Turnstill folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in the chair, again. "Fair enough. Let's say that I'm a bit of a free-lancer. Someone wants something done, I do it. Not too many questions. Suluvana wanted mining equipment. Needed it delivered to Nusa Funata quietly and quickly. I found what he wanted and had it delivered. Whole boat load of stuff. Enough stuff to do some major rock moving. Funny thing about delivering it to Nusa Funata. There's nothing to mine there. Most God forsaken piece of rock you can imagine. Insisted on delivery at night and the crew was not allowed off the boat while his people off-loaded the stuff."
Hunter stood as Bill Fagan walked into the stateroom. There wasn't room for three chairs in the cramped space. Hunter folded his chair and leaned against the bulkhead. "When was this?"
Turnstill scratched the stubble on his chin for a second. "Call it a year ago. Yeah, it was just before the monsoons. He was real anxious to get the stuff in before the rains hit."
Fagan chimed in, "Did you get to see any of the island?"
Turnstill looked over at Fagan. "Only what I could see from the deck at night. Just a short cement pier and a little metal warehouse."
Hunter responded, "Anything else? A little more recent?"
Turnstill fidgeted in his seat. "Not much. Just rumors of some troops being reassigned to some unknown location. The enforcers from some local gangs dropping out of site. That sort of thing. Nothing that you could put your finger on."
Hunter glared at the erstwhile agent. "Mr. Turnstill, I hope your memory improves. What you have told us so far has certainly not been worth the risk of pulling you off Java. Until either your memory improves or we can drop you off SAN FRANCISCO, you will confine yourself to this stateroom and the wardroom for meals.
"XO, draft a message to SUBPAC telling them that we retrieved Mr. Turnstill. Relate what he has told us. Add a CO's summary that says I don't think his information is worthwhile or timely."
18 Jun 2000, 0800LT (0100Z)
Chief Jones stepped into the radio room and selected the XOSR on the MJ phone growler. He spun the crank once and stepped back out again. He hurriedly passed through control and dodged into the sonar room. He scurried through the computer space and peeked around the corner toward the XO’s door. He was just in time to see the XO storm out of the door and charge to control. The room behind him was dark.
Chief Jones hurried back to the radio room and again spun the MJ growler dial. The relay hidden behind the ventilation ducting above the XO’s stateroom received its signal and returned the light circuit to normal.
This is working perfectly, he chuckled to himself. A few more days and he would have a truly memorable gag to brag about. The XO was smart. Pulling this off would prove that he really deserved the age-old description of a Chief “devious and cunning, bearing watching at all times.”
Once again, the auxiliary electrician found the switch working perfectly, to Bill Fagan’s growing irritation.
Ensign Green stuck his head into the CO’s Stateroom, “Skipper, the wardroom is set up for Mast."
“Very well, Chop. I’ll be right down. Tell the OOD to pass the word on the 1MC and have the COB muster the parties in the middle level passageway,” Hunter said as he closed the report folder.
Tucking the folder under his arm he sighed and rose to leave, muttering to himself, "Might as well get this over with. Some parts of this job just aren't any fun."
“All quiet in the vicinity of the wardroom while Captain’s Mast is in progress,” the OOD intoned solemnly over the 1MC.
The announcement was made as much to inform the crew that the meting out of justice in the age-old Navy tradition of Captain’s Mast was in progress as to actually instruct them to be quiet.
Dating back to the early days of the British Navy, carried forward from the very beginnings of the US Navy and firmly entrenched in maritime law, the concept that the Captain of a ship at sea had absolute authority over all aboard was steeped in naval tradition. From Captain Bligh to Captain Queeg, the caricature of the despotic sea captain was a popular literary figure. In reality, far from home and out of communications, sea captains were expected to mete out justice for all onboard. The term “Mast” came from the tradition on sailing ships of holding the proceedings before the main mast.
This power and duty had undergone modification in modern times. Rapid communications, a more centralized command structure and a more liberal social environment resulted in limiting the commanding officer’s prerogatives to investigating possible offenses and taking action to correct those that he deemed minor and administrative. Serious offenses were passed on to higher command that had court-martial convening authority. This still allowed wide latitude and discretion on the captain’s part as to deciding if cases should be sent off for courts-martial or to the form of administrative punishment that was appropriate. But even this was subject to review by higher authority.
Hunter strode down the centerline passageway, passing by the accused without a word or a glance as they stood in their best dress uniforms, nervously waiting. He entered the wardroom, devoid of all furniture save the table and one chair for him. The table had been covered with a deep green felt cloth embroidered with a set of gold dolphins and a gold command star in the center. Neatly assembled on the green felt were a copy of the Manual for Courts-Martial, the charge
