I’m in the dark about this.” He didn’t like navy people chewing him out in general. And specifically, he didn’t like snotty officers snapping at him, regardless of rank or ser[chvice.
“PFC Shaw transported Coughman from your brig to ours,” Wood snarled. “And he brought the prisoner in without leg irons. Now, Captain, that’s pure slop. What if Coughman had decided to run for it? All he’d have had to do was knock Shaw out and take off. Regulations specifically cite the prisoner must be bound in wrist and leg irons. Don’t your people read the orders we give them? Just what the hell’s going on down there?”
Taking a deep breath, Dan recalled Rose’s warning about Shaw. “Look, Lieutenant Wood, I apologize for Shaw’s performance,” he said in an unruffled but authoritative tone. “I’ve been here less than a week, but I can promise you it won’t happen again.”
“It’d better not, Captain. I don’t put my brig people at risk like that. Shaw’s stupidity put the civilian population at risk, too. Coughman’s a convicted murderer. Didn’t Shaw know who he was transporting?”
“I agree with you in principle, Lieutenant Wood, and as I said, it won’t happen again. You’ve got my word.”
“I hope so.”
“Thanks for calling,” Dan said, keeping his voice calm as anger lapped at the edges of his control. The other officer’s receiver clicked down and the line went dead. Grimly, Dan pushed the intercom button that would connect him with his secretary.
“Rose?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Is PFC Shaw on duty down at the brig?”
“Umm…wait a sec, let me check the daily brig roster. Yes, sir, he is.”
“Get him up here on the double,” he ordered tightly. “And bring in the files on Coughman and Shaw, please.”
“Yes, sir!”
He’d just stood to unwind from the tension that had settled in his shoulders when his phone rang again.
“What is it, Rose?”
“Bad day, Captain. Sergeant Donnally just reported in from San Onofre. He was asked to go over there because two illegal Mexicans were found hiding behind one of the Quonset huts. Apparently they spoke only Spanish and Joe is fluent. They needed an interpreter.”
“Yes?”
“He got into a fight with a couple of marines who were beating up the illegals when he arrived. Joe’s on the way over to make a report to you just as soon as he drops off the Mexicans to Border Patrol authorities. He’s putting the two enlisted guys who started the fight on report.”
“Very well. Radio Donnally and tell him I want to see him as soon as he arrives.”
“Sure thing, sir.”
Great. Just great. Dan faced the window and placed his hands on his hips. One of his brig chasers had just screwed up big time, which gave him and Reed a black eye. Not a good way to start his job. And Donnally had been in a fistfight with fellow marines. That wouldn’t be viewed as positive by Colonel Edwards, either. He couldn’t have his brig chasers taking things into their own hands. But he’d wait to hear Donnally’s side of the incident before making a judgment. He looked out toward Teddy Roosevelt Road, running parallel to the huge two-story gray Headquarters building. When things went wrong, they really went wrong. Rubbing his jaw, Dan thought of Libby. And just as quickly, all his tension and anger dissolved. She had that kind of magical effect on him.
He heard a slight knock at his door. “Enter!” he snapped, turning around.
PFC David Shaw’s hand shook as he opened the door that led to his skipper’s office. Sweat had popped out along his broad brow and upper lip. Ramsey’s face was thundercloud dark and his eyes were narrowed on him with predatory intensity. Gulping, his Adam’s apple bobbing, Shaw entered the office, shut the door and snapped to rigid attention.
“PFC Shaw reporting as ordered, sir!”
Dan glared up at the string bean of a marine. His sandy hair was still short from boot-camp days. He was at least six-foot-three and couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet. As usual, Rose had been right: Shaw wasn’t brig-chaser material. At least, not outwardly. Shaw’s face was oval, his gray eyes set wide apart, and teenage acne scars were still plainly visible on his flushed skin. It was a sensitive face, broadcasting anxiety from his straight-ahead eyes. Too sensitive for brig chasing, Dan thought as he rounded his desk and thrust his face in front of Shaw’s.
“Just what the hell did you think you were doing with Coughman, Shaw?” he rasped, his nose nearly touching the private’s.
“Uhh…sir, I shoulda put Coughman in leg irons. I didn’t. No excuse, sir!” he choked out, standing rigidly, his arms stiff against his sides.
Breathing hard, Dan glared into the private’s frightened eyes, which were locked dead ahead. “What didn’t you do, Shaw?” he shouted. Repetition was an ironclad teaching tool in the Marine Corps. Marines learned by rote.
“Sir! I didn’t put prisoner Coughman in leg irons, sir!”
“Did you read the orders, Shaw?”
“Y-yes, sir!”
“It doesn’t show, mister!”
“No, sir! It—” he gulped “—won’t happen again, Captain. I promise! Sir!”
Dan eased inches away, not satisfied that Shaw had learned his lesson. A heavy film of sweat covered the private’s face. “When you got out of boot camp, Shaw, what was your MOS, your Military Operational Specialty?”
“Motor pool, sir!”
“Then,” Dan thundered, “what the hell are you doing over here in Corrections and MP work?” It didn’t make sense.
“Sir,” Shaw snapped, as if back in boot camp facing a DI, “I was in motor pool, but Sergeant Major Black said I couldn’t cut it, so he sent me over here. Sir!”
Inwardly, Dan grimaced. Reading between the lines, he realized Black had recognized a screw-up when he saw one, and when Shaw had walked into his motor pool, he’d wisely gotten rid of him by dumping him on Correction’s doorstep at the first opportunity. “How long have you been a brig chaser, Shaw?”
“Sir! Two months, sir!”
“And you had all the primary MP training offered?”
“Sir! Yes, sir!”
“Shaw, dammit, this isn’t boot camp! Knock off the `Sir, yes, sir!’ Got it?”
Shaw’s eyes bulged and he made contact for the first time with Ramsey’s. “Yes, sir…”
Rose knocked at the door.
Reluctantly, Dan stepped away, giving Shaw one more lethal glare. The private was at stiff attention, his back bowed as if it would break. “Don’t move a muscle,” he rasped.
Jerking
