Show of Force Read Online Free PDF

coaming into the dimly lit passageway, he barely avoided tripping over the bag that had just been set there. A few feet ahead, the sailor was leaning through a door, “This here's Mr. Charles, sir.” He stepped back from the door. “I'll bring your other bag in a few minutes,” and he was gone.
    David stepped around the bag and moved inside the door, which had been left open. The room was gloomy with only one small porthole above the upper bunk along the bulkhead. In the lower bunk lay a form outlined by a weak reading light. The form, extremely hairy in just a pair of outlandish shorts, heaved into a sitting position. “I was just catching up on my reading.” He extended a hand, which David squeezed in return. “I'm Joe Donovan, chief snipe and CDO for this our first weekend in port. Welcome aboard, for what it's worth.”
    “David Charles.” An uneasy pause. “I've been waiting for the ship about ten days over at NOB. I've been looking forward to reporting aboard.”
    “So has Ensign Werwaiss,” Donovan said with an amused grin. “He's been boot ensign for nine months now, and he's been looking forward to someone else taking all the shit for the last eight of them. Believe me, he's the happiest to see you come.” He scratched his belly and lay back down on his bunk, yawning.
    Charles looked around the small stateroom. There were tiers of two bunks on either side, separated by about two feet of standard green linoleum. A metal sink and a medicine cabinet were at the end of the room. It was hardly wide enough for anyone's shoulders if they were shaving in the mirror. Behind him and inboard were two lockers, one wide open and jammed with uniforms. There were drawers under each of the bottom bunks, no doubt overflowing. On the outboard side of the room, against the bulkhead, were what he realized were two desks, one of which had the top folded down with papers strewn across it. Above the desk were two short lockers. The bunks were covered with books, papers, clothes, and foul-weather gear.
    He looked hopefully up at the bunk that was under the porthole. “Is that bunk open?”
    “Nope, that's mine,” replied Donovan. Charles looked at the officer stretched on the lower bunk where he had obviously been sleeping. “They're both mine,” he added. “This lower one is mine in port, so I don't have to climb up there when I'm drunk, and,” he pointed, “that's mine when we're at sea. My goddamn snipes tried to weld that seam,”—he pointed at a seam in the bulkhead, that looked like any other one on the ship—“but it opens up every goddamn time we're in a storm, which is often. Then the water flows in, so I move up to that one.” A grin and a wink. "Anyway, I've been on this can for two and a half years, so I've gotten squatter's rights to the extra one. That other lower one belongs to Mike FitzGibbon, and believe me you'll be glad he's there when we get underway the next time. He gets seasick . . . very! And he's a barfer. When you see him making love to the bucket, you'll be glad you're up there." He pointed to the inboard top bunk covered with junk. "Let me go through that stuff first, so I can sort out what's mine. Then you can dump the rest on Fitz's bunk, and he can sort it out Monday morning. He's married and he'll be happy enough by then so he won't mind if you pile it all up for him." He scratched again. "Why don't yon go up to the wardroom and have some coffee and I'll get some clothes on. There's no reason to unpack anyway, 'cause I don't know where you're going to cram all that crap." He pointed at the second bag that had finally appeared. "You and Fitz are going to have to do a lot of space sharing 'cause I'm comfortable. When I leave in six months, then the two of you can fight over my space until someone else moves in." He stretched back out on the bunk. "Go on up to the wardroom, and I'll be up shortly to get you started. You're going to be in my duty section anyway, so I might as well start