“Petty Officer Owens, stand at attention,” Commander Harris commanded, his voice ringing sharply off the steel bulkheads. Brandon snapped his heels together instantly, his eyes darting frantically between my stars and the thick files before me.
“Do you recognize these maintenance disposition logs, Petty Officer?” I asked, sliding three laminated forms toward his position. My voice carried neither anger nor sibling familiarity; it was the measured tone of a flag officer conducting official business.Tour Navy Ships
Brandon swallowed hard, his throat clicking audibly in the quiet wardroom as he looked down at the paperwork. “Those… those are standard survey sheets, ma’am. I process hundreds of them every single month in supply.”
“You processed these specific sheets through an unmonitored terminal during the night watch,” Harris countered immediately, stepping forward. “Using administrative privileges granted by a junior lieutenant whose credentials you obtained without proper authorization.”
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Brandon flinched as if struck across the face, his trembling hands clutching his service cap until the fabric crumpled. “I was just following informal guidance from senior petty officers, ma’am. Everyone shortcuts the disposal procedures to save time.”Tour Navy Ships
