Alpha Strike

CHAPTER 21

“Damn it, I gave her a direct order!” Bird Dog roared. “Are you listening to me, Chief?”

“I hear you. Sir. So does everyone else on this passageway and two decks up and down.”

“Then if you hear me so well, how come this stuff’s not getting done?” Bird Dog lowered his voice slightly. “Your muster report shows that Shaughnessy scrubbed and waxed the deck in the ready room. Does that deck look like it’s had a mop near it in the last two weeks?”

Chief stared at a spot somewhere on the wall. “It’s not always a matter of giving orders, Lieutenant. There’re some things you just can’t demand. We had some birds down last night, and she thought she could get two of them back up for launch today. It’s a matter of priorities.”

“These are sailors, damn it! They’re supposed to follow orders, not decide which ones they’re going to obey!”

Finally, the chief looked at him. Bird Dog was surprised at what he saw in the older man’s eyes. Anger, outrage, and something more. A certain weariness, as though the chief had been through this same conversation too many times before.

“Let me tell you something about sailors, sir. These sailors, in particular. Your average Blue Shirt is a hell of a lot smarter and more capable than you’re giving them credit for. You know how much an E-3 gets paid?”

Bird Dog shook his head. “I have the feeling you’re about to tell me, though.”

“Somewhere around a grand a month. Plus somewhere to live and all the chow they can eat. Not a bad deal for an eighteen-year-old, you’d think. You’re probably thinking you had a lot less than that to live on when you were that age.”

Bird Dog nodded.

“But take another look at what we expect of them. That same eighteen-year-old is the last checkpoint between you and disaster. Your plane captain — think there might be a thousand ways he can keep you from getting killed? And just how old do you think the kid is that makes sure your ejection seat works? How about the one that packs your parachute, and maintains your flight gear? And what about the kid that gives you a final look-over before you get shot off the front end of the ship? Hell, he’s probably a lot older — like maybe twenty-two or so. The point is, Lieutenant, these men and women you call kids are carrying a hell of a lot of responsibility on their shoulders, far more than you ever did at that age. They screw up, you’re dead before you leave the flight deck.”

“I know how much they do, Chief. We all do. So what’s your point?”

The chief sighed, looked away, and then pinned Bird Dog to the bulkhead with a steely look. “The point is, sir, that they damned well deserve to be treated with a little more respect. And that goes for me as well. We’ve all of us been doing this job just a little longer than you have. You think going through AOCS and leadership school makes you better than them? You better think again, Lieutenant. Because it don’t. It gets you paid more, and gets you out of a lot of the shitty little work details they do — on top of their main jobs of keeping you alive — but it don’t make you a damn bit better as a person. Or as a sailor. And the sooner you realize that, the better you’re going to do in this canoe club.”

“Captain’s Mast, Chief,” Bird Dog said. “I’m tired of these excuses. And if you ever falsify another extra duty report, you’d better count on seeing the old man, too!”

The chief turned and walked to the door. He put his hand on the doorknob, paused, and turned back to Bird Dog. “One thing you need to remember, Lieutenant. Sailors don’t follow orders — they obey them. They follow leaders.”