Chapter 7 - The Line of Duty
The quarterdeck of the USS Sterett was unnaturally quiet at 0430. The early morning mist clung to the gray steel superstructure like a wet shroud, muting the sounds of the harbor.
When I stepped across the brow, my identification card slid into the electronic reader with a sharp, electronic chime. The watchstander—a young petty officer whose eyes darted nervously toward the passageway behind him—didn't look me in the eye as he handed my card back.
“Commander Owens. You’re expected in the executive officer’s briefing room,” the sailor muttered.
“Is that an order, Sailor, or an invitation?” I asked, my voice carrying the cutting edge of command authority that had earned me two stars on my shoulders and the begrudging respect of every unit I had ever run.
The kid swallowed hard. “Captain Miller’s orders, ma’am. He’s waiting inside with NCIS Special Agent Vance.”
“Captain Miller is an administrative logistics officer, not my reporting senior,” I replied, stepping past him without breaking stride. “And Special Agent Vance reports to the Department of the Navy, not the ship’s sponsor.”
The briefing room was a cramped, windowless box lined with acoustic tiles and a single long metal table. Captain Miller sat at the head of the table, his white service shirt immaculate, his silver oak leaves catching the harsh overhead fluorescent glare. Next to him sat a lean, gray-suited NCIS investigator with a leather briefcase open before him.
Miller didn't stand when I entered. He simply watched me with cold, calculating eyes—the same look my father used to give me whenever I questioned why Brandon got the larger portion of praise at the dinner table.
“Close the hatch, Commander,” Miller said.
I pulled the heavy metal door shut behind me, the locking mechanism engaging with a solid clack. I remained standing, refusing to take the empty chair opposite them.
“I understand there’s an ongoing inquiry into supply discrepancies in Deck Division,” I said, looking directly at the NCIS agent rather than Miller. “As the inspecting officer assigned by Rear Admiral Vance, I have the complete audit trail right here on my encrypted drive.”
The NCIS agent, whose name tag read Special Agent Thomas, closed his leather folder slowly. He didn't look at the drive in my hand. Instead, he slid a printed digital log across the table toward me.
“We don't need your drive, Commander,” Thomas said smoothly. “We received a Class-A whistleblower filing at 2112 hours last night. Transmitted directly from an external IP address using your personal Common Access Card digital signature. It details a systematic conspiracy involving altered inventory logs, missing hydraulic assemblies, and unauthorized civilian surplus transfers.”
I looked down at the paper. My own digital thumbprint was stamped at the bottom of the page, certifying a report I had never written, detailing numbers I had only discovered four hours earlier in my father’s desk.
“This is a forgery,” I said flatly. “My CAC card was in my possession the entire evening, but the digital certificate can be mirrored or accessed via the ship’s local intranet server if a terminal was left logged in.”
Captain Miller leaned forward, a thin, patronizing smile touching the corners of his mouth. “That’s a very convenient defense, Commander Owens. But the investigators aren't looking at technical glitches. They’re looking at motive. Your brother, Petty Officer Brandon Owens, was the primary target of this complaint. And you were the officer who conducted the unannounced inspection yesterday morning.”
Miller paused, letting the implication hang heavy in the sterile air.
May you like
“Family friction is a messy thing, Commander. Everyone on this base knows your father has spent thirty years carrying your brother’s career, while you’ve always struggled for a little bit of recognition. It looks an awful lot like a bitter sister decided to use her rank to settle a personal score.”
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