The Blue Ridge Breeze

Weekly news and totally true stories from the WORLD'S FINEST FLAGSHIP! #finestinthefleet Images courtesy of https://www.dvidshub.net/

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ISSUE #5 - Sea Trials

The USS BLUE RIDGE got underway on Tuesday after a six-month repair period, or selective restricted availability (SRA). The flagship for the Seventh Fleet Commander completed its sea trials alongside a full battle group of three Valient-class harbor tug boats.

Sea trials allow the ship to test her deployment readiness, getting underway and maintaining a safe distance from land in the case of unexpected failure or catastrophe. The ship’s crew also gets the opportunity to practice critical evolutions in a low-risk environment.

The USS BLUE RIDGE completed numerous seamanship and flight operations as well as an ammo onload. She also completed a full power run as the three tugs maneuvered to the ship’s stern, providing forward propulsion in excess of 10 knots. Onboard assessors evaluated all evolutions with an enthusiastic, “Fine, I guess?”

“We are extremely grateful to our Valient-class team,” said the Disembodied Voice of the Commanding Officer, reporting from the 1MC for the third time on Friday. “They gave us the support we needed for very successful sea trials. We anticipate a productive and positive patrol with their highly capable presence.”

The tugs returned to home port Yokosuka for refueling after completing each day’s evolutions, allowing the USS BLUE RIDGE to drift helplessly without any source of propulsion.

“It was good practice for our ‘dead in the water’ evolutions,” said MMFN Katrina Parsons. “After six months in port, I had forgotten that terrible anxiety when the ship goes dark and silent and we’re all alone.”

The ship also tested its readiness for water hours. Paper plates and plastic utensils appeared after only 24 hours underway. Hot water was secured a few hours later.

“We’ve had services from the pier for weeks now,” said ENS Wade Boylston, Machinery Division Officer. “I think we get complacent and start to take things like laundry and hand-washing for granted. It was a good reminder of the rigorous underway routine of using the entirety of our water production for the steam plant and the Seventh Fleet brass’s 30-minute showers.”

“It was a challenge,” said Culinary Specialist Chantel Burgess. “I’ve never been at sea before, and it’s a lot different than I imagined. It made me realize that I didn’t pack nearly enough baby wipes for the whole underway.”

The USS BLUE RIDGE is preparing for her spring patrol in the Pacific region in support of the Seventh Fleet Commander’s mission.

Story by MC3 Rebecca Smithson.

Ship’s Serviceman Third Class Devon Martin awoke hours before Thursday morning’s reveille with the hope that he might knock out his workout before a long day of seamanship training. Arriving at the gym a few minutes before 0500, he expected to be greeted by the silence of a sleeping ship. Instead, he stumbled into Khaki Hour: approximately 30 solemn voices chanting incomprehensibly in unison.

“I completely forgot,” said SH3, chagrined. “It has been so long since our last underway. It totally slipped my mind that the CO uses the gym in the morning.”

SH3 Martin, shaking his head, declined to describe the details of the event, with the exception of the moment he was corrected.

“MMCM Pilar came around the corner in these long, black robes,” said SH3 Martin. “I had just come down the ladderwell. It was like he knew I was there, like he knew I would be there.”

“Yeah, I was pretty nervous,” continued SH3 Martin. “I was expecting some kind of non-corporeal thrashing or inter-dimensional banishment. But he just glared his red-hot, glowing eyes at me and lowered his jaw to croak unintelligibly. I didn’t catch what he said. Anyway, he had a pretty violent convulsion and then it was like he forgot I was there. He yanked his hood back up over his head and fled back to the Chanting Circle.”

“It could have been much worse,” admitted SH3 Martin. “I didn’t get an ass-chewing, and I got to work out after dinner, so it turned out all right.”

We asked SH3 if he anticipated repercussions from his chain of command or the Holy Triad.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” shrugged SH3 Martin. “I mean, I didn’t actually witness any part of the Khaki Hour ritual, so I think it’s okay. Master Chief kinda saved me, when you think about it.”

Friday’s revised Plan of the Day listed the following for 0500: “CO’s Ritual Chanting.” An additional note advised junior sailors to secure from using the gym between 0500 and 0600.

Story by MCSN Donald Wright.

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ISSUE #4: Valentine’s Day, Circuits

USS BLUE RIDGE heartthrob Hospital Corpsman Third Class Marco Adams announced in an all-hands email on Monday that he was accepting applications for a Valentine’s Day date. All interested parties, he wrote, should reply with a full-body photo, a resumé to include all previous duty stations and work prior to joining the Navy, a college transcript, and a 1000-word argumentation essay on individual merits. Applications would be accepted through Thursday, the first round of interviews would begin on Friday, and the final selection would be announced on Saturday via Snapchat. HM3 concluded the email by wishing the candidates the very best of luck, with a winky-face emoticon.

HM3 is one of the most sought-after and eligible junior sailors on the flagship for the US Seventh Fleet Commander. He sports a mustache reminiscent of the raw sexuality of pubic hair and his uniform stretches alluringly over his gut. Both male and female sailors stand aside in admiration when HM3 walks down the passageway, red-faced and breathing heavily from exertion.

“I haven’t had much success dating civilians,” admitted HM3 in an interview on Monday. “Japanese women are not easily swayed by traditional courtship, especially gifts and expensive dates. They’re independent and expect a lot more of you as a man.”

We asked in a follow-up interview on Friday how many applications he’d received.

“A little under 40,” sighed HM3. “I’m a little disappointed. There’s more than 100 women on the ship. I guess I was expecting more.”

We reached out to USS BLUE RIDGE sailors of both sexes for their reactions to the email.

“I didn’t even apply,” said Culinary Specialist Chantel Burgess. “I haven’t taken college classes, so I figured I wouldn’t even make it to the interviews.”

“I emailed him back,” said Culinary Specialist Third Class Andres Johnson. CSSN Burgess looked at him in awe. “I know what Navy guys are looking for. I cook, obviously, and I do berthing cleaners enough to know how to clean up after other people. I think I stand a fair chance.”

“Maybe I should have at least tried,” said CSSN Burgess. “It’s not every day you get an opportunity to go on a date with a guy who showers daily and hasn’t been to Mast.”

“He’s definitely a catch,” agreed CS3 Johnson. He then added, awkwardly and unnecessarily, “No homo.”

Shockwaves rippled throughout social media when HM3 posted to his Snapchat story that he had selected Information Systems Technician Michelle Palmer for his Valentine’s Day date. The brief video depicts him laying on his back in his rack, double-chins trembling as he says her name, his thin lips then spreading slowly into a seductive, toothy smile.

“There aren’t a lot of men in the military,” said ITSN Palmer in a phone interview on Saturday afternoon. “It would have been pretty stupid to let an opportunity slide to spend time with such a great guy.”

ITSN Palmer said she hadn’t expected to win because she’d only been on the ship for three weeks. Nonetheless, she said she was looking forward to the date.

“HM3 Snapchatted me to show me what he was going to wear to our date,” said ITSN Palmer. “Tube socks and Adidas sandals. I think it’s going to be something really special.”

Story by MC2 Mariah Sanders.

Stepping out on to the main deck, the first thing that Cryptologic Technician Maintenance Third Class Sonam Brighton noticed was that it was windy. Extremely windy. She felt her hair tearing out of her bun and whipping against the sides of her face, but she paid it little attention, swinging the cord of the sound-powered phone merrily as she walked forward of the ship. Two Gunner’s Mates were conducting maintenance on a 25mm gun mount as she walked by. She didn’t know their names, but she waved anyway. They waved back with greasy hands.

It took a few minutes of walking back and forth along the lifelines, scanning the deck at her feet, to find what she was looking for. Finally spotting the circuit connection, CTM3 Brighton squatted down on her haunches to unscrew the cap covering the circuit. She plugged in her phone before clamping down the headpiece over her ears.

Her Chief tasked her with ensuring OT division’s sound-powered phones were still operational and that all of the circuits between their battle stations remained intact. CTM3, eager to get out of under the baleful glare of her new first class, leapt at the opportunity and practically snatched the phones out of Chief’s hands.

“Bridge, launchers, comms check,” said she into the mouthpiece.

The heavy headphones drowned out the noise of the main deck. For a few blissful seconds, she heard nothing. Then, realizing she should, in fact, be hearing something, CTM3 spun around and looked up toward the pilothouse, shielding her eyes in the afternoon sun.

Cryptologic Technician Technical Second Class Helena Angeloni, donning sound-powered phones as well, draped herself lazily over the bridge wing. CTM3 watched as CTT2 raised her hand to key the mouthpiece and speak. Again, CTM3 heard nothing through the headset. CTT2 held up a thumbs-down and disappeared into the pilothouse. 

CTM3 wondered if she ought to move on to another circuit and try that one instead. Minutes passed. Another gust pierced her, seeping in through the sleeves and neck of her foul-weather jacket. She shivered.

So accustomed was she to hearing nothing but her own thoughts that she nearly leapt out of her skin when a voice came through the headset. One hand went to the phone’s mouthpiece; the other, to her pounding heart.

“Lawson, is that you?” said CTM3, hearing not CTT2′s voice but one more masculine. “You’re really quiet. Speak up.”

But all she could hear was a whisper, something soft and feathery against the jagged howl of the wind.

“I can barely hear you, but at least this circuit works,” said CTM3 into the mouthpiece. “Hey, do you want me to go to launcher one and try there?”

CTM3 stood and waited. Nothing came in reply. She was starting to feel self-conscious when she noticed CTT2 walking toward her across the main deck, making long strides against the headwind. 

“I tried both sides of the bridge,” said CTT2, probably more loudly than necessary, even with the wind and deck work in the area. “No dice. But this circuit wasn’t working last year, either, so I’m just gonna call it a day and throw in a trouble ticket.”

“No, no, I can hear Lawson,” said CTM3. “But he’s super quiet. I can’t understand what he’s saying.”

“Huh,” frowned CTT2. “Maybe he’s in the shop, or he fell into the rift in space-time where CIC is supposed to be. I'll be right back.”

CTT2 turned to retrace her steps, then hesitated and faced CTM3 again.

“You okay waiting out here a few more minutes?” she asked.

“I’m fine!” said CTM3 eagerly. “I’ll be here.”

CTT2 nodded and walked back toward the superstructure. It was then that CTM3 began hearing Lawson, or something that sounded like Lawson, over the circuit. He was emitting guttural moan. CTM3 waited for him to finish. He did not; Lawson continued to moan.

She depressed the button on the sound-powered phone’s mouthpiece. “Lawson?” said CTM3 cautiously.

The moan escalated into a piercing shriek. At the same time, the wind slammed into CTM3, a vicious updraft that sent her sprawling backwards. Her bun saved her head from contact with the nonskid, but the headset clattered onto the deck behind her. Slowly, CTM3 crawled up onto her feet and gathered her wits. She decided not to put the headset back on. 

Instead, she unplugged them and screwed on the cap. She rolled them up at neatly as she could manage with her shaking hands. She would have proceeded slowly across the main deck, but the wind was at her back now, and it pushed her hungrily inside the skin of the ship.

CTM3 Brighton reported to Chief and a baffled CTT2 that the circuits tested SAT.

Story by MC3 Rebecca Smithson.

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ISSUE #3 - Groundhog Day, Grey Anchors

On Tuesday morning, Executive Officer Commander Michael Tolsten crossed the quarterdeck on his way to a final meeting with project managers. As he stood on the brow and issued a crisp salute to the ensign, Logistics Specialist Third Class Stefani Pereira noticed that he failed to produce a shadow in the morning gloom, a hopeful sign that the USS BLUE RIDGE may begin her operations cycle on time this year.

Groundhog Day is celebrated in the United States and elsewhere on February 2nd, when spectators observe a groundhog emerging from the ground into the cold winter air. According to tradition, if it is a sunny day and the groundhog sees its shadow, it will become frightened and return to its burrow, forecasting another six weeks of winter. If it is a cloudy day instead and the groundhog sees no shadow, it will remain outside, a predictor of an early spring to come.

Arriving before sunrise and departing well after sunset, the XO - like many - rarely sees the light of day during the ship’s long repair availability. With duties that typically keep him confined inside of the ship, his exposure to the winter’s grey daylight is uncommon. A shadowless XO is a good omen for the timely end to the ship’s SRA.

“I don’t want to get my hopes up,” said LS3 Pereira, who was standing Petty Officer of the Watch as the XO crossed the brow on Tuesday. “I can’t wait to go underway, but a lot of problems come up at the end of SRA.”

This week’s successful light-off adds critical substance to the mythos surrounding the XO’s shadowless morning. Pierside observers may notice the stacks atop the USS BLUE RIDGE occasionally belching out white smoke.

“We are getting underway as planned,” said CDR Michael Tolsten in an interview on Wednesday. “Our Seventh Fleet Staff counterparts have returned to the ship, and I’ve consulted with their Astrologer Mates for confirmation. I also shook the Magic 8 Ball three times in a row while concentrating very, very hard on the question. All signs point to yes.”

“Now that we’re producing our own power, all that remains is to notify the families of those sailors who perished in the Great Boiler Flames,” added CDR Tolsten. “It’s looking good.”

Story by MCSN Donald Wright.

Boatswain’s Mates onboard the USS BLUE RIDGE repainted her anchors from gold to grey this week, reversing a decade-long streak of excellence in command retention.

Ships are authorized to paint their anchors from grey to gold after winning the Retention Excellence Award. The flagship for the US 7th Fleet Commander maintained its golden anchors since 2004, a noticeable display of the command’s high morale, positive command climate, involved leadership, and maintaining only the minimum necessary ritualistic sacrifice of personnel. 

“It’s sad to see,” said Electronics Technician First Class Robert Sheldon. “I was on the [USS COWPENS] when the [USS BLUE RIDGE] first got the golden anchors. But I know the gods of fire can be fickle and demanding, especially at the end of SRA. It affects morale and retention.”

We reached out to the Commanding Officer for comment, standing outside his cabin and shouting questions into the cracks around the door.

“Actually, retention onboard the USS BLUE RIDGE is spectacular, always has been,” replied the Disembodied Voice of the Commanding Officer via the 1MC. Two Electrician’s Mates, who stood huddled around a nearby power panel with face shields, multimeters, and, for some reason, forceps and scalpels, looking around in confusion. “But the Countdown to PCD hit us hard this year.”

We asked the CO’s cabin door if he could elaborate on the nature of PCD. The 1MC clicked on again in response.

“Production Completion Date,” said the Disembodied Voice of the Commanding Officer. “The Countdown leads us up to the day where we absolutely have to be producing our own power. Even after six months of chipping paint, grinding, and welding, it’s not always enough to satisfy a Higher Authority. We have to do whatever it takes to have fire on the PCD, and sometimes the cost is grim.”

The CO went on to describe the number of engineers - six this year, up from only two last year and three in 2014 - whose bodies were cast into the Great Boiler in holy offering. They burned and perished before the watchful eyes of the High Priests from ATG, who nodded solemnly and made check marks on their tablets of divine evaluation. Satisfied with the quality of the sacrifice, the Priests initiated the USS BLUE RIDGE’s yearly boiler blessing for a successful light-off, minimal casualties, and steady power throughout the upcoming deployment. The ship’s patron fire god, dwelling deep and unseen in the Great Boiler Fire, roared its approval.

“Our engineers made great sacrifices this year, more than any other year in recent history, to bring us holy fire for PCD, and I will be in touch with their department head to ensure that the survivors receive a half-day of liberty in return for their hard work and commitment,” continued the Disembodied Voice of the Commanding Officer through the 1MC. By this time, he had been speaking without pause for nearly ten minutes, and sailors in the vicinity of his passageway began resuming their tasks. A frazzled Yeoman jogged past, blue folders in hand. The EMs began enclosing the entirety of the power panel in masking tape, scribbling in black marker the words “NOT AGAIN” over and over on all visible surface area.

We tried to interrupt the Disembodied Voice of the Commanding Officer to ask about his plans to improve retention or decrease necessary ritual sacrifice for next year, but he declined to comment on the matter, speaking instead over the 1MC about teamwork and rewards for hard decisions.

Story by MC3 Rebecca Smithson.

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ISSUE #2 - Chiefs’ Board

FC3(SW) Rebecca Figeroa, SN(SW) Maria Hollingsworth, and YNSN(SW) Travis LaShay passed the Chiefs’ ESWS board this week, making them the USS BLUE RIDGE’s newest ESWS-qualified sailors.

Each of these sailors were well on track to earn the surface pin according to their timeline, which, as E-4 and below sailors, allows 36 months from start to finish. YNSN LaShay, in an interview, spoke about challenges associated with the program.

“I’m not very good at studying, so I thought the hardest part was going to be all of the memorization,” said LaShay. “But I don’t think any amount of studying could have made me ready for the Chiefs’ board.”

To earn their ESWS qualification, sailors must complete their PQS books, a written test, walkthroughs with subject-matter experts, and a first-class “murder” board before they face the Chiefs, who maintain the program’s integrity and have the ultimate say in whether or not a sailor is ready to wear the surface pin.

FC3 Figeroa recalled that they had made it through DC, Supply, and Admin sections without much difficulty, but things started to heat up when they reached Combat Systems with ETC Marc Cain.

According to FC3, ETC Cain sat quietly throughout the first part of the board. As she and her shipmates stumbled through question after question, not once did ETC look up at them or his fellow khakis. Lost in thought, he looked down at his dry hands, fat fingers splayed across the table. 

It was his turn to test his sailors’ knowledge. 

For a long time, he said nothing. It had been a difficult morning; its fog pulled him through to the afternoon and then left ETC suddenly alone, trapped in the opaqueness of introspection. He drew his hands up to his face. FC3 thought he was going to scratch his head or rub his eyes, but instead he just looked in to his open palms with a frown of resignation, dully incredulous that those fleshy tools capable of endless utility could be so fragile and ridiculous. FC3 reported feeling tense and uneasy.

On that day, like every day, ETC thought about his daughters. He had been thinking about his hands, the physical things themselves, and the last time they had truly made something. Those thoughts then drifted to his best and most precious creations. He thought about his girls’ own futures of consumption and creation, about in what ways they would contribute something meaningful to the world - separate from their own singularity, their own self-realizations. He thought about how age shaped each of them and the value of minutes and hours. He thought he could imagine his youngest, Devin, watching the seconds tick away on the wall clock over the white board at school, chewing on her eraser, waiting for the next thing, for anything else besides that very moment.

Meanwhile, in the Chiefs’ Mess and everywhere else, seconds passed and became minutes. ETC, at last, considered the choice of how to fill time, and the infinity of possibilities and the inevitability of his own mortality. He had arrived at a point from which he could go no farther. 

“Sometimes,” said ETC finally, “I think that I don’t just have feelings of emptiness, but that I am emptiness, and that there’s more of it than there is of me, and the things that I choose to fill it with just sink slowly into the void of where I ought to be, but I’m not. Sometimes my actions and ideas stay there for a little while, bobbing on the dark nothing, but even the things that we make ourselves and give the most meaning eventually drown and disappear as though they were never there to begin with.”

The Chiefs’ Mess fell silent. ETC looked at his coffee, as if seeing it for the first time. He fixed his gaze not on the gently steaming liquid that propelled him bodily, turbulently through time and space since 1998, when he had just turned 18 and would have sold the entirety of his soul just to leave Provo - no, he looked instead at the coffee mug itself, eggshell white and ceramic and chipped on the rim. He remembered his youth and the thrill of discovery, of haze grey and Cambodian girls and exchanging blows of all kinds. He wondered when was the last time he felt something true, that reached all the way down to the core, to the very bottom of the emptiness. 

He imagined what it would feel like to have made something of himself, and if it was something he would be capable of feeling at all.

HTC Lucas Saed and OSC Joanne Moore nodded their heads and, with the exception of ETC Cain, who continued his study of the coffee cup and his own internal, howling vastness, the Chiefs looked across the room expectantly at the three ESWS candidates, who did not dare turn their heads to shoot questioning looks at one another.

“I don’t remember seeing that on the study guide,” said YNSN LaShay cautiously.

“You’re responsible for all line items and training material, shipmate,” said LSC Curtis Stein.

In silent terror, the candidates slipped in to their own private hells, gripped by the fear of failure, the fear of embarrassing themselves in front of their leadership, the fear of questions with answers unknown and questions without answers at all, the fear of the accident of their own existence.

But none of the candidates could produce an answer. The Chiefs acknowledged that none of us truly understand anything at all and spoke briefly on the impossibility of real knowledge or anything of permanence. With the passing of wisdom and all parties resigned to the irrelevance of everything, the khakis rose to shake their sailors’ hands.

The BLUE RIDGE BREEZE congratulates our newest ESWS warriors! 

Story by MC2 Mariah Sanders.

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ISSUE #1 - Holiday Leave, New DCC, Berthing Conflict

It has been a long, loud, and dirty SRA, with everywhere the sounds of grinding and enough paint on our uniforms to cover an entire compartment. But it’s time to roll up those black deck mats and say sayonara to the contractors. At last, we have reached the end of January, and soon the end of the availability. As we get our services back and start moving our personal items onboard, let’s not forget to lend a hand to our beloved shipmates who are returning from holiday leave.

Many first-term sailors have yet to experience a true holiday leave. For them, it can be upsetting and disorienting when duty sections collapse and a significant number of the crew disappears for weeks at a time. Junior sailors worry about how their shipmates might be doing and when they might see them again.

Then, around mid-January, our holiday leave sailors return, encumbered with presents and home-made treats, bearded, bright-eyed and smiling about “family” and “friends.”

“We’re lucky when they actually come back,” said PS1 Jennifer Nguyen, with an anxious glance at her PS3, who returned from holiday leave last week. “They see a lot of difficult stuff when they go home. They think they’re okay when they say goodbye and get on the plane, but soon they’re getting flashbacks about their own beds and their pets and all kinds of fucked-up shit.”

“It can be really traumatic,” added PS1. “They get back to the ship and just can’t readjust to a normal life of frivolous tasking and preventable hardship.”

The leadership estimates that nearly a quarter of the ship’s crew returns home during the holidays, with an average leave period of two weeks. 

“We have to intervene immediately when they get back,” said HMCS Gregory Mitchell. “Without psychological treatment, there’s risk of post-traumatic stress.”

HMCS reported that symptoms of Holiday Leave Adjustment Disorder include increased morale, lowered susceptibility to ass-chewing, and weight gain.

“It’s the hardest when they bring photos from home into the workspace,” said PS1 sympathetically. “They think that stuff is real. But we just do our best to ignore them until they shake it off and fall back into normal patterns of depression and complacency.”

Story by MCSN Donald Wright.

On Friday, during R division’s morning quarters, HTFN Kirk Brown noticed that his LCPO, DCC Mario Dominguez, had been replaced by a human-like machine.

“No one else noticed it,” said Brown. “After we broke from quarters, I asked DC2 what was wrong with Chief. He just laughed and slapped me on the back and said, ‘There’s a lot wrong with Chief, if you catch my drift.’ I don’t think he understood what I meant.”

HTFN Brown claimed that DCC is now approximately six feet tall. He has a dark synthetic skin which, according to Brown, has been burned and scraped off in some areas, exposing a metallic framework within. DCC also came equipped with a modified Vari-Nozzle instead of a left hand, leading Brown to speculate that DCC might be capable of interfacing with the ship’s firemain system. His steamers have been tailored according to his unique specifications and an NSN is reportedly stamped on the underside of his collar.

“I think I saw an access plate on the back of his neck,” recalled Brown. He said that DCC might be covered by PMS and R division would have to add another MIP to their workcenter. 

“But I don’t think he’s working as intended right now,” added Brown. “I might have to do some troubleshooting.”

DCC Dominguez, when reached for comment, made a faint whirring sound and emitted several blue sparks from his mouth. Fortunately, HTFN Brown was standing by with a CO2 bottle at the ready and prevented a shipboard casualty.

Story by MC2 Mariah Sanders.

Operations Department got to tour the new berthing this week, which had been completely refurbished from top to bottom. The berthing, previously housing embarked Marines, includes a new deck, larger racks, and an expanded lounge area. Operations sailors noted with excitement the cleanliness and comfort of the new berthing.

The berthing, however, does not belong to Operations Department. Although all of the Operations males were forcibly evicted from their shared berthing with Engineering Department, the new berthing will go instead to Deck Department.

“It was a cool reminder of what it’s like to have a place to sleep and put all your stuff,” said CTTSN Simon Clarke, who lost all of his uniforms and personal goods in the Engineers’ ransacking of his rack.

Before this month’s uprising, Operations and Engineering coexisted relatively peacefully. While the Engineers occupied the majority of the territory, they rarely infringed on the few Operations cubicles, scattered throughout the berthing. Operations, the minority faction in the disputed zone, led quiet lives, careful to not interfere with the Engineering majority’s loud and occasionally sexually explicit practice of their fire-based religion.

Tensions came to a head in the second week of January when Engineering first classes realized that, during the SRA, they had acquired more junior acolytes than they could house based on current territorial lines. Several rounds of peaceable talks fell through as each side refused the demands of the other. The Engineers raided Operations territory on the following weekend, claiming the entirety of the berthing.

Engineers, drunk on victory, laid waste to the former Operations cubicles, cutting locks on racks and lockers to create additional space for ritualistic offerings to their patron deities. 

“I think the lock-cutting might have been illegal?” said CTTSN Clarke, who could hear the Engineers’ triumphant roars from behind the heavy door to SSES. “But I guess sometimes the laws of religion are more important than the laws that we make.”

Clarke expressed fear over going down to the berthing to investigate the extent of the damage until hostilities died down.

We reached out to the Chief Engineer for clarification on which instruction covers stolen property and rack reassignment. 

Auxiliaries Division Officer ENS Emily Yang confirmed that CHENG was unavailable for comment before she was sucked back in to the howling, gaping maw of the Log Room.

In the meantime, Operations Department males can be found sleeping in their spaces across the ship. The QMs, who own mostly weather-exposed spaces, were seen sleeping on piles of old charts in the passageway near the bridge to get away from the night’s winter chill. OS2 Corey Mathison reported that he was sleeping in a corner of CIC, “right under the table where we keep the pubs,” he said. This claim is currently under investigation, as CIC does not appear on the ship’s drawing and likely does not actually exist.

CTTSN Clarke remains hopeful. 

“By the time we get underway, I think I’ll have really gotten the hang of making my body small enough to sleep in the angle irons in Nixie Winch,” he said. “I’m pretty lucky.”

Story by MC3 Rebecca Smithson.