"Commander McConnell, please report to the Executive Officer. Commander McConnell to the XO's Office."
'Oh, hell. What did I do this time?' Nobody liked being called to the XO's office. The Executive Officer was the Commanding Officer's evil twin, the Command Executioner. I put away the report I was working on and started for the second deck.
I looked into the office and saw Captain Tyler sitting at his desk, reading a file out of the small mountain of folders that always filled his inbox. When I knocked on the doorframe, he looked up.
"Hi, Andy. Come on in."
That's me, Andy McConnell. Actually, it's Andrew, but I don't really care about that. I'm a Lieutenant Commander in the US Navy, at least for the moment.
I come from a military family. Dad was retired Army. While growing up, I got fed a steady diet of how good the Army life was, how it would make a man out of me. By the time I was a senior in high school, I was sick of it. My grades were excellent. I was an honor student, so dad started preaching about going to West Point.
I told him that I agreed and that I would attend the Academy. What I didn't tell him was that the Academy was at Annapolis, not West Point. I'm not sure he ever really recovered from the shock. He was proud when I graduated and got my commission, but he'll never admit it.
The joke got even more ridiculous when my younger brother went to Officer Candidate School at Penn State, then joined the Marine Corps. I'm not sure how dad reacted to that, but I'm glad I wasn't there to see it.
My first two tours were pretty routine for a young officer: a cruiser out of Norfolk and then a frigate out of San Diego. By the end of that tour, I was a newly promoted Lieutenant. It was quite a surprise to receive orders to the Naval Safety Center, Afloat Directorate. That was back to Norfolk. That tour would pretty much shape my naval career and my personal life.
It was an odd type of job. A lot of report writing and some minor investigatory work, mostly on construction and safety procedures. I learned how to use video and sound recording equipment correctly, even something as simple as a cell phone.
Shortly after lunch one day I was walking back to my office. Passing my CO's office, I glanced in. Captain Miller had an odd look on his face, sort of a cross of annoyance and confusion. "Captain," I asked, "something wrong?"
He looked up. "Oh, hi, Andy. Come on in for a minute. Close the door."
Wasn't sure I liked the that. 'Close the door' didn't usually lead to something pleasant.
"Have a seat," the skipper said.
I sat down on one of the chairs opposite his desk and waited. He didn't keep me waiting long.
"Admiral Case just called. Their scheduled speaker for the commissioning of the Etna just got sick. He asked me to stand in for him."
I nodded. "Okay. How can I help, sir?"
"I've seen several of your articles in the mags and newsletters. You're a good writer. How are you at speech writing?"
I shrugged. I'd done some speech writing, in high school, at the Academy and in my earlier tours. "It's not that hard, sir, if you have enough information to start with."
The Captain nodded. "Alright. So, what do you need?"
"Well, sir, there are two types of speeches. The first is saying as little as possible in as many words as possible, the second is saying as much as possible in as few words as possible. Most important thing is knowing the subject and having enough time to do the research."
He reached up and scratched at an eyebrow, a soft chuckle sounding from him. There was a bottle of water on his desk and he took a drink. "Well, let's see if we can't stay in the middle of that. They want me to talk about the history of the Etna and how much impact the Yard has on the local economy. You know any of that?"
I was a military historian, having been an avid reader on the subject most of my life, dating back to elementary school. I had majored in history at the Academy. Of course, Naval History was the focus, which fit well with me.
"There have been four Etnas so far, sir. The first three are from the age of sail, from the Revolutionary War to just before the Civil War. The fourth was an ammo ship during World War II. She worked mostly in the Pacific Theater."
"Interesting. They want me to talk for twenty to thirty minutes. Can you do something with that?"
"How much time do I have to work with, sir?"
"The ceremony starts at 1800. Can you have something for me by 1600?"
I nodded, smiling. "That I can do, sir. I'll grab a cup of coffee and get started immediately."
"This is your Priority A for the afternoon, Andy. Anything else can wait. And thank you."
I got lucky. The economic impact statements were readily available online, so it took less than an hour to get the info I wanted. By 1530 I was knocking on the Captain's door again, handing him a printed copy of the rough draft.
He looked through it then looked up. "This will do, Andy. Good job."
"Just like that, sir?" I questioned. "No changes?"
"No. This will do. Thanks, son."
That speech changed my career. Word got back to the Admiral that the Captain had given an excellent speech at the Commissioning. It didn't take long for me to be assigned to the Admiral's personal staff as his speech writer. Within a year, I had been formally designated as an Admiral's Aide.
That sounds good on the surface, but it carries a heavy price. Most Admirals' staffs are shore commands, meaning I had little chance of getting back to sea. I would probably make Lieutenant Commander, but that would be the end of my promotions. You didn't become a senior officer without significant sea time.
Early in this tour, I started attending a local church. I'm not much of a religious person, but the sermons intrigued me and I enjoyed the music. For the most part, I kept a low profile, but apparently not low enough.
One Sunday, after the service, the Pastor approached me and asked if I would escort his daughter to the State Fair. His daughter was a young adult, probably twenty-one or two. She was a lovely, tall, slender blonde, not a supermodel, but close enough for government work. When her father suggested me to her, she agreed instantly.
Her name was Naomi, named for some heroic female figure out of the Old Testament. I didn't know, didn't care. She was a delightful girl, every bit as intelligent as she was attractive. I discovered that she was already self-supporting, a published author of children's books.
We had a great time together. With her father's permission, we began to date the following month. It was less than a year before we married.
She was an affectionate, caring wife. She looked out for me with all of the dedication you might expect of a woman whose role figures were biblical women. If there was a downside, she was reserved in bed. She had no interest in anything other than missionary coitus. Still, she never refused me and she was a passionate, enthusiastic lover. I didn't have any complaints.
