major issue out of this in front of your chief? What are you trying to prove here ?
"We'll see what my department head says about you drafting people out of her department."
"I've already talked to her, Sam." And Commander Destin wasn't happy at all, but I'm not about to tell Sam Yarrow that right now .
Yarrow seemed to be trying to find something else to say, then shifted his glare to Chief Hadasa. "Chief, what's the story on these maintenance records? What's with these discrepancies?"
Paul backed out of the hatchway. And goodbye to you, too, Sam. First he picks a fight with me in front of a enlisted sailor, and now he's chewing out his chief in front of me. Did Yarrow go to some sort of anti-leadership school ?
The starboard ensign locker, so named because it held four junior officers and their meager belongings crammed into every available square centimeter of space, offered a brief refuge. Paul pulled himself to his tiny desk, strapped in, then called up the personnel records for the enlisted sailors assigned to his division. I need to have performance evaluations done on all my sailors in four more days. And the XO's screening every evaluation with software designed to detect cut-and-paste copying, so every evaluation has to contain original wording. It'd be easy if I didn't have a hundred other things to worry about .
He'd barely begun writing when a hand rapped on the hatch. "Paul?" Lieutenant Mike Bristol, the Michaelson 's junior supply officer, leaned partway into the ensign locker. "Suppo told me to let you know the feeding schedule for the Greenspacers is all taken care of. They'll get three squares a day until we offload them."
"I thought they were getting soon-to-expire battle rations."
"They are. Those are sort of square." Bristol spread his hands apologetically. "The Navy says it'll feed people. It doesn't say how well it'll feed them. Say, do you know why Randy's in a snit?"
Paul rolled his eyes. "Ensign lessons. Carl warned him to get the gig's fuel topped off, but he didn't, so the captain took a bite out of Randy."
"Oh. Randy owns the gig?"
"Yeah. It comes with him being First Lieutenant."
"Oh," Bristol repeated, then looked puzzled. "Paul, why is he the 'First Lieutenant'? Randy's one of the most junior officers on board, and he's not even a lieutenant, come to think of it."
Paul grinned. "Ancient history, Mike. Back in the days when ships had sails, the guy in charge of the deck stuff, that is the sails and the rigging, was really important. They assigned the job to the most senior lieutenant on the ship, so he was literally the First Lieutenant in terms of rank. Since then, the importance of deck stuff has gone way down. It's still important, of course, but it's not nearly as important as it used to be in sailing days. But we still call the guy in charge of it the First Lieutenant."
"That makes absolutely no sense, Paul. Why not change the name to reflect the way the job's changed?"
Paul shrugged. "Because this is the U.S. Navy, and that's the way we've always done it, and that's the way we'll always by God do it until hell freezes over and forces us to change. How long have you been in the Navy, Mike?"
Bristol grinned as well. "Longer than you, but my Navy isn't the same as the one you nut-case line officers live in. I'm not saying everything in the supply system makes sense -"
"You'd better not try to claim that."
" - but it seems saner than some of the stuff you guys do. So is Randy going to catch major hell for this mistake?"
"Naw. It annoyed the captain, which isn't good, but it's not like Randy blew a hole in the hull."
"He won't be charged with some offense, then?"
Paul looked closely at Mike to see if he was serious. I guess he is serious. And as legal officer I'm the logical guy to ask . "No. Technically you could charge Randy with something like failure to obey a standing general order, of if you really wanted to nail him hit him with improperly hazarding a vessel. But
"We'll see what my department head says about you drafting people out of her department."
"I've already talked to her, Sam." And Commander Destin wasn't happy at all, but I'm not about to tell Sam Yarrow that right now .
Yarrow seemed to be trying to find something else to say, then shifted his glare to Chief Hadasa. "Chief, what's the story on these maintenance records? What's with these discrepancies?"
Paul backed out of the hatchway. And goodbye to you, too, Sam. First he picks a fight with me in front of a enlisted sailor, and now he's chewing out his chief in front of me. Did Yarrow go to some sort of anti-leadership school ?
The starboard ensign locker, so named because it held four junior officers and their meager belongings crammed into every available square centimeter of space, offered a brief refuge. Paul pulled himself to his tiny desk, strapped in, then called up the personnel records for the enlisted sailors assigned to his division. I need to have performance evaluations done on all my sailors in four more days. And the XO's screening every evaluation with software designed to detect cut-and-paste copying, so every evaluation has to contain original wording. It'd be easy if I didn't have a hundred other things to worry about .
He'd barely begun writing when a hand rapped on the hatch. "Paul?" Lieutenant Mike Bristol, the Michaelson 's junior supply officer, leaned partway into the ensign locker. "Suppo told me to let you know the feeding schedule for the Greenspacers is all taken care of. They'll get three squares a day until we offload them."
"I thought they were getting soon-to-expire battle rations."
"They are. Those are sort of square." Bristol spread his hands apologetically. "The Navy says it'll feed people. It doesn't say how well it'll feed them. Say, do you know why Randy's in a snit?"
Paul rolled his eyes. "Ensign lessons. Carl warned him to get the gig's fuel topped off, but he didn't, so the captain took a bite out of Randy."
"Oh. Randy owns the gig?"
"Yeah. It comes with him being First Lieutenant."
"Oh," Bristol repeated, then looked puzzled. "Paul, why is he the 'First Lieutenant'? Randy's one of the most junior officers on board, and he's not even a lieutenant, come to think of it."
Paul grinned. "Ancient history, Mike. Back in the days when ships had sails, the guy in charge of the deck stuff, that is the sails and the rigging, was really important. They assigned the job to the most senior lieutenant on the ship, so he was literally the First Lieutenant in terms of rank. Since then, the importance of deck stuff has gone way down. It's still important, of course, but it's not nearly as important as it used to be in sailing days. But we still call the guy in charge of it the First Lieutenant."
"That makes absolutely no sense, Paul. Why not change the name to reflect the way the job's changed?"
Paul shrugged. "Because this is the U.S. Navy, and that's the way we've always done it, and that's the way we'll always by God do it until hell freezes over and forces us to change. How long have you been in the Navy, Mike?"
Bristol grinned as well. "Longer than you, but my Navy isn't the same as the one you nut-case line officers live in. I'm not saying everything in the supply system makes sense -"
"You'd better not try to claim that."
" - but it seems saner than some of the stuff you guys do. So is Randy going to catch major hell for this mistake?"
"Naw. It annoyed the captain, which isn't good, but it's not like Randy blew a hole in the hull."
"He won't be charged with some offense, then?"
Paul looked closely at Mike to see if he was serious. I guess he is serious. And as legal officer I'm the logical guy to ask . "No. Technically you could charge Randy with something like failure to obey a standing general order, of if you really wanted to nail him hit him with improperly hazarding a vessel. But
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