The Edge of Honor (69 page)

Austin formally assumed the watch in D and D and Brian manned his GQ station in the weapons module.

There was none of the usual chatter and questions from the off-watch people as everyone waited in tense silence for word that the fire was under control. The lights blinked a couple of times when the engineers switched power centers as they isolated the foward fire room.

While the officers listened to the damage-control efforts going on over the bitch box between Main Engineering Control and the bridge, Garuda continued to make radio reports to the staff down on the carriers. The other watch slanders communicated with their aircraft to explain why Red Crown was coming off the air. Brian checked to see that the missile systems and the SPS-48 radar had been put in standby. The Operations people had secured the TACAN and the secondary radars. In theory, the engineers would shift the electrical load to the after main plant’s generators, which should not be affected by a problem in the forward plant. Everyone understood that the operative word was should. With a Class Bravo fire going in a boiler room, nothing was certain.

It took thirty minutes before a damage-control team was able to enter the forward fire room, climbing down the escape hatch from the weather decks, lugging heavy fire hoses, and breathing through DBAs. They reported back through sound-powered phone circuits that the fire had burned itself out. It had apparently been centered in the area of a main feed pump, and the probable cause was lube oil spraying out of a lube oil strainer onto the hot steel casing of a steam-driven main feed pump.

The fire room’s crew had been able to pull fires under the steaming boiler and shut down the feed pump before diving into the bilges, which had allowed the fire to burn itself out. The damage-control team reported that they were ventilating the space, whose atmosphere was almost totally obscured by heavy black smoke. There was no word on injuries among the boiler room’s crew of four watch standers. Austin forwarded this information to the staff via Green.

“Damned lucky if that’s all we got,” observed Garuda, fondling an unlighted cigarette. Smoking was not permitted during general quarters.

“I was on a destroyer once; we had six guys killed in a Class Bravo fire. Melted a six-hundred-pound steam line. Stripped all the meat off their bones in about fifteen seconds. All they found were six skeletons, bones clean as a hound’s tooth. Bad shit.

Real bad shit.”

“That’ll be enough of that kind of talk,” barked Austin as several radarmen started to look sick. “I’m waiting for a ‘power stable’ report, and then we get Red Crown back on the air.”

Brian waited along with the rest of the GQ crew as the situation was sorted out down below. Although Combat was full of people, all the console screens were dark and the radios silent. He had a sinking feeling that the days of three-section evaluator watches had just come to a close. The exec came into Combat a few minutes later and gave Austin a final wrap-up report to be sent to the staff. As Austin wrote down the details, the exec saw Brian watching him from the weapons module. He gave Brian a look that seemed to say, Don’t start … Then he focused again on the report.

Brian wondered what they would find when they did the investigation—which one of Vince’s stars had been high when he tried to shift lube-oil strainers. He remembered from Destroyer School that an oil leak from a feed pump strainer was almost unheard of, but a mistake in shifting from the pressurized strainer to the alternate strainer was a well-documented cause of oil fires in boiler rooms. The exec went back out to the bridge.

“Main Control reports power stable on two B generator,” announced a GQ phone talker. Austin gave a nod and Garuda ordered the various module supervisors to begin restoring the electronics systems. Garuda brought the operations program back to life with his finger drill on the master key sets. Console alert buzzers began to sound all over Combat. Fifteen minutes later, the bridge passed the word to secure from GQ.

“All stations, SWIC,” Garuda bawled over the intercom.

“Gimme manned and ready.”

Brian walked into D and D and stood next to Austin.

“So who takes the watch?” he asked.

Austin glanced up from the message he was writing and then looked at his watch. “Oh, right. Vince. Let’s see. I’ve been off the longest,” he said. “I’ll finish out Vince’s eighteen to twenty-four, and you pick up the mid. After that, we’ll have to see what happens.”

Brian nodded. “I think I can guess what will happen,” he said, his voice already weary. But Austin was studying his incident-report message.

Brian went below to grab a few hours of sleep.

The exec made it official the next morning after officers’ call. The chief engineer needed to come off the evaluator watch bill to oversee the repairs in the forward fire room.

Austin would have the 0600 to 1200 and the 1800 to 2400 watches; Brian would take the 1200 to 1800 and the 2400 to 0600 watches. Brian’s heart sank at the thought of another month of the midnight-to-dawn stints as evaluator.

Even when he tried to budget time for sleep, his body resisted the strain of staying awake during his entire natural rest period. The exec saw the look on his face.

“You said the other day you were ready to take it down to just the officers and chiefs,” he said, closing his notebook. “Well, this is what happens when the wardroom gets shorthanded.”

Austin studied the deck as the exec walked forward, aware of the rebuke hidden in the exec’s words and its relation to Brian’s action against the three missile techs.

Brian said nothing as the other officers gathered into departmental groups. Austin paused to speak to him while the Weapons Department people waited.

“It won’t be for that long,” Austin said. “There was surprisingly little damage. Nobody really got hurt.

There’s some burned lagging and some copper tubing melted around the feed pump, but they’re mostly cleaning up down there, what with smoke soot all over everything.

Vince thinks he can get the fire room up and running in a couple of days.”

“What about the feed pump?”

“It’s out of commission until they can inspect casing specs to make sure nothing warped, but he’s got two more in that space.”

“And I suppose there’s no word on what caused it?”

Austin gave him an arch look. “Officially ‘unknown’ for now,” he said.

“And if I were you, I wouldn’t push that question too far.”

“Sounds to me like some people are getting sensitive to the truth.”

Austin looked at him. “Sounds to me, Mr. Holcomb, that certain lieutenants are starting to live dangerously.”

He moved away to join the Operations officers for the morning’s instructions.

Brian walked over to the Weapons group, where the chiefs waited with the division officers. A strong northeast breeze flowed over the boat decks, causing everyone to hang on to his ball cap.

“Well, guys, I’m back on afternoons and mids,” he announced, “which means I’ll see you guys at officers’ call and at some meals. I guess we go back to the same system as before. You can catch me in Combat unless the Red Crown business happens to be really cooking.

Otherwise, if it’s routine, handle it.”

“How long this time, boss?” asked the chief boatswain.

“Don’t know, Boats. Depends on what they find down there, I suppose. Mr. Austin thinks just a couple of days.”

“Way I hear it, Mr. Benedetti had the watch standers take a piss test after they pulled ‘em outta the bilges.”

“Oh my,” said Brian.

“And?” asked Fox Hudson.

“That’s all I heard,” the chief said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Probably all we’re going to hear,” muttered Jack Folsom.

“Okay, guys, turn to,” Brian said. He signed a couple of special-request chits and approved the monthly ammunition summary message draft. The officers headed down to the wardroom for coffee refills, but the chief boatswain lingered. Brian noticed that the boatswain did not have to hang on to his hat.

“Yeah, Boats?”

“I figgered ya might wanta know something’,” he said, ” ‘bout them piss tests.”

“Well, I’m curious, of course. But it wouldn’t astonish me if the lid was clamped down on the results.”

“Yeah, well, the way I hear it, the doc took the samples with Jackson watchin’, but Jackson didn’t get to see what happened when the doc put the chemicals in—you know, if anybody changed color? And the doc, he’s doin’ the armadillo. He ain’t sayin’ nothin’ to nobody. XO’s orders.”

“Which means the XO wants to keep the results to himself.”

“Well, you know, things are kinda up in the air since you took them shitbirds to mast. And Jackson ain’t too happy he’s being’ cut out. And doc ain’t too happy about doin’ the cutting’, you follow my drift.”

“I think I’m missing something—”

“Yeah, well, under the old deal, who took care of the bad guys?”

“Oh, I get it now. The chiefs—who are now being cut out of the pattern.”

” ‘Zactly. He can’t keep it a secret, he wants some ass kicked. An if he does keep it a secret—”

“Nobody’s ass get’s kicked. His system falls apart.”

” ‘Causa you.”

“Because of me. Right. Terrific. I think I’ll go pack my seabag right now. Do a good inventory. Make it easy on my next of kin.”

The boatswain laughed. “You hang in there, boss. We might get this bucket back to regulation Navy yet.”

“Anything more on Bullet?”

“He’s startin’ to get nervous. I been layin’ the heavy vibes on him.”

The chief rolled his eyes to show what he thought of the expression.

“But I think we’re missin’ something. Something Garlic said, night we went to talk to him.”

“What was that?”

“Jackson don’t agree with this, but Garlic, one time he said he got the money from him, meanin’ Bullet, I guess, and then the second time, he said he got it from them.”

“Meaning the drug gang, maybe?”

“Yeah, that’s the way Jackson sees it. Them is the drug gang. But me, I think he meant that he was getting’ money from two guys, not just one.”

“Meaning what? Bullet’s a deputy dog and there’s another guy, the real boss?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Brian thought about that for a moment. But why would there be two guys—why would the operation need two guys? He asked Martinez.

“I dunno,” the chief said. “It’s just sometnin’ stickin’ in my head.”

“If you think that’s how it is, maybe you guys ought to go have a session with Bullet like you had with Garlic—if there’s a bigger fish to catch here, it might be worth it. Long as you could do it without giving the guy a heart attack,” Brian said pointedly.

Martinez shrugged. “Shit happens, Mr. Holcomb.

Shit happens.”

Brian was on his way forward when he saw Austin talking to the exec by the port-side boat davits. They both gave him a look as he went by but did not resume their conversation until Brian was out of earshot. He was restowing some laundry when his phone rang.

“Lieutenant Holcomb speaking, sir.”

It was the exec. “Mr. Holcomb. I’m told you think the command has a problem handling the truth.”

Fucking Austin! “I simply meant—”

“You had better take some care with what you say, mister. We’ll find out what happened down in that fire room, but I think you have enough problems of your own without sticking your snot nose in other people’s business. If you don’t, come see me—I’ve got lots of problems I can share with you. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And where’s the report on your preps for the admin inspection? And your next quarter’s Optar budget—got that ready yet?”

“No, sir.” Brian sighed.

“Well, make sure I have them both by the close of business today, hotshot. Man of your vast interests and talents ought to be able to handle that, no sweat.”

Brian was silent.

“I don’t hear you, Mr. Holcomb.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“There you go.”

Brian hung up and finished stowing his laundry. He was wondering whether he could still grab a quick pre watch nap when there was a knock on the door and Chief Jackson stuck his head in.

“Mr. Holcomb, got a minute?”

“Yeah, Chief. Why not.”

Jackson came in and closed the door behind him.

“FROM Three Warren came in to see me. It seems he’s catching some heat from some of the other junior enlisted.

He wouldn’t come right out and say it, but the impression I got was that it was the other black junior enlisted.”

“What kind of heat?”

“Somebody stenciled his pillowcase with the name Tom Fink. As in Uncle Tom, the white man’s boy, and a stool pigeon besides. That was two days ago. Last night, some guys ambushed him in the missile house’s passageway, turned off the passageway lights and pushed him around. Guys were wearing their knit caps over their faces. Said he better stay off the weather decks, because they were gonna fix his ass for messing around in some of the brothers’ business.”

“But none of the guys who went down were black.”

“Exactly. Which means the warning is probably coming from Bullet—it’s his drug business that Warren is supposedly messing around with.”

“Shit. I don’t need Warren hassled,” Brian said. “Below the first class FTMs, he’s the senior petty officer watch slander I’ve got left.”

“Yes, sir. He knows that. He seems like a good kid, but this is starting to get to him. I just thought you ought to know.”

“Okay, thanks, Chief. Please tell his division officer, Mr. Hudson. Ask him to counsel Warren. Is there anything you can do?”

“In what sense, Mr. Holcomb?”

“I don’t know, exactly. Maybe in the sense that you’re one of the more senior black men in the ship.”

Jackson looked down at the deck. He had an embarrassed expression on his face.

“As the Sheriff, I’ve got some power, Mr. Holcomb, but that’s not the same as saying I have any influence on the guys who are probably doing this. When I try to talk to them as a black man, the younger ones look at me as the Uncle Tom of Uncle Toms.”

“Names shouldn’t bother us, Chief.”

” ‘Us,’ Mr. Holcomb?”

“Right. I beg your pardon. Point taken. I guess what I meant was if you and Chief Martinez cornered some of these guys and put the fear of God, or at least of Godzilk, into them, they might leave Warren alone.”