Chapter 3
Tim McGee was not a happy temporary Team Lead. Gibbs was gone, as were AJ and Remy. Dean and Cosmo were trying their best to help him, and he appreciated it more than he could say. But Abby was in full revolt, and Ducky and Jimmy weren't happy about that. Dorneget was doing his best, but he was a null when it came to picking sides. He wasn't about to get in the middle of a power struggle; Tim couldn't blame him much.
They'd been put on cold cases as a stopgap until Vance could tell if Dorneget was going to work out or not. Tim wasn't too worried about that; cold cases were good break-in material, and it always looked good if you broke one. He was hoping to break at least one.
Dean ambled in just then with coffee and doughnuts. "I'm headed down to see Ducky and Jimmy. Our usual morning break. Comin'?"
Tim enjoyed the time they spent in the Morgue drinking coffee, eating pastries, and talking with the wise older man. And Jimmy was pretty smart too. "I am. Dorneget?"
Ned looked up from his place at the 'auxiliary' desk, the one that used to be behind the wall to Tim's right. "Sorry. What was the question?"
Dean nodded at the tray of coffees and bag of doughnuts in his hands. "Wanna join us for break?"
"Yes, please. Where are we going?" Dorneget got up and took the bag from Dean.
"Morgue. We have a sit-down with Ducky and Jimmy when we have time. Good stories, good coffee. And Ducky makes a mean cup of tea. Shit'll dissolve your spoon. 'S good, though."
"Sounds good to me. Lead on." Ned punched the elevator button, the doors opened at once and Dean, Cosmo, and Tim entered the elevator behind him.
Ducky smiled when they all trooped in. "Welcome! Welcome! So glad to see you all. We just put my last client away. Jimmy?"
Jimmy smiled from his tiny desk. "All cleaned up. I was just getting ready to get up and make some tea. Earl Grey?"
"Please. And a bit on the strong side, if you don't mind?
Jimmy snickered. No one wondered about that; Ducky's idea of "a bit on the strong side" would mug you if you weren't careful. "On it." Jimmy plugged in the electric kettle, which he'd filled earlier in anticipation of needing tea just about now.
Dean handed out coffee while Cosmo put the pastries out on the bag, which he tore into a serving tray. Jimmy brought the tea pot to the improvised table and pulled the last chair up. "Well, what's the what on who?"
They spent a few minutes on Vance, who was in a temper over some problem in Rota. Then they went on to snicker over the word on Dr. Symons; he'd returned to Chicago to be raked over the coals about the breach he'd created between NCIS and DC PD; there wasn't actually one, but his supervisor used that as an excuse to give him a thirty-day suspension with a professional censure and oversight put in place. He was in deep shit without a shovel, as Cosmo said. Cosmo offered, "Heard a word about AJ and Remy."
He settled back to tease his friends a bit, but Jimmy eyed him. "You really want to go on the mats with me?"
Cosmo shook his head with a horrified expression. "Oh, hell no. You know way too much about pressure points. So, anyway ... seems that AJ has someone in his platoon that he ... kinda really, really doesn't like much. Some ass wipe named Sacks?"
Tim opened his mouth, started to say something, then shut it. He tried again then just started laughing.
Abby walked in just then with results, so she demanded to know why Tim was laughing like a loon. When she learned who was in Tony's platoon, she started to laugh too.
When Dean and Cosmo demanded the story, Abby started, "Ya'll ain't gonna believe this shit, but ..." and went on to tell her part of the tale. Ducky interjected from time to time, as did Jimmy and Tim. Ned asked a question from time to time. When the tale was done Dean shook his head. "Seriously? What a dick. AJ'll eat him alive."
Ducky frowned a bit. "Isn't that ... unprofessional?"
Cosmo shook his head. "It'll all be fair and aboveboard. He'll just pick nits until Sacks learns to think instead of be a dickish jerk."
Dean sighed. "And he'll clean until he hates the smell of Lysol with a passion."
Abby sighed. "I miss all three of them. I wish they'd hurry back."
"Two weeks, Abs. No getting out of it. But ... they'll have a four-day weekend when they get back. So that'll be nice."
Abby brightened at that. "Road trip? I could be follower."
Jimmy nodded, and agreed, "Yeah, and you could change off with Tim. He can drive Gibbs' truck." He noted her expression. "Now, Abby, what good is a follower who doesn't have any parts? I don't see you managing to stuff a spare tire into your hot rod. And all that grease and oil? Ruin your upholstery."
Abby sighed. "You're right. And ... long distance isn't really good for it either. It's a hot rod, not a cruiser. But ... fun will be had. I declare it so." She stood up, struck a dramatic stance, then started giggling. She trotted out, calling over her shoulder. "Your results are in that folder, Tim. Get busy."
Tim sighed and picked up the folder to read the results while he finished his coffee.
.
It was now three days in and the reservist platoon was down three men. They'd 'rung the bell', as Remy and Tony called it. They'd requested release from service and been granted it. It saved the service a lot of aggravation to release them; it was a voluntary dishonorable discharge, so to speak. People who'd do that weren't worth the trouble to keep.
They'd also lost two men to injury. One idiot had managed to sprain his ankle because he didn't lace his boots, preferring the gangsta look of flapping laces which he'd stepped on going up the steps into the galley. The resultant sprain put him out of commission and sent home with a demotion in grade and a formal reprimand.
The other injury was a bit worse; the man who'd left his partner dangling from the climbing rope had run off on his partner again. Only this time, he'd been dumb enough to run right into an obstacle and concuss himself. His partner carried him out of the Grinder on his shoulders, cussing him all the way.
This put the platoon down to two squads of ten men each. In a way, both Tony and Remy were glad; the deadwood was trimmed, and they now had a more manageable ten men each.
Some teams kept a sleep-in TO, other's didn't. Tony didn't. He felt that the men needed the down time in the evening. He also knew it led to some behaviors that weren't sanctioned; a surprise inspection put a stop to most of the problems on the second night. He also intended to introduce hand-to-hand; added to an intensive program of PT, running, Grinder, and light arms training, he hoped they'd be too tired to get into much.
So this morning he woke up the few late sleepers in his usual way. "Good Morning, ladies! Rise and shine! Up! UP!" The five men who insisted on sleeping until Tony woke them, staggered out of bed.
Sacks was one of the lay-abouts, and he grumbled his way out of bed to stand blinking at Tony blearily. "I'm up. Damn it." He turned to make his bed but Tony'd had more than enough of his shit by now.
"I know you're up, numbnuts. It's not enough. Give me twenty each." Sacks snarled but dropped to begin twenty sit-ups and twenty push-ups. "And when you're done with that ... put on your boots and take ten laps around the compound." There was no actual compound at Great Lakes ―hadn't been since the late 1800's― but the base was divided into squares of an acre each, which were referred to as compounds; one lap was 834.5 feet, 10 laps were 8345 feet or just over a mile and a half. Sacks should be able to finish this in around fifteen minutes at a fast jog. Tony expected Sacks to take no more than twenty minutes to finish his punishment. He also assigned the same to the other two grumblers and asked the last two lazy bones if they wanted a dose. They both shook their heads and hurried to make their beds.
After finishing their sit-ups and push-ups, Sacks, Duqoin, and Jones started to get dressed.
Tony smirked at Remy who turned and began yelling, "Did LtCmdr DiNozzo tell you to get dressed? Well?" All three men braced to attention.
Sacks scowled, but Duqoin jabbed Jones in the ribs with his elbow, something Remy ignored, and yelled, "Sir! No, Sir!"
"Then why the hell are you putting on pants? Get your damn boots on, dress your rack and get out there." Remy pointed out the door where a group of men in Navy athletic wear of blue shorts and yellow t-shirts were running by.
All three men replied, "Sir! Yes, Sir!" then got busy making their racks. After that they put on their boots and hurried out the door to begin their laps.
Tony and Remy inspected the other sailors and nodded their approval. A quick check of the beds also got approval. "Very good. You'll do better tomorrow. PT in five." This meant that those who had not had time to accomplish the three S's had five minutes to do whatever they could before they headed out for their first revolution of PT.
Since all the men were dressed in PT uniform, they all scrambled for the door. They got out, lined up, came to Attention and waited. Tony walked the line, checking this and that. He nodded to Remy then ordered, "Move out." He led the way toward the path around the compound, picked up his wayward charges, and stepped up the pace. He was wondering if Sacks, Duqoin, and Jones were going to make the rest of the rotation. He wasn't too worried about Great; he was planning on making him one of the two squad leaders, the other he would let Remy pick.
Remy took eyes behind and barked at anyone who lagged too much. He was considering who to pick for his squad leader and had to admit that, if Great had been in his squad, he'd pick him. But, Tony had that man and he had to pick between Sacks and a guy named Morehouse. Sacks was the better choice as he was a decent leader, but his attitude put him off. Morehouse was a bit hesitant and really needed more experience in leading a squad. And that was the bitter pill; he needed more experience in leadership, which he wasn't going to get in the field as it was too dangerous. So, if Remy chose him, he'd get the experience he needed, but it would put more pressure on him, Remy, to keep a closer eye on him. He decided that Morehouse was his best choice. He could deal with inexperience, but he had a real problem with Sack's attitude.
The last four laps proved that six men needed more conditioning, but Sacks wasn't one of them; neither was Great. Morehouse ran out of steam on the very last lap but admitted that he'd shown off a bit and run himself down too soon. Remy took a moment to make notes for his squad and Tony's while Tony chivvied the platoon on to breakfast.
This was stuffed down as fast as they could manage; a couple of men even managed to get seconds. After a quick pit stop, they headed for the Grinder for more PT.
The Grinder was called that because it usually ground new recruits into the ground. The reservists knew what to expect, but some of them were in bad enough shape that they were still, after three days, having trouble with it.
As usual the moaning and pissing was epic, but they all made it through in decent time. Tony wasn't that happy with it, though; they had to make it in the top fifth percentile before he would be satisfied. So they ran the Grinder again.
After they all got through it and were flat on the ground, panting and moaning, Tony jumped their shit.
"That is the most pitiful attempt at competency I've seen in ... I can't remember when." He walked up to one man and demanded, "Are you deranged or just stupid? Really. There's a rope there for a reason. Saving one second on the obstacle only to sprain your ankle, or worse, break your leg, is stupid. Do not let me see you do that again. Got me?"
The man had sprung to attention when Tony addressed him, now, he shouted, "Sir! Yes, Sir!"
Tony snarled, "As you were." He picked a few others to yell at, mostly for doing something he regarded as stupid― in other words, something that could have put them out of commission.
He glanced at Remy, who pointed at his watch; this meant that they needed to get the men back in time for lunch. Breakfast was a dim memory.
"Okay. That was epically pathetic. You don't deserve it, but, since I'm a generous kind a' guy ... head for the galley. Run!" Tony led the way until everyone was spaced out and trotting hard. He worked his way up and down the line yelling at this man to close up and that one to get back in his assigned place.
They arrived at the mess hall with a bit of time to spare before they could eat. Due to the size of Great Lakes Training Facility, there were several mess halls, called Galleys, and they all had shifts; you couldn't eat until your shift was due. Tony eyed his watch, muttered, "They're gettin' faster," then watched in disgust as three men had to step out of line to puke.
Remy offered, "Well, they only puked once."
Tony eyed Remy with some affection then offered, "Yeah. Ick."
Again, Tony and Remy turned their charges over to the Galley crew and went to their galley for some lunch.
Remy settled in a chair with a sigh; he was sweaty and dirty. "I hate sitting down to eat in a muck of sweat. But ... he took the menu card out of its holder. "I do love getting a choice, sit down, instead of a buffet. Nice."
Tony nodded. "There are some perks to being a commissioned officer. This is one."
They both ordered the brown-gravy-smothered meatloaf, mashed potatoes and cheesy broccoli, coffee, and mixed berry pie. It came so fast that they knew it was pre-made, but it was all very good.
Remy sighed as he leaned back in his chair. "I'm not looking forward to this afternoon at all."
Tony made a face. "Me neither, but they need hand-to-hand. Most of them are some form of LEO. It makes me tired just thinking about it."
"Who, higher up, did we offend, and how do we fix it?" Remy finished his coffee. "We better go."
"We better. If you ever figure out what god of what pantheon we have offended, tell me. I'll offer ..." he paused for a moment. "Don't have a first-born child, so ... Meh," he shrugged and hurried off with Remy on his heels.
.
Tim checked his notes again, then handed the mess to Dean. "Take a look. Second opinion."
Dean took the file and read through it quickly. "Someone had their hand in the cookie jar, and it looks like it was that Petty Officer Second, the staffing coordinator; his financials don't check out... But... why?"
Cosmo took the file and read it. "Okay. He's also in charge of housing. Bet he was taking kickbacks for good berths ... our vic threatened to bust him. Or I miss my guess."
Tim nodded. "I think you're both right. Now, all we have to do is bring him in and sweat him. And I'm not good at that. Wish Gibbs was here. He can just look at someone and have them pissing their pants. I'm too baby-faced."
Dean scoffed at that. "You can look damn fierce when you need to."
So Tim sent Cosmo and Ned Dorneget to pick up the PO, who'd had nine long months to sweat it.
Dean nodded to Cosmo. "Put him in Interrogation Three. I'll get a tec in there in a sec."
Cosmo nodded and pushed the Petty Officer toward the hall leading to Interrogation. "Move it."
"Look, man, I didn't do anything." The Petty Officer was already sweating.
Dorneget replied mildly, "Well, then, you don't have anything to sweat, do you? This way." He led, Cosmo pushed the Petty Officer into motion, and they disappeared down the hall.
Tim and Dean brought up the rear, Tim on the phone. He hung up and said, "Shit! We need a tec to deal with the recording equipment and camera, but we can't get one for more than two hours. What now?"
Dean thought about that for a moment then shrugged, "Let him sweat it."
Tim frowned as he thought that over. "I don't like to give him time to think. He's smart and sly; we need to keep him off balance. I'd rather strike while the iron is hot."
Ned, who'd been unlocking the observation room, said, "I can run the equipment, or you could. But I think it'd better be me, you need to do the interrogation." He frowned. "I think you should have Dean in the room with you."
Tim nodded. "You're right. Thanks."
Tim took a deep breath and started to open the door but Dean stopped him. "Wait a sec. A little stage dressing here." He eyed Tim for a moment then nodded. "Okay, take off the jacket and do a few push-ups, get the guns popped."
Tim did as asked then grinned. "Dorney, get the equipment prepped, I'll be back in a sec." He trotted off leaving the others to glance at each other, shrug, and head for their appointed spots.
When Tim returned he looked more like Rambo than Digimon. He'd worn his shoulder harness, as Gibbs demanded, but he'd added a knife between his shoulder blades and a small flat of leaf-shaped throwers peeked out of his waistband. He'd taken the time to pump up a bit and looked lean, mean, and in charge. Dean grinned.
He opened the door to Room Three and walked in like he owned the place, which, in a way, he did. "Well, happy to see me?" The PO, named Henry Jones, glowered. Tim grinned, slapped a file onto the table, flexed his pecs and sat down. Dean went to lean against the wall beside the mirror and behind Tim. "So not. Oh, well. I'd like to know where you keep coming up with these deposits of cash." He flipped a few pages. "It's never a lot, no deposit more than five hundred dollars, but there's a foxtrot tango of two hundred and three hundred ones. Now ... where's a guy like you get that kind of money on a regular basis? Enquiring minds an' all that shit." He scratched the back of his neck, making the PO flinch. "So, Henry, where is it all coming from?"
Henry sneered at Tim but he was starting to sweat. Tim just eyed him then turned to Dean, who looked just as hard and mean as he really was, when he needed to be. "I think Petty Officer Jones needs some persuasion."
Dean shook his head. "Oh, no. Seriously, no. Do not. Gibbs'll be pissed and housekeeping ... you know how much they hate bloody carpets."
Tim nodded. "That's why this room has tile." He glanced down at the beige tile.
PO Jones started sweating hard. "You can't do that."
"Do what? And ... as to can't? Probably shouldn't. Might not. But then ... I might." Tim smirked at Jones and waited.
Jones gulped and looked at his hands. He knew he was caught; he'd gotten a look at the sheets, bank statements, and saw that they knew everything.
Tim pressed his advantage. "I know you were taking kickbacks to give people better quarters, speed up the transfers going across your desk and a few other very illegal activities. I just don't understand why you killed Seaman Moralles. What'd she do?"
"I did it all because of her. I liked her but she wouldn't give me the time of day. I heard her talking to that Perkins ... Jenny Perkins in Acquisitions. She said she'd only date a rich man, never some poor squid, no matter their rank. I started skimming a bit here, a bit there, taking the bribes I was offered. Then, when I told her I had money, she flipped out. She'd suspected someone was doing ... what I was doing. She was going to go to our CO and bust me. I just... I didn't want... she was so pretty and... I grabbed her... she fell against the dumpster and... her head hit something and she was dead. I didn't mean it." And with that, he burst into tears. "I'm not... combat. I don't... I'm just a glorified bookkeeper. Please."
Tim eyed him for a moment then just got up, saying, "You should have thought of that first. I'll have a typed confession for you to sign."
He went into the observation room, leaving Jones to his mumbling and moaning. "We get it all?"
Dorneget nodded. "We did. I sent it to transcription for a type-up, sent a copy of the tapes to Central Storage, a copy to you, and put a copy on my computer. The original will get sent to Legal. Anything else?"
Tim thought for a moment. "Another hard copy for my personal records. Good work."
A chorus of 'thank you's brightened his expression. He grinned, "Wow. My first actual close. Wow."
Dean leaned on him. "And a nice one it was too."
Cosmo just grinned at Dorneget and nodded. Dorneget nodded back, finished his filing and said happily, "Great. Now all we have to do is fill out the reports."
Tim smacked him on the shoulder. "Buzz-kill. You could have let me bask for another second or two."
Ned grimaced, "Sorry! Sorry! I just... well, it was a good close and I want to have a small drink without having to worry about every ass under the sun wanting their paper work yesterday. See?"
So they all trooped out to their desks to finish the much despised reports.
.
Remy eyed his squad then said, "It's time to pick the squad leader." He produced an armband from a pocket. "Morehouse, front and center."
Morehouse stepped forward and snapped to attention. "Sir!"
"Congratulations. You're the squad leader." Remy wrapped the armband around Morehouse's arm, saluted and stepped back a step. Morehouse returned the salute and returned to his place.
Tony then stepped forward and called Great forward to award him the leadership of his squad. "Congratulations, PO Great. I expect good things." Again they saluted and returned to their places.
Tony snuck a quick peek at Sacks and was, not disappointed exactly, but unhappy to see the expression on his face. He obviously felt that he should be squad leader and his expression said it all. He was now going to be a royal pain in everyone's ass.
Tony looked the two squads over then announced, "Since we're all LEO's except for a couple of you, we're going to do some hand-to-hand training as well as the required shooting skills review. So suck it up."
A few of the men were so obviously LEO's that no one argued with this. There was the usual moaning and bitching, but it wasn't as bad as it might be. The only one doing a significant amount of complaining was Sacks, who claimed he shouldn't have to take either the firearms or hand-to-hand retraining.
Tony cut him off easily. "Well, all righty then, Chief Petty Officer Sacks. If you're sure, I can always hand you off to another necessary evolution, one we had not expected you to need." Sacks looked pleased at this. "So, I'll just put you down for Fire Suppression Protocols, Recognition of Fleet, Survival At Sea, and Shipboard Flood Control. How's that?"
Sacks grimaced to himself. "No, Sir. Thank you, Sir." He did not want to have to sit through a six hour review of silhouettes of all the different ships and planes the Navy had in service, nor spend 12 hours in a tank being drilled on how to get into and out of a Zodiac, survival raft, and PT boat; not to mention how to get into and out of a survival suit, life preserver, and lift harness. And Shipboard Flood Control? Oh, hell no.
Tony smirked at Remy who just grinned back. They made sure that none of their platoon saw the exchange. This was going to be fun. Remy motioned to a medic, who was waiting for orders to go somewhere and do something. "Sir."
Remy nodded, "Got your kit?" The medic nodded. "Call your CO and tell him we need you at hand-to-hand, unless you've got other orders."
The medic shook his head, "Just waiting for orders, sir. I'll make the call and be with you at once, sir."
.
Per General Order whateverthefuckitwas, everyone was dressed in the yellow t-shirts and blue gym shorts for hand-to-hand training, only Tony was in a pissy mood because of Sacks, and Remy was right behind him. The man bitched and whined about everything, claiming that, due to his FBI connections and Naval rank, he shouldn't have to do whatever it was that he was bitching about now. In this case, hand-to-hand training; it seemed that Tony's threat to move him to a different group hadn't stuck. So, instead of pairing up and working on something useful, they were now doomed to yoga.
Tony snarled them all onto mats announcing, "Get the fuck on a mat. I'll lead. I do, you do. You do not whine, bitch, complain or slack. And, if you're wondering why we're doing yoga instead of hand-to-hand, ask Chief Petty Officer Sacks. He seems to think that, because you're all some sort of LEO or Fed, that you don't need to be flexible. I think you do. And what I think counts. What you think doesn't. Master Chief Petty Officer Devereaux will correct your asana as needed."
Tony also intended to put them in the pool today. He wasn't about to start hand-to-hand today, no matter what he'd said. He wasn't going to risk going on the mats with anyone with the mood he was in, and Remy wasn't much better. So, they'd do yoga and then swim laps; lots and lots of laps.
Everyone was a bit surprised when two more men rang the bell, opting for a 'free out' instead of continuing training. A free out was when a reservist was coming up on re-enlistment day and decided not to; they could take whatever time they had on the books instead of getting paid for it. The Navy actually preferred this, as short-timers tended to slack a lot and even broke expensive equipment so they didn't have to do anything.
Tony snarled, "Grab your fuckin' gear and get off my damn yard. Go sign your papers and do not be in my barracks when we get back."
He turned to the rest of the group and pointed to one man. "You. You're in Squad Two now. Even numbers. Now ... grab a damn mat."
Tony demonstrated a Long Sun Salutation, going slow enough that he was sure everyone saw what they were supposed to do. He called the English names of the different poses as he went.
When he was done he announced, "Now. I know you're all smart enough to remember that. You're going to follow me through the entire routine twice. If you get a correction, just pay attention. I expect the second run-through to be perfect. Anyone who gets something so wrong that they could hurt themselves will swim extra laps. Go."
And go they did. Most of the men had thought that yoga was going to be a doodle; they realized different when Tony ran them through the routine the first time. He didn't take it easy on them, only allowing a second for them to get into position. Remy barked and snarled at the ones who got it wrong while Tony held the men in position. When Remy gave the signal he moved to the next position. Remy made it clear that they had only a few seconds to get into position before they moved on. The second run-through was even harder, as Tony didn't pause between asanas, and Remy was merciless in his critique.
At the end Tony barked, "Now you know. Iyengar Yoga is soft, gentle, and slow. This is not Iyengar Yoga, this is Ashtanga Yoga. It is designed to be done at a fast pace and push you to your limits. Little girls do this yoga in hour sets. You are all sweating like pigs after twenty minutes. You're such a sorry bunch that I'm ashamed to allow you to participate in this exercise of kings. Pool. Everyone will do twenty laps, except for you ... you ... and you. You'll give me thirty. Go."
Tony expected most of the men to make a splash as they dove into the pool, when only four did, he decided to take exception to it. He called them out of the pool by yelling, "Oh, my god! You! You! and You!" he pointed to the men who returned to the side of the pool. Everyone had stopped and begun treading water when he yelled. "You splash like a drowning man. Get out." he turned on the rest of the men. "Well? What the hell are you waiting for? Swim!"
Then he was right in the faces of the splashers. "You'll dive until you can do it without a splash, then you'll give me thirty laps. Go." One man immediately entered the water without a splash. He hadn't thought it made a difference; he knew better now. The other three splashed like little kids, which, Tony informed them, they were not.
It took each man several dives before Tony was satisfied, Remy kept an eye on the swimmers, counting laps on those he thought might be inclined to cheat.
Then, when the last of the men was actually in the water and doing laps, Tony dove in. He was missing his swim something awful, so he decided to do a few laps, he was joined almost at once by Remy. He stopped to tread water for a moment to make sure that someone was watching everyone for signs of distress. He got a signal from a man standing on the safety tower; he nodded and went back to his laps.
As they finished their laps, got out of the pool, and dried off as much as they could, the spotters ordered the men back to quarters to change in to UOD for dinner; they had the rest of the day off.
Sacks grabbed Great the second they hit the barracks. "We need to talk."
Ramses eyed Sacks then said, "So ... talk."
"Well. See, I'm accustomed to command so ... if you need any help, back-up or whatever, I'll be glad to take over."
Ramses eyed his squad member with a bit of a hairy eyeball. "Thanks, but I think I've got it."
Sacks wasn't sure how he'd offended his friend but he knew he had. "Well, okay."
Ramses eyed Sacks' retreating back with mild disfavor; this was his chance to prove that he had what it took to lead a business, and he wasn't going to waste it. He checked his watch and realized that they had about four hours before lights out, and he needed to do some reading before then. He got the training manual out of his foot locker and settled to read.
Meanwhile, Tony and Remy had decided that they too needed a night off. They proceeded to plant themselves on Gibbs' front porch to wait for him to get home.
Gibbs was staying in one 'square' while they were living in officer's quarters, which was really just an apartment building. They were within walking distance of each other, and Tony and Remy were tired of just missing Gibbs.
Gibbs for his part was jogging back from the firing range. He hadn't been taking his weapons to the range while he was working, as he didn't have time to do any shooting himself. He glanced at his front porch and smiled. "Hey! Glad to see you two lugnuts. How's it hangin?"
Remy shrugged, "To the left. How you?"
"Fine. Got a decent group. No problems to speak of." He opened his door and motioned his friends in. "Beer?"
Tony grinned, "Love one." He accepted the beer Gibbs offered.
Remy took his and they settled down to fill each other in on what was going on with their squads.
Tony actually started out. "You won't believe this shit. I got Fuckin' Ron Sacks in my platoon. And a bunch of other idiot Petty Officers and Chief Petty Officers that are real slackers. All of them have managed to get out of all their required duty days for at least a damn year, most of them two. And I'm supposed to turn them all back into sailors. And Sacks has a mouth on him! I swear, if I wasn't a nice guy I'd ride him like a horse."
Gibbs nodded. "I always thought he was a self-satisfied, ego-centric, prejudiced twat-waffle."
Remy choked on his beer. "A what ... the fuck. Where did you pick that up?"
Gibbs shrugged, "Heard Abby say it."
Tony offered, "I think she gets some of that shit off the net. But ... Sacks. I'm already having trouble with him. I made someone else squad leader and he gave me the hairy eyeball. He didn't say much but ... I'm expecting him to file a complaint or something. And he's pissin' me off just by existing."
Gibbs sighed. "He's got a gigantic case of entitlement. He thinks, because he's FBI, that he's entitled to more respect than he's earned and more ... everything. I like Fornell a lot more. Toby is old school and earned his bones."
Tony grumbled. "Seriously, I wish we still trained on a three-master. A good keelhauling would work wonders. I'd have him slingin' his hook in no time."
Gibbs thought about that for a moment while he finished his beer. "Well, it's an idea. Not a good one, but still."
Remy nodded wisely. "You know what they say ... shit in one hand; wish in the other. I do see Sacks as causin' all kinda chaos and disaster. He'll piss Great off, and that'll cause all kinds of trouble."
Tony nodded. "I can see Morehouse eyeing him too. Don't think Sacks is gonna get a clue, though; too hard-headed." He swallowed half his remaining beer in two gulps.
Gibbs agreed, adding, "Sacks is never going to rise above his present level, FBI or Navy, and he knows it. That doesn't keep him from resenting it and pushing anyway. He'll never learn and ... so I've heard from someone who knows, he's on really thin ice."
Tony frowned. "You know I'd never do anything against regs but ... I'm gonna lean on him hard. If he's stuck, it's because his attitude has scuttled him. I'll either cure it or he'll refuse a legitimate order and be up on charges. I wonder how close he is to re-up date."
Remy got a blank look on his face as he tried to remember. He brightened and said, "Six months. If he's bad enough, we might get him to ring the bell and get a chicken dinner. But ... do we want to go that far?"
Tony thought as he finished the rest of his beer. "We do. He's not an asset to the service and the sooner we quit wasting money on him, the better."
Gibbs agreed, "There's some like that. Come in with good intentions, then realize how much work and danger there is and ... want out. We're better off without them, but a contract is a contract." He sighed, sipped at his beer, then shrugged. "Best we can do is encourage them to opt out on re-sign."
Remy just nodded, a sad expression on his face. Then he brightened. "But we do have some good ones. Great and Morehouse are both working out well. Great wants to own his own business, so he's taking to leadership like a champ. Morehouse needs more experience in leading so he's a bit shaky, but he's coming along. They've only been leaders for a day, but I can tell."
Tony nodded. "I agree." He sighed. "I'm fuckin' tired. I hate this damn job. My throat is sore, my head aches, and all I really want to do is go somewhere and hide."
Gibbs agreed. "Me too. I swear they get dumber every year. I actually caught one of those idiots putting on a scope by holding the barrel, muzzle to, against his chest. Loaded."
"Oh, my god." Tony just gaped at Gibbs. "Jet! Tell me you're kidding. Please."
"Nope. Not kidding. And I am not looking forward to the stink when the CO reads my report. This jackass was his Golden Child. Bless his heart."
Tony shuddered. "Well, hell. That sucks."
Remy snickered. "You blessed his heart."
Gibbs nodded. "I did. I surely did."
They laughed at that, then started gathering up the bottles and policing the room. Gibbs got a trash bag and emptied all the cans, holding the bag open for Tony to drop his mess in. Remy added his bottles and a chip bag. It didn't take long to finish.
Gibbs walked them to the door. "Night, Remy, AJ."
Tony stretched then walked out the door, Remy right behind him. "Night, Jet. We need to get together Sunday and do something."
"Okay. Sounds good to me. Remy?"
"Me too. Maybe make dinner or something like. Night."
They headed for their quarters, Gibbs watched for a moment then turned out the porch light and settled on his couch to watch the news before bed.
.