The Command by David Poyer

pale-palmed hands locked behind his bull neck. Dan tried to swallow his nerves by inspecting him back. But Niles’s Certified Navy Twill khakis looked as if they’d just come from the tailor. Three silver stars flashed like rhodium-plated shark’s teeth at his collar points. He looked more grizzled around the edges but otherwise the same: massive, beefy, and pissed off. Even the jar of Atomic Fireballs on his desk might have been the one Dan had sampled in Crystal City, years before. The flag captain was lingering in the doorway. Niles pointed a finger pistol and blew him away.
    Dan opened with, “Good to see you again, sir.”
    â€œBullcrap. You hate my guts. And notice I’m not saluting your Congressional.”
    â€œI hadn’t noticed, sir.”
    Niles blinked like a rhino contemplating a charge. “I have no idea how you got it. Or a command. It wouldn’t have happened if I was on the board. I have no idea how your wife fixed this dames-at-sea fiasco for you either, but we’re going to unfix it just as fast.”
    â€œShe had nothing to do with it, sir. I got the CO selection before she was named assistant secretary. And it’s not a fiasco. Not yet, anyway.”
    Dan remembered too late, contradicting Niles wasn’t the way to get on his good side. The pouched eyes burned even redder. “Well, just to make it clear, we aren’t going that way.”
    â€œWhat way, sir?”
    â€œWomen do the job on the auxiliaries. But we don’t need them aboard combatants.”
    â€œIt’s good to hear your policy on that, sir. I was hoping to get some guidance as long as I was here.”
    â€œI’m sure you were. It’s horseshit, and we’re not going to stand still for it.”
    â€œWho is ‘us,’ Admiral?”
    â€œThe service leadership. He keeps pushing this, he’s going to see a backlash he won’t believe.”
    Dan wondered why a black man would be so set against integrating women. But obviously being black didn’t mean you were a liberal, a lesson Nick Niles seemed to live to personify.
    Niles was looking out the curtained porthole. No, not a porthole, more like a round picture window. “Lenson, I have a problem with your commanding one of my ships. A big problem. Usually you Academy guys understand the concept of obeying an order. But it didn’t take with you. You were out sick that day, or something. To you a command’s not a
command,
it’s some sort of
suggestion
from above.”
    â€œI work within the system, sir. As long as possible.”
    â€œAnd when you decide it isn’t?”
    â€œI try to take responsibility, and act. I know that can’t be officially encouraged. But if any service has a tradition of independent action, it’s got to be us.”
    â€œI see. It’s not direct disobedience. It’s
taking responsibility.”
    Dan didn’t bother to answer again. He sounded defensive even to himself. The worst of it was, at some level, Niles was right. He
did
regard power as intrinsically suspect, and thanks to the shrink, he thought he knew why. Growing up with an abusive cop for a father didn’t give you the warm fuzzies for authority figures.
    â€œAnd as far as the
system
—you have no idea what the system even
is.
You think you’re smarter than we are.”
    â€œNo, sir, I don’t—”
    â€œYou think you’re holier, or more ethical, or something. But we have the big picture and you don’t. You react too fast; you don’t think things through. God! You resigned once. How about trying it again?”
    â€œSorry, sir. I like command.”
    â€œI can’t believe you got a ship,” Niles said again. He shook his head, like a stymied water buffalo. “But since you did, I’ll be watching. No more Lenson adventures. No more
hanging
people. Fuck up, just once, and you’ll be on the beach. Let’s see you