Sea of Shadows eBook - Navy Thriller.com

150 JEFF EDWARDS
He groaned again and felt his hand come up of its own accord to
scratch an itch near his right ear. The movement drove the last of the
dream from his mind. “What?”
The hand stopped shaking his shoulder. “Chief, wake up!”
Chief Lowery grunted and opened one eye. He didn’t bother to point it
toward his tormenter. “What time is it?”
“What?” The voice sounded confused. “It’s, um … just a second …
it’s, uh … oh-seven-thirty-three, Chief.”
Lowery opened the other eye and began blinking heavily to get things
moving. “It’s seven thirty in the morning?”
“Uh … yes, Chief. Seven thirty-three.”
“Oh God …” Chief Lowery said. “Forty minutes … I got a whole forty
minutes of sleep this time.” He yawned. “Go away right now, and I may
let you live.”
“I need to talk to you about the radar, Chief. SPY radar.”
The words brought Lowery to full consciousness. No, not the words.
The voice. His uninvited guest was not one of his techs. It sounded like
… Lowery grabbed his privacy curtains and slid them back, opening his
coffin-sized bunk area up to the rest of the berthing compartment. He
recognized his mistake immediately. It was after reveille, so the lights in
Aft Chief Petty Officer’s Berthing were on. He flinched away from the
unexpected brightness and tried to squint out of the corners of his eyes.
Into the bleary circle of his vision swam the face of CS3 Charles
Zeigler, better known to the enlisted crew as Z-Man, or Zebra. Zeigler
was a Culinary Specialist—a cook.
Chief Lowery blinked. “Zeigler? Do you have any idea how much
sleep I’ve had? Or, I should say, how little sleep I’ve had?”
Zeigler shook his head. “No, Chief, I don’t. But this is real important.
I know who’s been … I mean I know what’s wrong with your SPY radar.”
Chief Lowery sighed. “Petty Officer Zeigler, you are a CS. A cook.”
“Yeah, Chief. I’m the night baker this month. I’ve got sweet rolls in
the oven right now. As soon as they’re done, I’m going off shift.”
“Sweet rolls in the oven,” Chief Lowery said. “That makes you an
expert on the most sophisticated combat radar system in the world?”
Zeigler grinned. “I’m not an expert on radar. I’m a cook. Which
means I’m an expert on potatoes. That’s what’s wrong with your radar,
Chief. It’s the potatoes.”
Chief Lowery grimaced. The potatoes? The potatoes? He slid one leg
out of his bunk and dangled it toward the floor. “Excuse me, Zeigler.
Could you back up a little? I’m getting up. This is either going to be the
coolest story I’ve ever heard, or I’m going to strangle you right where you