Charles Taylor: Show of Force

"Okay, I'll see you soon, sir."

"Call me Joe. We're going to see a lot of each other, every fourth day and every fourth weekend." Life, thought David, really is less formal on destroyers.

It wasn't hard to find the wardroom on the Bagley. They were all in the same location in Fletcher-class destroyers. He went back through the midships passageway, nodded at the PO of the watch who was blowing on a cup of coffee, and proceeded up the starboard side to the wardroom.

A pot of coffee that had probably been on the hot plate since the previous night simmered by the open space to the pantry. The table was covered with the standard dark green felt, bearing the stains of many unidentified spills. A beige couch riveted to the deck and bulkhead extended on either side in one corner: On the forward bulkhead, emphasized by reflections from the water outside, were the ship's plaque, photos of the ship at various stages of her life, and a photo of a white bearded man in an ancient navy uniform — probably Bagley himself. Magazines that had been waiting a few weeks for the ship's return were lying open on the couch, no doubt left there by a bored Donovan.

David Charles poured himself a cup of coffee after locating some milk in the pantry refrigerator. The milk barely changed the color and did nothing at all for the taste. He stretched out on the cracked leather of the couch and picked up a copy of a torn Navy Times. Donovan made an unkempt appearance a few minutes later, tossing his cap on the table beside David and nodding. He poured a cup of coffee, taking it black, sat down at the head of the table, and gulped down half of the black mess as if he didn't notice the taste. When it finally registered, he went angrily over to the ship's phone and pressed the buzzer for the quarterdeck. When a voice answered, he said, "This is Mr. Donovan. Find the duty steward and send him to the wardroom, on the double." Turning to the new ensign, he added, "I thought I was doing him a favor last night when I said that he didn't have to prepare breakfast this morning, but the son of a bitch was too goddamn lazy to even fix a fresh pot."

"We're not the only ones on duty this weekend?" questioned David.

"Nope." Another scratch, which David thought was perhaps a habit. "The captain let me send Craig Scott home last night, since he's married, too. He decided that Paul Goorjian and I could handle everything until Saturday morning, but I sure don't know what he thought you could do. On the other hand, he's always good to the brown baggers. I'm a bachelor and that wild Armenian, Goorjian, is a bachelor. You caught this section because you are too, and Craig was unfortunate enough to earn me because the operations officer says he wants one officer from his department in each section." He paused for a second. "You see, we're not supposed to be as horny as they are when we come into home port, and there's nothing uglier than a married officer who knows he has to wait one more night before he can pole-vault home. So the captain made a deal. When we're in any other port, my section is guaranteed liberty, and Captain Carter decided that arrangement keeps everybody happy."

"It sounds good," said David. "Does it always work right?"

"We've spent more damn time during exercises this year going into tombs like Newport, Charleston, and Mayport, Florida." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "But, San Juan was great last winter. Let me tell you what the best part is about being guardian of the brown-bag morals — the dinner invitations! We have some wives that are the best cooks in Norfolk, and they're honestly sorry that we have to live on the ship like monks — they think! But the best part of all is that the young ones all work, and they have single girl friends who show up for dinner, and sometimes it's just like shooting fish in a barrel." He grinned for the first time and then, thinking more about what he had said, laughed. "You play your cards right, and follow old Joe Donovans guidance, and you'll eat good and get plenty of action, too."

The young ensign smiled back, not quite knowing what to say. The formal training at Annapolis hadn't covered this aspect of Navy life, nor did it mention CO's who seemed concerned about wardroom sex life. Donovan was certainly not the Academy's idea of the average command-duty officer, yet he had been left in charge of the ship.

The duty steward, a Filipino in dungarees and a work shirt, stuck his head cautiously in through the pantryway. "Mr. Donovan, you call me?" he asked in broken English.

"Damn right I did, Santo. Would you drink that crap?" pointing at the thick mess in the coffeepot.

The steward shrugged his shoulders, maintaining a neutral expression.

"You can be damn sure the crew wouldn't touch that." He waved his arms above his head. "I want another pot super fast." The little dark-skinned man came around from the pantry to pick up the pot. Donovan looked down at his slippered feet. "And after you do that, go back down and get on the uniform of the day and report back to me." Turning away toward David, he muttered, "The little bastards will always take advantage of you, if you give them half a chance. And you better believe they understand English! I said last night that he didn't have to make breakfast for us, since I always let Goorjian sleep in on the weekends, and I don't eat breakfast anyway. You can be damn sure he won't do that again."

Apparently satisfied, he sat down in the chair at the end of the green table, swinging it around toward David and stretching his legs out in front. "Now tell me a little about Ensign David Charles, other than your last four years at the barge factory."

That day, in the second ship of a four-ship nest, Joe Donovan learned a lot about the new ensign who was bunking with him and who would stand watches with him both in port and underway. And, David Charles learned about a new Navy that hadn't been included in the curriculum the past four years, one that seemed to have been forgotten by his landlocked instructors.

I'm going to make this as a side entry that I might tear out later, especially if I'm going to have to turn this journal in to a department head later on.

In a way, I was kind of scared when I reported aboard Bagley. I've been on other ships before, during middle cruises, but this is my first actual tour of duty. I'm finally an officer, but I don't know if I want to stay in forever. When I saw this ship, as I was coming down the pier, I just said to myself, "Oh, shit. It's really a rust bucket." I guess we all had dreams of guided missile cruisers or giant carriers, as far as being part of a spit-and-polish organization, but everybody kept telling us the real Navy was in tin cans. Well, if they're right, and I'm not saying they're not, it's sure a different Navy from the one we were taught about for four years.

joe Donovan, the CDO whose section I'm in, thinks Annapolis was some kind of prep1 school, and only people who wanted to give up working early went there. As a matter of fact, he's explained two or three times that when the Navy gets into a crisis they call up the reserves. And after the reserves win the war for the lifers, then they go home until the lifers get themselves in trouble again. Wow! On the other hand, deep down he really likes the Bagley. He knows the ship as well as the captain, and I guess Captain Carter has tried to talk him into shipping over, but Joe says there's too much to do in the real world. Maybe he's right.

Some of the other reservists are pretty good people, too. But, boy, do they ever party! After everything I was taught about Navy etiquette, I think maybe they're right. Going to sea on a Monday morning is a hell of a good way to dry out, and it also keeps you from getting too involved with the women. But some of the parties I've been to when the ship comes back are unbelievable. They work like hell when we're at sea and then they act like they've never seen the water when they get back. They rent an apartment every time they're in any port for more than a couple of weeks. Right now they've got one in Virginia Beach and they've asked me to come in with them. The hard core is Donovan, FitzGibbon, Hogan, Mezey, Werwaiss, Mundy, and Kerner. Whenever the Bagley's tied up, their place is overrun with women. I think I'm going to like it, and I think I'm going to like the Bagley a lot more than I expected that first weekend, if I can survive the pace they set.