Cleaning Detail

[Crash Calestorm 0]

USS Comanche Creek

Main Landing Bay

 

For the most part the decks of the USS Comanche Creek were quiet. The main hanger bay was at about half of the normal shift activity, with most of the fighter patrols done or on alert standby for the moment and the incoming or outgoing personnel and equipment transfers had slowed down as the day had gone on. The mechanic and repair teams went about their duties, the orange or yellow specialist coveralls that they wore peppered across the expansive deck like holiday lights.

 

The meeting with the Delta Vega project managers had gone relatively well, although the meet and greet had taken up most of the captains remaining work day. Calestorm had found both Lt. Colonel Keats and Commander Talbot to be capable and knowledgeable, and her mind had been set at ease regarding what the task force was hoping to accomplish at the Vega listening outpost.

 

With the relative events of the day behind her, Calestorm was lending a hand with one of the repair and cleaning details. It had been a long day so far, it was going to be a late night, and she’d be feeling it tomorrow. This was of little concern when righting a wrong however; the chief deck boss had caught hell from the ship’s CAG because of Cale’s little flight run in one of the off limits Goshawks. Therefore, it was the least that she could do in order to try and set things right.

 

Per Mrkath’s orders, Chief Wilson had been instructed to proceed with some mind numbing though necessary clean up detail work: stripping down and cleaning several engine blocks for the Haribon reconnaissance fighters. Various single, interworking and interlocked parts were scattered across a heavy duty olive drab colored tarp that had been laid out on the hard deck grating.

 

Calestorm’s left hand slipped off the slightly greasy grip and her knuckle slammed into an exposed engine bolt, cutting into the skin over the bone. She quickly withdrew her hand from the interior of the disconnected engine as the pain registered and she swore out loud; her knuckles were going to look like she went ten rounds with a Klingon prize fighter once this job was completed. Protective gloves were all well and good, but for the finely detailed portions of the cleaning job it was necessary to remove them in order to get at some of the more delicate engine parts that needed cleaning.

 

Wilson smiled from his position on the other side of the mounted engine that the two were currently working on. “I heard that Captain; antiseptic wash and the clean rags are in the interior office.” He gestured with a socket wrench towards the area in question.

 

Muttering a few choice words to herself, Crash entered the dispatch office and headed for the small industrial sink that had been built into the bulkhead. Hissing through her clenched teeth, she let the water run across the offended knuckle, removing the worst of the grease and dirt before she poured on the antiseptic wash.

 

Jackie entered the office from the opposite entry way door, which led into an attached changing and storage locker area; the younger woman caught sight of the CO, clad in orange maintenance coveralls and tending to the knuckle wound. Being a woman of moderate to high intelligence levels, Jackie put two and two together and came up with four.

 

“Evening Captain. You putting in some time with us grease monkeys?”

 

“Aye, that I am Jackie. I’m helping the chief with a cleaning detail.”

 

The enlisted specialist didn’t comment, though she had a pretty good idea of what the cleaning detail entailed; it had been hard to miss CAG Mrkath reaming out Chief Petty Officer Wilson a few hours ago. Instead, the younger woman murmured in a noncommittal noise and nodded in understanding as she began to place a protective work helmet on her head.

 

The enlisted crewman decided to directly comment on Crash’s little predicament. “Cracked up your knuckles pretty good with the work detail?” The deck hand gestured to what the commissioned officer was doing at the sink, her protective gloves flapping from where they were attached to her cuff sleeves.

 

Crash half turned and flashed an enigmatic smile at the deck specialist. “Wasn’t the first time today I got ‘em rapped; just one of those days Jackie.” The age lines around the corners of her eyes crinkled in her amusement at some private joke.

 

“Understood Sir. We all have ‘em.” Jackie saluted, and then left the office for her remaining duty shift.

 

Calestorm watched the grease monkey exit the office and then commented quietly under her breath.

 

“Amen to that Sister.”