Joint Task Force #4: Africa Read Online Free PDF Page A

to comment. For most chief petty officers, ensigns were fair game. Ensigns were a blank chalkboard upon which every chief petty officer was mandated to write the rules of leadership upon them. If your junior officer screwed up, the command master chief of VQ-2 always called in the chief petty officer and chewed him or her out for allowing their junior officer to fuck up.
    He passed the aviation technicians to his left, steppedby one of the techs, who with his parachute still on, leaned under a console, probably repairing some glitch before they reached track. The radioman stood beside his console on Razi’s left, one arm spread to the right, the other shielding his eyes as he posed looking upward. “What do you think, Chief Razi? Am I going to make a good chief petty officer or what? Damn, you guys are lucky—damn lucky the board choose me for chief. You think this is the right pose for my service record?”
    “Devine, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were an arrogant son of a bitch.”
    “Damn, Chief. You think maybe that’s why they call me ‘Little Razi?’”
    “Eat my shorts, Devine. Get that parachute off and stored properly and bring lots of money for your initiation. You’re going to need it.”
    The first class petty officer straightened, dropping his hands by his sides. His eyes narrowed. “I keep telling them, don’t call me ‘Little Razi’ because you’re not my dad and there’s not an arrogant bone in my body,” he said, then started laughing.
    “September fifteenth. That’s your day, Devine. That’s the day we’re gonna initiate you, and we ain’t in Rota, Spain. We’re deployed to Monrovia, Liberia, so there ain’t no holier-than-thou types to tell us what we do at our initiation.”
    “Ah, Chief. You guys can’t do anything I can’t take. I’ve been a chief for several years. It just took the Navy a few years to figure it out.”
    “Make sure your page two is up-to-date, asshole,” Razi said with a smile, referring to the next-of-kin notification sheet every sailor had in their personnel record. He pushed the lanky radioman slightly, nearly knocking him down. “You know what, Devine. I think you just might make a fairchief petty officer, if someone takes you under their wing and works really hard for twenty or so years.”
    “Thanks, Chief. I can’t tell you how much that means to me. Yuk yuk. Shit, Chief. I could even be like you if I gave up things such as modesty, humor, integrity.”
    “Bite me, Devine.” Razi turned and jerked the curtain back from the small cubicle where the cryptologic technician communicator, hidden from prying eyes, sat. “Okay, Johnson. You gonna sit in there and not give me a chance to see your parachute.” He motioned to the passageway. “Get your ass out here!”
    “But, Chief, I still have to raise Naples on the SATCOM,” the second class whined as he unbuckled his seat belt and slid sideways, extricating himself from the tight confines of his communications position.
    “Johnson, cut me some slack. Have you managed to get Naples on satellite communications once in the thirty days we’ve been here? Besides, Naples ain’t going to be there much longer. Some flag officer is gonna shovel them out so he can have an office.”
    Johnson grabbed the sides of the cubicle and pulled himself into the passageway. “Once, Chief. Did it the other day for a few minutes. Remember? I gave you the baseball results and you won several . . .”
    Razi glanced behind him. Devine leaned back against the radio console, smiling and making a sharpening motion with his fingers.
    “Johnson, you gotta lose some weight and learn when to keep your trap shut.” Razi touched the straps and checked the buckles as Johnson talked.
    “I think I’m going to have to go HF to reach Naples.”
    Razi stepped back. “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me? You’re fine, Johnson. You’ll live if you bail out, but I’ll be surprised if you don’t shit yourself