A big Thank You to SF, who’s
thought processes would have had no problem keeping up with Nelson J
Midshipman Third Class Charles P. Morton – Chip to his family and friends – was miserable, and he didn’t care who knew it. Well, that wasn’t quite true. He wasn’t stupid enough to complain to his instructors. Or say anything where any upper classmen could hear. But his roommate and his two other best friends at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis, MD had gotten so sick of listening to him whine that they’d headed to the library, leaving Chip to mutter in private.
First on the list of Chip’s complaints was the weather. It was unseasonably hot and humid for late September in the Baltimore area. 2000 hours and it was still well into the upper 80’s. The dorms at the Academy, Bancroft Hall – what the Middies referred to as ‘Mother B’, or just ‘The Hall’ – weren’t air-conditioned. Coupled with the sticky humidity levels Chip had a hard time keeping himself and his uniform crisp and neat, and he’d already received several demerits. That was the reason he hadn’t joined his friends at the library – he was avoiding a couple of upper classmen who seemed to be gunning for him specifically. Just because I pride myself on my appearance, he muttered to himself, they have to pick on me when everyone is looking a bit wilted? Well, he had to admit, it might have something to do with the fact that I sort of said something about their appearance, and Capt. McKittrick just happened to be passing by and heard me. He gave himself a mental kick and got back to the 3000-word report he had due the next morning.
A large fly buzzed around Chip’s head. The heat had made the insects sticky and irritating, but not droopy enough to make them easy to swat. The locals were predicting a major storm, and said once that happened everything would change to more normal, pleasant, fall weather. The forecasters, however, were saying no such thing; that this weather was going to hang around for at least the next week. The first fly was joined by two more, and a few words crept out of Chip’s mouth that he didn’t usually utter. He took a couple half-hearted swipes at them, hoping that they’d go land somewhere out of his way. He was only about halfway through his report on the use of truisms as framework for constructive thought and Capt. Nelson expected it on his desk by beginning of first period the following morning. He had to get it finished by Taps; he’d end up with even more demerits if he were caught still up after that.
The thought sent him off on another private tirade. And just why does Nelson have to have 3000 words, hand-written, in ink, with absolutely no whiteout, on such a stupid subject? Because he’s a… Chip stopped that particular rant. Even though his roomie wasn’t there, Chip tried to be careful how much he criticized Capt. Nelson. Lee all but idolized the man, and seemed almost ‘in tune’ as it were to the man’s genius persona. Oh, mostly, Chip got along with Capt. Nelson. But he still considered him a crackpot when it came to some of his ideas – especially about submarine designs. But for Lee’s sake Chip tried to keep his thoughts about the man to himself. But this stupid assignment? “A place for everything and everything in its place.” Nelson, it seemed to Chip, had pounced on him personally for challenging another Middie’s use of a truism in argument. Not like I’m the only one who’s ever done that, I’m sure! And what has it got to do with anything we’re studying?
He sat back, taking the strain off his tense muscles. Chip, after a couple of quick mutters, had chosen to concentrate on using the truism as an organizing principle for onboard inventory control, maintenance procedures, and personnel placement. Lee, of course, had spent about half an hour whipping out a paper about ensuring that both ‘places’ and ‘everything’ were a good fit for each other and the mission and not just a shoehorning of things and people into a grid for the convenience of superiors. With no re-writing, no mistakes, just sat down and wrote it, while Chip was struggling badly to get the required word count for what was to him a simple process. Sometimes Chip really hated his roomie!
Between sweating, swatting and the occasional swear word, Chip was just working on the last couple paragraphs of his report when his roomie walked in, followed by their two best friends at the Academy, Timothy Hughes and Jerrod Levin. Third Class Midshipmen also, Tim and Jerry shared a room two doors down from Lee and Chip.
“Thought you’d have that done an hour ago,” Jerry teased him, flopping into a chair.
“Actually,” Tim took up the taunt, “I can’t believe it wasn’t done four days ago.”
“Capt. Nelson only assigned it five days ago,” Lee defended his roomie.
“And when do either of you not have assignments done in half the time it takes the rest of us?” Jerry threw back, with a glare they all knew wasn’t. All four ended up grinning – Lee and Chip a bit sheepishly because the Middie had nailed them both dead on about their study habits.
“Yeah, well,” Chip defended himself, “this one took some thought…”
“Quick,” Tim turned to Jerry, “grab the fire extinguisher. Chip’s brain is about to burst into flames,” and they all cracked up. Well, Chip finally did, after an almost true glare at the others. Anything else he would have said on that subject was interrupted as he swatted a fly.
“Actually, the fire extinguisher isn’t a bad idea. Maybe I can use it to ‘extinguish’ these rotten flies. They’re driving my crazy!”
“Now, now,” Lee told him. “They have a right to live, too.”
“Outside,” Chip growled. “Not in here,” and he whacked at and missed another one. The others once more chuckled. But Chip, with a glance at the clock, returned to finishing his report. Jerry and Tim stayed a few more minutes but soon headed to their own room. Chip put the finishing touches to his report, stacked the twelve sheets of paper neatly in the center of his desk, and crashed with thirty seconds to spare.
The heat barely dissipated overnight; the temperature was almost the same at Reveille the next morning. Chip slept badly, miserable in the heat and humidity, and the flies seemed intent on torturing him throughout the night. He had no idea how Lee seemed to sleep right through the nasty conditions but Chip didn’t think he moved at all the entire night and got up, dressed, and was ready for breakfast while Chip was still trying to wake up. Lee was harassing him to hurry so much that Chip decided he was a worse pest than the flies, and he took a few half-hearted swipes at the brunet as well as he hurried to get himself together for the day ahead.
Almost ready, Chip shooed Lee out the door and was just about to follow when he saw two of the threesome of flies sitting together on the windowsill. Without thinking he grabbed the first handy item he could lay his hands on and smacked them, flattening them both. “Hah!” he gloated triumphantly. “Got you little suckers.”
“Ah, Chip,” Lee said cautiously from behind him, “isn’t that your report for Capt. Nelson’s class?”
Chip stopped dead and an absolutely stricken expression crossed his face as he glanced down. Sure enough, in his hand was the assignment he’d worked so hard on.
Lee walked up to him as he just stood there, staring at it. “Maybe it’s just the last page that got damaged?” he suggested.
Chip turned his hand over to see fly guts adorning the back of the sheet of paper. He peeled off that sheet, only to see leakage onto the next page as well. “Juicy fly,” he told Lee, and they both nodded. “Cover for me at breakfast?” Chip asked.
“You can eat and still have time to re-write those last two pages.” An absolutely wicked grin hit the young man’s face. “Now, aren’t you glad you didn’t use the fire extinguisher? With your luck you’d have had the whole thing to re-do.”
Chip snarled and took a swing at the brunet but then grinned, and they headed side by side out the door.