the officer who has to worry about shades of gray.'
Paul smiled again. 'Yeah. You're right. I just wish I knew what was right for me to do. If anything.'
'Seeing as I don't understand the problem, I can't help you there, sir.'
'No, you can't. Thanks, Sheriff.'
'For not helping you? This job gets easier every day.'
'Go away, Sheriff.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
Late afternoon found Paul in the office of Commander John Wilkes. Wilkes went over Paul's statement, asked for a few more details, told Paul he was on the list of witnesses to be called during the court-martial, then dismissed him. The brevity and coldness of the process left Paul feeling like a small cog in a steamroller aimed at Wakeman.
Dinners in the wardroom had been less than festive ever since the encounter with the SASAL ship, and since Wakeman's removal from command had become even more somber. Paul left fairly quickly, going back to his stateroom to dig further into his backlog of work. Sam Yarrow eventually came in as well, smiling with the same self-satisfied expression he seemed to have worn constantly since being promoted to lieutenant junior grade. 'Working hard, Sinclair? Or hardly working?'
Paul glanced briefly toward Yarrow. 'Working hard.'
'Good idea. You'll need the best record you can get coming off this tour.'
'What's that mean?'
'You know. Wakeman. What he did. Do you think any promotion board will look favorably on a fitness report signed by him?'
Paul took the time to glance at Yarrow again. 'They did in your case.'
'No. My promotion board met before Wakeman screwed up. But you guys…' Yarrow let his sentence trail off meaningfully. 'Too bad.'
Paul counted to five inside before speaking again. 'I thought you liked Wakeman, Sam.'
'Huh? No. No way. He's not half as good a leader as somebody like, say, Commander Garcia.'
'Just to pick a name randomly, huh, Sam? Thanks for your sympathy, but I'm sure any promotion board will judge me on my merits.'
Yarrow chuckled. 'Boy, are you still clueless.'
'Go to hell, Sam.' Paul closed his work out and left the stateroom, standing in the passageway for a moment to cool off. At this time of day, in port and after the bustle of work had temporarily died down, the small stretch of passageway loomed empty in either direction. Carl's on watch. I can't bug him. If Herdez caught us chewing the fat while he was standing the quarterdeck watch she'd rip us both up one side and down the other. He glanced down toward the other ensign locker, thinking briefly of visiting there. No. Jen and Kris don't need me moping around. Especially Jen. I wish she understood what was bothering me. Hell, I wish I understood what was bothering me. He hesitated a moment longer, then headed for the wardroom for some coffee.
Paul swung into the wardroom and made a bee-line for the coffee. He nodded in greeting toward Commander Sykes, who occupied his habitual place in his informal wardroom office. 'Good evening, sir.'
'Good evening, Mr. Sinclair. Care to sit for a moment?'
'You want to talk to me, sir? Sure.' Paul sat down, eyeing Sykes curiously. 'Did my supply petty officer screw up?'
'Not at all. All is well in the world of supply. Which is as it should be. How are things in the world of ship's legal officers?'
'Not too bad. Pretty quiet, really, except for the, uh, court-martial.'
'Ah, yes. The court-martial.' Suppo took a drink from his own coffee. 'My sources tell me that you have some misgivings on that count, Mr. Sinclair.'
'Who told you that?'
'A good supply officer guards his sources, Mr. Sinclair. Care to talk about it?'
Paul took a long drink of his own, then shook his head. 'What's to talk about? Captain Wakeman is being hammered. You've seen the charge sheet, right?'
'And a very long charge sheet it is.'
'Yeah.' Paul grimaced, staring at the table for a moment. 'Damn it, Suppo, why couldn't they have just charged Wakeman for the big stuff he did wrong instead of piling on everything they possibly could?'
'This offends your sense of justice?'
The simple question crystallized the growing misgivings that Paul had been battling. 'Yes. It does. Not that I can figure out why.'
Sykes leaned back, placing his hands behind his head as he gazed upward. 'Legally, as I'm sure you know, being legal officer, all of those charges can be justified in some way. But justice, well, that's another thing, isn't it, young Mr. Sinclair?'
'And this isn't about justice, is it, sir? They need a scapegoat. Wakeman's it.'
'Not entirely correct. Scapegoats are often innocent of misdeed. I think we both agree that Captain Wakeman is far from innocent in this matter. But Wakeman is certainly to be made an example of for the purposes of satisfying those who wish to see someone pay for what happened to the SASAL ship.'
'Is that why we should be court-martialing Wakeman, sir? Because someone needs to be satisfied? Even though a lot of other factors contributed to Wakeman doing the wrong thing?'
'What do you think?'
Paul sat silent for a few moments. 'I think that's wrong.'
'Ah. You've identified a wrong. Do you intend attempting to right it?'
'What? Suppo, I don't even know what 'right' is in this case.'
'But you've said you do know what's wrong. So I'll ask my question a little differently. What do you intend doing about that wrong?'
'What can I do?'
Sykes raised his eyebrows as if surprised at the question. 'You were on the bridge. You are the ship's legal officer. I assume you have been tapped as a prosecution witness?'
'Yes. I have.'
'Where your testimony will serve to further what you have said you see as a wrong.'
'What else can I do?'
Sykes smiled gently. 'Your testimony is your own, Paul. What you do with it, what you say and how you say it, is yours to decide. If you so choose.'
'Suppo, I'm just an ensign. An ensign who's still new enough to still be learning how to tie my figurative shoelaces right so I don't trip over my figurative feet every time I try to do something. The senior unrestricted line officers making up the majority of the court-martial members don't really care what I have to say one way or the other.'
Commander Sykes shook his head. 'There you're wrong, lad. They don't care what I have to say. I am a supply specialist, a limited duty officer with restricted responsibilities. Unrestricted duty officers such as the warfare specialists represented on that court-martial don't give a flying leap about whatever opinions I may have about the leadership or operational decisions of one of their fellow line officers like Captain Wakeman. But, you, Mr. Sinclair, are one of them. Don't interrupt one of your elders, son. It's a fact. You're unrestricted line. That one thing means that even though you are still a young and barely experienced ensign, you have taken on responsibilities that I will never face. Should we be in battle or other peril and every other officer on the ship dropped dead in an instant, I would still not be in command. I can't. The Navy says so. But you would be. Even now.'
Sykes sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. 'Trust me on this, young Mr. Sinclair. They'll listen to what you have to say, all right. They may decide after listening that you're an idiot and disregard your testimony, but until and if that happens, they will listen to you. You're one of them.'
Paul stared back mutely for a moment. 'What would I say, Suppo? And why? Why risk my career or my neck or whatever for the likes of Captain Wakeman?'
Commander Sykes shrugged. 'What would you say? The truth as you saw it and know it. Whatever that may be. As for why… only you can answer that, Paul.'
