John Hemry - A Just Determination

The chief petty officer accompanying Alvarez wedged herself slightly forward.

"What happened?"

"During morning muster, Seaman Alvarez was not present, ma'am. She had still not appeared at the completion of muster, so I went down to the berthing compartment and found her in her rack. I ordered her to get up immediately and, instead of complying, Seaman Alvarez made a number of obscene remarks directed at me."

Commander Herdez' face somehow seemed to harden even further. "It seems to me that Seaman Alvarez should also be charged under Article 91 with disobeying an order from a petty officer. Is that correct?"

Chief Thomas chewed her lip for a moment before answering. "Seaman Alvarez did get up and proceed with her duties after I, uh, motivated her, ma'am."

"Hmmm." Herdez shifted her gaze back to Alvarez. "Seaman Alvarez, what do you have to say?"

Alvarez displayed an apparently insincere mix of regret and earnestness as she spoke. "I was sick, ma'am. Real sick. I could hardly move at all. I tried to tell Chief Thomas, but she wouldn't listen. So I got up anyway, but it was real hard. But it wasn't my fault, ma'am."

"Real sick?" Herdez looked back at Chief Thomas. "Did you send Seaman Alvarez to sick bay?"

"I did, ma'am. The doc reported Alvarez had a bad hangover, that was all."

"A hangover."

Alvarez spoke again, licking her lips nervously. "I didn't drink that much the night before, ma'am. Just a little. It was some bad booze. Real bad. Or somebody slipped me a Mickey. You know, to rob me or somethin', but I got back to the ship anyway. The doc wouldn't listen, though."

Herdez shook her head slowly, her eyes fixed on Alvarez. "Neither will I, because your story is not very believable. Sick bay would have spotted any traces of drugs in your system from a Mickey, but you refused such a test. Why?"

"I, uh, they coulda taken my word-"

"They also could have detected other drugs, perhaps. But I can't charge you with offenses I only believe you committed." Herdez looked toward Sheriff Sharpe. "This case is referred to Captain's mast. Dismissed."

Alvarez, her head down so no one could read her expression, followed Chief Thomas out. Commander Herdez nodded to Sharpe. "Next."

Sharpe leaned out the hatch. "Seaman Franco."

Franco entered with his chief, then stood at rigid attention, almost quivering with nervousness. Herdez favored him with a stern look, then checked her reader. "Seaman Franco, you are charged with violating Article 86, failure to go to an appointed place of duty. Chief Blucher?"

Chief Blucher tilted his head toward Franco. "Seaman Franco, he didn't show up for morning muster yesterday. He got back to the ship maybe a half hour late, after liberty had expired."

"What do have to say, Seaman Franco?"

Franco twitched, his face rigid. "Ma'am, I… uh… didn't… realize the time."

"What were you doing that made you so unaware of your duties on the ship, Seaman Franco?"

"I… uh… ma'am… um… a friend…"

The corner of Herdez' mouth twitched. "Chief Blucher, can you shed any light on this?"

"Yes, ma'am. I believe Seaman Franco has a new girlfriend ashore."

"Ah. Your first girlfriend, Seaman Franco?"

Franco nodded once, his face rigid, worried eyes fixed on the far bulkhead. "Yes, ma'am. Uh, I mean, first real girlfriend."

"I see. And you were engaged in some activities with this girlfriend which caused you to be late returning to the ship?"

"I… I'm sorry, ma'am. I really didn't realize…"

Herdez turned to Chief Blucher again. "What sort of sailor is Seaman Franco?"

"He's a good sailor, ma'am. Hard worker."

"Has he been in trouble before?"

"No, ma'am."

"Very well." Herdez fixed a stern gaze in Franco. "Then I believe this can be handled without referring the case to the Captain. Chief Blucher, ensure Seaman Franco understands the consequences of failing to attend to his duties because of… social activities. As for you, Seaman Franco, it's not hard to balance your social life with your professional responsibilities as long as you think with the upper part of your spine instead of the lower part of it. I don't want to see you here again. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am. Th-thank you, ma'am."

"Dismissed."

Franco and Blucher trooped out, while Senior Chief Kowalski rubbed his face to conceal a smile. "Thanks, Commander."

Commander Herdez kept her own face solemn. "No thanks needed, Senior Chief. Franco is a good sailor, but more than one good sailor has wandered astray. Putting the fear of God in him at this point should ensure he stays on track. Alvarez, on the other hand… Senior Chief, I want you to be thinking about ways to get her transferred off this ship if necessary."

Kowalski nodded. "Okay, ma'am. She's a bad egg. But the shore establishment don't like it when we dump bad sailors on them."

"Since the shore establishment sends them to us in the first place, I don't see where they have cause to complain. See to it, Senior Chief. Thank you, Petty Officer Sharpe. Mr. Sinclair, I'll need to see you tomorrow afternoon."

"Yes, ma'am." Paul went cold inside, imagining his foul up with Commander Garcia had attracted even worse attention than he had imagined.

Herdez weighed Paul with her eyes, making him feel as if she were looking through him. "It's a legal issue, Mr. Sinclair. Thank you."

Paul followed the others out of the stateroom. "Sheriff, you got a minute?"

"Certainly, sir." Sharpe seemed to be in good humor.

"I guess you enjoyed that little act with Franco."

"That I did, sir. But it wasn't no act. The XO meant what she said." Sharpe inclined his head to indicate Commander Herdez' stateroom. "If you don't mind my saying so, sir, that was a good leadership lesson in there."

"I'd already figured that out, Sheriff. But tell me something. How much trouble do we have with sailors?"

Sharpe grinned. "They're sailors, bless 'em. They get drunk, they get in fights with girlfriends and boyfriends and bartenders and cops and other sailors, they get home late, they say or do something stupid. It happens."

"I know that much. What I was wondering was, do they get in much trouble when we're underway? I mean, are XO's Screening and Captain's Mast going to demand a lot of my time once we're underway?"

"Oh." Sheriff Sharpe grimaced. "Look at it this way, sir. You're gonna go out on a long patrol. You're stuck in a metal box for months. No liberty. No booze. What're they gonna do to you if you mouth off or steal a little food or try to jury-rig a still so you can get drunk? You can fine them, but what's less money mean when there's no place to spend it? You can bust them a paygrade, but so what? You wake up in the same little box of a berthing compartment, eat the same rotten food, and do the same job. Even if we stick 'em in the brig, that's just a private room. And bread and water? That's better than half the meals they serve on the mess decks. So, I guess your answer is, yeah, we get a lot of work underway. The good sailors don't act too much different, though even they know any punishment don't mean much compared to six months stuck inside this can, but the bad actors figure it's open season for the first few months. Once we hit the halfway point, they start cleaning up their acts. Ain't nobody wants to be on confinement when we get home. No, sir. But up 'til then, it's gonna be busy, Mr. Sinclair."

Paul blew out air in a long sigh. "Thanks, Sheriff. I guess I'll be seeing a whole lot of you."

"That's because you're a lucky man, sir." Sharpe chuckled, then brought his right hand up in a salute. "By your leave, sir?"

Paul returned the salute, unable to fight down a smile of his own at the exaggerated military courtesy. "Go away, Sheriff."

"Thank you, sir!"