Sex and the High Command Read Online Free Page A

be single-minded.
    Now, these intrusions.
    Very well, he would accept the improbable as probable and act accordingly. If he were standing on the bridge when Gabriel blew his horn, Hansen would come to attention and hold a hand salute until the last note died. By accepting the improbable as probable, he reasoned, he could maintain his sanity and, more important, his decorum as a naval officer.
    Johnson was dead and the ship’s table of organization called for a commander as a navigator. Although the Chattahoochee was scheduled for dry dock and he was up for a tour of shore duty, the ship needed a navigator.
    The name that came first to Hansen’s mind was Frank Hewitt.
    Ten years before, Hansen had served as exec on the destroyer Calicot , and Hewitt, then a junior grade lieutenant, had been navigator. Frank should have his three stripes by now, and Frank was the son of Admiral Hunnicutt “Flank Speed” Hewitt, ComSowesPacPolSqua. As a floating science lab attached to the Southwest Pacific Polar Squadron, the Chattahoochee had been under Admiral Hewitt’s command. When Hansen went up for admiral, Admiral Hewitt would be a logical choice for the selection board.
    Young Frank had been a fair navigator. If he requested Hewitt, and some brown-nosing aide to an admiral chose to use this request as an opener for small talk when Admiral Hewitt dropped by Washington, the request for the admiral’s son would not hurt Hansen with the admiral. Hansen picked up the phone and put in a call to the Bureau of Personnel, for Captain Harvey Arnold, aide to Admiral Darnell, Chief of BuPers. After one click, a Wave answered, “Captain Arnold’s office. Lieutenant Byrd, hyo!”
    Annoyed by her Britishism, Hansen said, “This is Captain Benjamin Franklin Hansen, of the United States Navy. Let me speak to Captain Arnold.”
    “Th’nk yo’p!”
    “Walloper, you old polar bear! How was the voyage?”
    “Little chilly down south, Harvey, and we hit weather off Hatteras.”
    “I’ve been fighting a cold wave in Washington. No pun intended.”
    “Same trouble in Norfolk, according to the ship’s paper. Only one of my ratings made out. Harvey, I need help. I lost my navigator last night. Unexpectedly. He’s dead.”
    “Sorry, Ben.”
    “Yes. All hands are shocked by his death. But I’m looking for a replacement. Some years back. Admiral Hunnicutt Hewitt’s son, Frank, served under me on the old Calicot and I liked the cut of his jib…”
    “Whoa there, Ben,” Arnold’s joviality skidded to a halt. “Maybe you were too far south for the scuttlebutt, but Frank Hewitt resigned three months ago for the good of the service.”
    Oh, hailstones, Hansen thought, recalling his phrases “served under me” and “I liked the cut of his jib.” Now the request would get to admirals, as many as Harvey Arnold could talk to, but none of those admirals would be Admiral Hunnicutt Hewitt. “Well,” Hansen said, “I’ve been out of circulation for a long time.”
    “Don’t let it worry you, Ben. I’m glad to head off the request before it got into official channels. Give my condolences to your crew over the loss of your navigator, and give my compliments to that rating… No, tender my respects to… what’s his name?”
    “McCormick. Chief Water Tender McCormick.”
    “He would be an Irishman… Well, Ben, next time you’re around the Pentagon, drop in and we’ll have a cup of Java. Over and out!”
    Arnold’s phone clicked.
    Improbabilities were killing him. Who would have thought it of Frank Hewitt? That boy, Hansen recalled, used to have females lined up three-deep at the dock every time the Calicot hit port.
    Again Hansen shook his head, reached over, and dialed home. Helga answered in a voice still heavy with sleep, “Hi, Ben.”
    “Helga, I intended to call to finalize our luncheon arrangement, but strange things have been happening—Frank Hewitt was cashiered, and Ralph Johnson committed suicide last night.”
    “Frank I