max said.  “Doc, are you ready for the fallout?”

“As ready as can be reasonably expected.  I’ve been making extensive use of the  ship’s pharmaceutical synthesizer, the official one, to create a significant stockpile of the various medications I will need to help control the withdrawal symptoms associated with these specific drugs, have quietly prepared to sling hammocks for the Junior Midshipmen in the Senior Midshipmen’s quarters to open up the former’s space to use as additional in-patient beds for the worst withdrawal cases, and have drawn the necessary equipment from stores so that patients in that room can be monitored—vision, sound, and vital signs—from the Casualty Station.  My staff has reviewed the treatment protocols for treating these people and I have refreshed my recollection of how to counsel them.”

“Very good.”  Max continued to be puzzled by the doctor.  The man was so clueless in some ways and so brilliant and accomplished in others that Max could never figure out from one moment to the next whether the next thing he did or said would reveal shocking ignorance or astonishing adeptness.  “Can anyone think of any other preparations we should be making at this point?”  They all shook their heads.  “Next subject.  Major Kraft, what’s going on with our three would-be saboteurs?”

“They have each stood at least one watch since we returned them to duty and one of them has stood two.  A Marine has been standing by each one of them with no problems so far.  Each of them has had his meeting with the doctor.  They return to their quarters at the end of watch with no protest, take their meals in their quarters, and have been going along with the program.  My sense is that they all understand that you could have easily put them out an airlock to go dancing with the stars and that you can still do so, which is certainly a meaningful incentive for cooperation.”

“I thought it might be.  Thank you, Major.  Werner, how’re they doing in terms of job performance?”

“They were all reasonably proficient at their jobs before this happened and they continue to be reasonably proficient.  They all had a lot of room for improvement before and they all still do.  In other words, I’m not seeing any change.  By the bye, having a rifle-toting Marine standing around in Fire Control around the clock is something that I thought might put people off their game, but I have seen no sign of it thus far.”

“Doctor, they have each had a meeting with you.  Have you learned anything?”

“Well, Captain, the physical and psychological condition of these men leaves a great deal to be desired.  They all show symptoms of having been subjected to severe and long term stress.  Two of them have clinically elevated blood pressure and have been put on medication for that condition.  The other one reports substantial and prolonged sleep disturbance, digestive difficulties, and a pruritis on his arms and back that I believe to be caused by stress.  In addition, all three of the men show at least some level of anxiety disorder, which I am treating with anti-anxiety medications.”

“Although it is not strictly relevant to this subject, I think it important to tell you that virtually every man who has come through the Casualty Station since we parted company from the Task Force has manifested some level of stress-related symptoms or anxiety disorder.  I am giving medication only to the most severe cases.  This is not to say that the same is true of virtually every man in the ship.  I suspect that the men most vulnerable to stress are the ones developing symptoms and that it is these men who are coming to see me.  Nevertheless it is troubling and it indicates that these men have had a difficult time of it.  I am hoping that, as this vessel becomes a ‘happy ship’ these problems will ameliorate themselves.

“Further, the men, not just these three but the patients I have been seeing in general, have been very forthright in discussing with me the shortcomings of their previous commander and executive.  There are two that appear to be the most problematic.  The first was the totally capricious nature of the senior officers’ leadership.  At zero nine hundred a given discipline lapse might result only in a gentle suggestion to do the thing differently in the future while at thirteen thirty the same lapse under the same circumstances provokes paroxysms of shrieking anger and the malefactor serving forty days in the Brig.  So, if I may offer a medical suggestion regarding how to command these men, it would be to show them consistency.  A steady hand.  Predictability and stability.”

“Doctor,” Max said, nodding his acceptance, “that’s been at the top of my list since the first minute.  You said there are two main problems.  What’s the second.”

“Incompetence.  Every man wants to be good at his job, to succeed in his calling.  The men on this ship feel that they are not good at their jobs and that they are failures at their calling.  No man with an inkling of self respect can abide for a moment the feeling that he is a failure.  It is extremely destructive of self esteem and, as we all know, self esteem is the foundation of mental health.”

“And the cornerstone of good morale,” Max said, completing the old naval maxim.  “But they’ve got to know that the failings were those of their leadership and not themselves.”

“No, sir, they do not.  At least, they do not in the way that matters.  Oh, most of them know that they had an incompetent, even mentally ill, Captain and understand that their vessel has performed poorly because they were inadequately trained and poorly led, but even those who recognize this fact on an intellectual level may not have completely internalized it emotionally.  Irrespective of the cause, they characterize themselves as failures.  ‘Failure’ is part of their definition of themselves as men.  They have met the enemy twice and run away both times.  They have been ritually killed many times over in fleet exercises.  Their vessel is known and reviled throughout the fleet as the ‘
Cumberland
Gap.’  And, perhaps most important, they believe that, if they are forced to do battle with the Krag, they will prove unequal to the challenge and they will die as a result.  This state of affairs is inherently stressful, intolerably so, and is highly destructive of morale.”

“I see a lot of the same things,” said Brown, “although I don’t have the psychological training to view it in the same way.  I’ve always looked at it as pride.  Pride in your ship.  Pride in yourself.  This is the fifth ship on which I have served as an officer and my eighth since I went to space.  On every one of those ships, there were obvious, visible signs that the men took pride in her, pride in her skipper, pride in their vessel’s achievements.  There’s none of that here.  Not a trace of it.  Sure, there are some of the NCOs who take a twisted pride in the Mad Hatter manner in which the ship was buffed and polished, but I think that they do so out of the need that men have to be proud of something, anything—and that was the only thing at which this vessel excelled.  These men are
on
this ship but they are not
of
her, if you take my meaning.”  Max, Garcia, and Kraft were all nodding their heads in recognition of this truth.

“What signs?”  Alone, the doctor did not know what the Engineer was talking about, his naval cluelessness once again manifesting itself.

The other officers turned to Max.  By tacit agreement among them, filling in the gaps in the doctor’s understanding of the naval universe fell to the Captain.  “There are dozens, but here are the most obvious.  What do you see sewn on the right sleeve, right below the shoulder, of every SCU and Working Uniform of every man on this ship?”

“Captain, I am extremely observant and I can tell you with near absolute certainty that I have seen nothing sewn in that location on any uniform.”

“Exactly, Doctor.  On most ships, early in the first commission, someone on the crew designs what we call the ‘Ship’s Emblem.’  It’s much like a family’s coat of arms—a kind of crest or seal for the ship, generally with its name, registry number, some kind of artwork symbolizing the ship, and usually a motto on it.  The emblem gets turned into a patch that gets fabricated on board and that the men sew onto their uniforms.  A Ship’s Patch is specifically provided for and allowed in the uniform regulations.  So, the uniform of every man not only shows that they are Navy, their rank, their specialization, their years in service, what certifications they have, and their battle honors, it also proclaims to everyone who sees them what ship they are a part of.  No one on the
Cumberland
cared enough about her to design an emblem.  No one on the
Cumberland
has enough pride in her to want people to see that they serve on her.  It’s almost like having a baby and not loving it enough to give it a name.