The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

sharp.'
'He can't keep control of his people,' Ricks replied.
'Captain, I don't know what you mean by that.'
'His training methods aren't what they're supposed to be.'
'He is a little unconventional, but he has cut six seconds off the average
reload time. The fish are all fully functional, even the one that came over from
the beach bad. The compartment is completely squared away. What more can we ask
of the man?'
'I don't ask. I direct. I order. I expect things to be done my way, the right
way. And they will be done that way,' Ricks observed in a dangerously quiet
voice.
It made no sense at all to cross the skipper on issues like this, especially
when he posed them in this way, but Claggett's job as executive officer was to
stand between the crew and the captain, especially when the captain was wrong.
'Sir, I must respectfully disagree. 1 think we look at results, and the results
here are just about perfect. A good chief is one who stretches the envelope, and
this one hasn't stretched it very far. If you slap him down, it will have a
negative effect on him and his department.'
'X, I expect support from all my officers, and especially from you.'
Claggett sat straight up in his chair as though from a blow. He managed to speak
calmly. 'Captain, you have my support and my loyalty. It is not my job to be a
robot. I'm supposed to offer alternatives. At least,' he added, 'that's what
they told me at PXO School.' Claggett regretted the last sentence even before it
was spoken, but somehow it had come out anyway. The CO's cabin was quite small,
and immediately got smaller still.
That was a very foolish thing to say, Lieutenant-Commander Walter Martin
Claggett, Ricks thought with a blank look.
'Next, the reactor drills,' Ricks said.
'Another one? So soon?' For Christ's sake, the last one was friggin' perfect.
Almost perfect, Claggett corrected himself. The kids might have saved ten or
fifteen seconds somewhere. The Executive Officer didn't know where that might
have been, though.
'Proficiency means every day, X.'
'Indeed it does, sir, but they are proficient. I mean, the ORSE we ran right
before Captain Rosselli left missed setting the squadron record by a whisker,
and the last drill we ran beat that!'
'No matter how good drill results are, always demand better. That way you always
get better. Next ORSE, I want the squadron record, X.'
He wants the Navy record, the world record, maybe even a certificate from God,
Claggett thought. More than that, he wants it on his record.
The growler phone on the bulkhead rattled. Ricks lifted it.
'Commanding Officer . . . yes, on the way.' He hung up. 'Sonar contact.'
Claggett was out the door in two seconds, the captain right behind him.
'What is it?' Claggett asked first. As executive officer, he was also the
approach officer for tactical engagements.
'Took me a couple minutes to recognize it, 'the leading sonarman reported. 'Real
flukey contact. I think it's a 688, bearing about one-nine-five. Direct-path