Navy Orders. Geri Krotow

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      CHAPTER TWO

      TWO HOURS LATER Roanna straightened her khaki uniform skirt and put on her favorite tinted lip moisturizer before she left her desk to walk to the wing conference room. It was only a quarter to nine but she’d lived a lifetime since she’d left her house for her run on Deception Pass this morning.

      Each week the wing staff, along with various squadron representatives, briefed the wing commander, also referred to as the wing commodore, on the status of all wing patrol squadron forces in the world that were under his command. A complete intelligence brief was part of the package, as was a weather brief, operations brief and maintenance brief.

      Ro was responsible for the intelligence brief, but whenever possible it was presented by a squadron intelligence officer or one of her intelligence specialists. She’d had enough face time to last her an entire career. She believed in giving less experienced intel types a chance to improve their skills.

      Ro entered the roomy air-conditioned space and glanced at the dozen or so seats around the huge wood conference table and the seats lined up at the sides of the room. Miles wasn’t there yet and she let out her breath. At least she had a few more minutes during which she didn’t have to worry about him looking at her.

      Go ahead, tell yourself that. You’ll be disappointed if he doesn’t show up.

      She was giving Miles way too much rental space in her head. She pulled out a chair three down from the head of the table, where the commodore would sit. He’d be flanked by his chief staff officer and the operations officer, followed by maintenance and intelligence. All rank-related.

      Right after she sat down, the senior enlisted sailor came into the room and handed her a piece of paper.

      “Good morning, Commander.” The rank of lieutenant commander was often shortened to “Commander” in regular conversation.

      “Hey, Master Chief Reis, how are you doing?”

      “Fine, ma’am. The commodore wants to meet with you after the AOM.” Master Chief Petty Officer Lydia Reis referred to the all officers meeting, AOM, as Ro took the small yellow slip of paper.

      “Did his secretary say what for?”

      “No, and it wasn’t his secretary who told me—it was Commodore Sanders.”

      “Okay, thanks.” She did her best to maintain an air of unconcern. Captain Leo Sanders, Wing Commodore, never made direct calls to any of his staff. They jokingly referred to him as the “CEO.” He made sure everyone knew he was the boss, no questions, but was also more friendly and personable than the average high roller. Ro had worked for Commodore Sanders since she’d reported to N.A.S. Whidbey fourteen months ago. He’d been more than fair on her fitness reports so she didn’t have a personal beef with him. But she’d also seen him slice and dice her colleagues for transgressions in front of the entire staff. He regularly broke the “reprimand in private, praise in public” rule of thumb. It was the epitome of how a leader shouldn’t behave. But he was in charge and it wasn’t her call how he acted. He gave her enough room to do her job as the wing intelligence officer without micromanaging her.

      Besides, he had a great sense of humor that was most welcome when the staff was under the gun for an inspection or unplanned mission.

      Why does he need to talk to me?

      Ro ran her fingers along the edge of the polished maple conference table. She hadn’t screwed up on anything that she was aware of. She also hadn’t done anything that merited a surprise award or commendation, either.

      She felt a distinct ripple of unease. She’d never gotten into any kind of trouble as an officer, yet she knew from experience that when a high-ranking superior wanted to see you on such short notice it was usually for something pretty serious. Commodore Sanders was a busy man in a responsible job. He wouldn’t be asking to see her for something he could have had his chief staff officer request from her.

      Her apprehension was further piqued when Master Chief Reis handed Miles the same yellow slip of paper, with the same quiet request, right after he sat down in the chair opposite her. His expression remained unreadable as he read the note but when he raised his head and caught her staring, he grinned.

      Oh, no. He thought she was looking at him for an entirely different reason.

      “I got the same message.” She blurted out the obvious.

      Miles raised his brows. He didn’t appear as concerned as she was. Of course, he was the weapons officer and probably got called into the commodore’s office a lot more often than she did. Weapons cost a lot of money, hence they were right behind the costs of aircraft maintenance and fuel as the budget-driving concerns.

      Ro rarely spoke to the commodore one-on-one; there was no need to. He received his daily intelligence briefings from her or her staff via a short classified memo, and if he required further explanation he called her in along with his CSO to help explain and ask questions, too. The CSO served as the commodore’s extra eyes and ears in most instances.

      Ro thought about asking Miles if he knew what the summons was about when the ops officer barked out, “Attention on deck!” Ro pushed out her chair and stood at straight attention in one fluid movement, as did everyone else. Commodore Sanders strode in.

      “At ease, everybody. Take your seats.” He was always quick to put them at ease and get on with the briefings. Ro liked this about Commodore Sanders. He didn’t have time to waste and he didn’t want to waste anyone else’s time, either.

      She folded the admin message into fours and placed it in the front pocket of her khaki skirt. She’d worry about whatever the meeting was about later.

      The briefings all went as usual with nothing significant to report from most departments. The meteorologist pointed out that the current gale-force gusts were from a Pacific storm that could make landfall on Whidbey over the weekend but would most probably break up before it arrived.

      Ro had just finished her first full year here and had never experienced a major storm on the island. She looked around the room. No one else seemed too worked up over that piece of news.

      She noted that the commodore was quiet this morning, which boded well for the junior officer who was about to give the intelligence brief.

      The JO from Patrol Squadron Eighty-Six started up well and appeared to hold the commodore’s interest throughout his brief spiel. СКАЧАТЬ