Post by ChefEd on Jan 21, 2024 23:45:17 GMT
Aboard the Foca, Captain's Quarters
“Enter!”
“Your coffee, sir. A Lieutenant Vivaldi is here.”
“Thank you. Send him in.”
“Aye, sir.”
Moments later, a knock on the bulkhead.
“Lord,” Gasparo whispered to himself. “I said enter.”
Entering the Comandante’s ‘state room’, a young officer, who looked no older than a teenager. His uniform was tailored, spotless, and ready for command review. He snapped to attention, saluted, “Sottotenente di vascello Fulvio Vivaldi, reporting as ordered, sir.”
Gasparo eyed the young man from head to toe, and back again. What seemed like an eternity, to the young lieutenant, was a matter of moments. The young officer’s salute never wavered, but his expression began to assume the visage of confusion.
Finally, Gasparo threw a salute that was little more than a deferential wave of the hand. The officer brought his hand to his side smartly, handed the Comandante an envelope held in his left hand, then assumed the position of at ease.
Looking down at the envelope in his hands, Comandante Angelini, without lifting his gaze, curtly but softly, replied, “I don’t recall giving the order of at ease.” The young officer smartly snapped back to attention, back ramrod straight, and eyes fixed securely to the bulkhead behind the comandante.
Raising his eyes, without lifting his head, Angelini spoke, “Lieutenant, we don’t know each other well enough for you to assume anything in my presence. You will need to earn that.” Still locked at attention, “Yes, sir.”
Lowering his eyes back to the envelope, Gasparo opened it, and retrieved the young officer’s orders from within. Gasparo took his time, slowly perusing each sheet in the short stack. Gasparo took much more time than he needed to. It was all pretty standard. He just lost a most trusted and capable Secondo, who was more than qualified for his own command. He also lost a friend. Here, Command was sending him a child to replace an experienced officer.
“Offredi!”, Gasparo called out to his yeoman.
“Sir?”
“Show this officer to the officer’s accommodations. I am going ashore shortly. I will dine at the officer’s mess.”
“Aye, sir. This way, Lieutenant.”
Sottotenente Vivaldi saluted Angelini, who once again did little more than gesture, in return. The young officer made a smart about face, exited the Comandante’s quarters, and followed the yeoman.
“Here, sir. This was Tenente Bianco’s bunk and storage.”
“Is the Comandante always that brusque?”
“Don’t know what you mean, sir.”
Tenente Vivaldi eyed the Yeoman, “Never mind.” He threw his bag onto his bunk. Vivaldi removed his blouse and tie, and laid them next to his bag, and placed his hat on top of the neatly folded uniform. He briefly looked around, noting the comings and goings of the crew as they worked on various repairs from their just completed mission. From what he had heard the Foca would be going into dry dock in a few days for major repairs. He turned toward the wardroom to get a cup of coffee. He would then take an unguided tour of the boat and get acquainted with the boat and the men.
Once Tenente Vivaldo left his quarters, Gasparo gathered the lieutenant’s papers, reinserted them into their envelope, stood, and grabbed his hat.
Once ashore, Capitano Angelini headed toward the squadron headquarters.
---
“Capitano Ballarin, please.”
Angelini’s surprise was evident when the sailor responded, “He is expecting you, sir.”
Capitano Angelini knocked on the Personnel Officer’s door and awaited a response. “Enter.”
Gasparo opened the door and approached Capitano di vascello Federigo Ballarin, who was seated at his desk, with a coffee in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. Gasparo stopped at the desk and gave a perfunctory salute. Ballarin responded by lifting his cigarette laden hand, “Have a seat. Coffee?” “Please,” responded Gasparo as he took a seat across from Capitano Ballarin.
“Augostino!” “Sir?” “Coffee, for the Captain.” “Aye, sir.”
“So, why the formality? We’ve known each other too long for such nonsense, in private.”
“You sent me a child. I lost a seasoned officer, and a friend, and you send me a child.”
Ballarin, if a younger man he would most likely have felt insulted. However, he has the right temperament to handle personnel issues. It is also beneficial that he and Angelini have known each other since Angelini was an Ensign.
“Vivaldi was hand-picked….though, not by this office.”
Ballarin watched Gasparo’s face, as he mulled over his words, and finally realized their true meaning. Before Gasparo could respond, Ballarin continued, “Officially, it is out of our hands. Unofficially, Vivaldi’s family is connected, with much influence. Officially, you were selected due to your experience, and the vacancy in your crew.”
“We’re a baby-sitting service, now?”
“No, we are still a professional service. Vivaldi did not buy his commission. Despite his youth, he has earned, as far as I can discern, his current rank. He is a capable young officer, with one flaw, make that two flaws: he has no combat experience, and he is young. Neither is his fault.” Ballarin paused to await a response.
Angelini sat there digesting this information. “What am I supposed to do with him?”
“What would you do with any new officer?” Ballarin asked rhetorically.
“I am not putting him in as Secondo.”
“That is your prerogative, in this case. Put him where you want. Train him. That we know you can do.”
Angelini sat for a moment, looking at his superior officer. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Meet me at Il Gallo for dinner. Say, 6 o’clock?”
“Definitely.” At that, Gasparo stood, shook Ballarin’s hand, and headed to the officer’s mess for lunch.
---
“Gang way,” called the crewmen as they headed aft with material for some minor repairs before heading to drydock, “…, sir.” Vivaldi pinned himself against the bulkhead as the men passed.
“Tenente?”
Vivaldi turned to face the yeoman, “Um,…”
“Offredi, sir. Gioachino Offredi, yeoman.”
“Ah, yes, Offredi. What is it?”
“I just wanted to suggest you change into your duty uniform, or coveralls, if wandering around while we are making repairs. Can get a bit … dirty, around here.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you. Is the Comandante back, yet?”
“No, sir. Don’t expect him back until mid-afternoon.”
“Very well. What officers are on board?”
“At the moment, just you, sir. Tenente Eneide is dockside signing for provisions, and Tenente Ruggiero is at the dock master’s office.”
“Very well.”
“Sir? Chief of the Boat Gurino and Quartermaster Malfatona are forward doing inventory.”
Vivaldi looks toward the front of the boat.
“Anything else, sir?”
“No, thank you.”
Yeoman Offredi turned and headed back to his post.
Vivaldi turned and headed forward, stopping in the wardroom to deposit his long empty and cold coffee cup. As he headed forward, ducking through hatchways, and pinning himself against the bulkhead as work parties passed fore and aft, he finally reached the two senior enlisted men on the boat. Petty Officer First Class Gurino and Petty Officer Second Class Malfatona were huddled over a clip board with more sheets of paper it ever was intended to hold.
Malfatona glanced up briefly, noting the approach of Vivaldi, looked down and nudged the Chief of the Boat Gurino, and whispered, “He’s here.” The two continued their perusal and discussion of the multitude of items in the sheaf of papers held precariously in the overextended clipboard. Vivaldi waited a few moments, before interrupting.
No longer able to ignore the officer, Gurino turned, “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, men. I won’t keep you. Just wanted to introduce myself, Tenente Vivaldi. Just came aboard this morning.”
“Yes, sir, we heard. Welcome aboard. Apologies for not introducing ourselves earlier. Three months of heavy repairs ahead of us to prepare for.”
“Yes, of course. Carry on.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vivaldi turned aft again and returned to the wardroom for a fresh cup of coffee. Spying Cook’s Assistant Passero, he tried to joke, “Whatever this is, it isn’t coffee.”
Passero, not lost on the joke, “No, sir, never claimed it to be so.”
Appreciating the return jest, “Of course.”
“Sir, do you really want to know what it is?”
“No, I don’t think so. Some things are better left unknown.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vivaldi, headed to the nearest ship’s ladder, and climbed to the forward deck. Dockside, he observed who he assumed to be Tenente Eneide in discussion with another officer, standing next to a truck with its tailgate hanging down. Their conversation seemed quite animate. Vivaldi moved to the lee rail, just close enough to pick up a bit of the conversation, but far enough away not to seem eavesdropping.
“No, no, no! Not what I ordered. I only wanted dry goods, and minimal fruits and vegetables. I cannot take anything needing refrigeration.”
“It’s on the requisition, you take it.”
“I will not sign for anything. Do whatever you want with it.”
At that Eneide turned and headed up the gangway.
“Wait!”
Near the top of the gangway, Eneide stopped, but did not turn.
“Maybe we can come to a compromise.”
Eneide turned to face the man at the truck. Silent.
“How about you take half of the refrigerated goods?”
Eneide began to turn back up the gangway.
“Okay, you win.”
Eneide turned back down the gangway, motioning to the boat’s crewmen assigned to offload the provisions from the truck. They began to remove from the truck the items on Tenente Eneide’s list, provided to the senior enlisted mean in the detail. Wordlessly, Eneide began striking through a number of items on the truck manifest with his pen. He appeared to read through once more, then signed the manifest. He slapped the clipboard against the other man’s chest and headed back up the gangway. “Pleasure doing business with you,” was his parting remark.
As he climbed the gangway, Eneide noticed Vivaldi against a safety line stanchion, drinking his coffee, apparently staring off toward the dockside facilities.
Once aboard, Eneide headed forward toward Vivaldi. Nearing the young officer, “You Vivaldi?”
“Yes.”
“Salvatore.”
“Fulvio.”
“Dinner in the wardroom at 1800.” Eneide eyed Vivaldi briefly, “Casual.” Eneide nodded, and headed aft, needing to confer with the quartermaster.
Vivaldi felt self-conscious for the first time, while aboard. His was the only uniform in sight not stained with oil, grease, sweat, or blood. “This can only get better,” he thought.
Tenente Vivaldi headed back down the ladder into the boat and headed toward his bunk. He had no orders and felt ill at ease if he were to lay in his bunk. He decided to sit in the wardroom and write some long put off correspondence.
---
Shortly after 2100 Capitano Angelini returned to the Foca. He was a bit on the tipsy side, having more than a few glasses with his long-time friend Capitano Ballarin at Il Gallo. The two men spent their two plus hours conversing about everything but the war. It was a pleasant respite from the Foca’s recent loss of Tenente Bianco.
Boarding the Foca, Angelini sent word to have his officers meet in the wardroom in 15 minutes.
In his quarters, Angelini sat with his eyes closed, leaning back in his chair.
“Passero!”
A few moments later, a knock on the bulkhead, cook’s assistant Passero poke his head into the Comandante’s quarters, “Yes sir?”
“Coffee.”
“Sir.”
Passero returned several minutes later with a cup of black coffee. “Thank you, Ambrogio.” “Any time, sir.”
At the appointed time, Comandante Angelini entered the officer’s wardroom. Seated were his officers, each with a coffee, and the varying remnants of their breads or biscuits.
“At ease,” Angelini said, as they began to rise.
“Good evening gentlemen.”
“Good evening, sir,” came the replies.
“This will be rather informal.” He noted the assembled officers nod and look at each other.
“I wish to welcome Tenente Vivaldi to the Foca. Tenente…”
Tenente Vivaldi half rose from his seat, and gave a small bow to his fellow officers, then sat back down, somewhat flushed, at the warmer than expected welcome.
“Tenente Vivaldi comes to us highly recommended.” “Tenente, you realize that puts great pressure on you?” “Yes, sir, I do. I expect not to disappoint.” “Disappoint, sir, is something that is a luxury.” “Sir.”
“Gentlemen, we have served too long together to stand much on formalities. As of this moment, Sottotenente Eneide, you are my Secondo.” Comandante Angelini paused to let this soak in and gave the officers a moment to extend their congratulations. “I know what to expect of you, and you know what to expect of me. I know you won’t ‘disappoint’,” as he looked at Tenente Vivaldi, and gave a sly wink.
“Fulvio,” continuing to look at the young officer, “You will assume the responsibilities of weapons officer.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me, you haven’t faced the enemy, yet.”
“Gentlemen, we are expected to be in port approximately three months. Foca will go into drydock in about ten to twelve days for hull repairs. Between now and then we are to get as much accomplished as we can inside before we hand over the Foca. It will be another thirty or forty days before we can get back inside to complete those internal repairs. After that, about another month is estimated before we can take her out to test the repairs.”
Angelini allowed the officers a few moments to let the timetable register. A few grins and a few ‘Si’s!’ were expleted.
“Salvatore, you will draft up a work and furlough rotation with Chief of the Boat Gurino. Make sure you BOTH get leave. Raniero, I expect you to monitor all repairs,…except when you are on leave.” The officers laughed.
“Finally, Fulvio, you will shadow all of these officers, in rotation. By shadow I mean you will shadow them. You will be a second skin. You will ask questions, they will answer. You will demonstrate, and they will critique. I am aware of your record. Excelling in training is not the same as surviving combat. These men will teach you everything you need to know. You will not only learn their jobs, but you will be expected to fulfill your responsibilities at a superior level. You have just shy of three months.” “Aye, sir.”
“Gentlemen, I am moving to my shore quarters. You know where to find me. I will likely know what you want before you ask,” as he grinned at them. “Yes, sir,” they chimed.
“Good evening, gentlemen. I will leave you to continue to get acquainted. Salvatore, you are in charge, for now.” “Aye, sir.”
Angelini retired from the officer’s wardroom and headed to his quarters. He quickly packed his bag, then headed ashore to bachelor officer quarters. “I should see about a room in town,” he mused to himself.
“Enter!”
“Your coffee, sir. A Lieutenant Vivaldi is here.”
“Thank you. Send him in.”
“Aye, sir.”
Moments later, a knock on the bulkhead.
“Lord,” Gasparo whispered to himself. “I said enter.”
Entering the Comandante’s ‘state room’, a young officer, who looked no older than a teenager. His uniform was tailored, spotless, and ready for command review. He snapped to attention, saluted, “Sottotenente di vascello Fulvio Vivaldi, reporting as ordered, sir.”
Gasparo eyed the young man from head to toe, and back again. What seemed like an eternity, to the young lieutenant, was a matter of moments. The young officer’s salute never wavered, but his expression began to assume the visage of confusion.
Finally, Gasparo threw a salute that was little more than a deferential wave of the hand. The officer brought his hand to his side smartly, handed the Comandante an envelope held in his left hand, then assumed the position of at ease.
Looking down at the envelope in his hands, Comandante Angelini, without lifting his gaze, curtly but softly, replied, “I don’t recall giving the order of at ease.” The young officer smartly snapped back to attention, back ramrod straight, and eyes fixed securely to the bulkhead behind the comandante.
Raising his eyes, without lifting his head, Angelini spoke, “Lieutenant, we don’t know each other well enough for you to assume anything in my presence. You will need to earn that.” Still locked at attention, “Yes, sir.”
Lowering his eyes back to the envelope, Gasparo opened it, and retrieved the young officer’s orders from within. Gasparo took his time, slowly perusing each sheet in the short stack. Gasparo took much more time than he needed to. It was all pretty standard. He just lost a most trusted and capable Secondo, who was more than qualified for his own command. He also lost a friend. Here, Command was sending him a child to replace an experienced officer.
“Offredi!”, Gasparo called out to his yeoman.
“Sir?”
“Show this officer to the officer’s accommodations. I am going ashore shortly. I will dine at the officer’s mess.”
“Aye, sir. This way, Lieutenant.”
Sottotenente Vivaldi saluted Angelini, who once again did little more than gesture, in return. The young officer made a smart about face, exited the Comandante’s quarters, and followed the yeoman.
“Here, sir. This was Tenente Bianco’s bunk and storage.”
“Is the Comandante always that brusque?”
“Don’t know what you mean, sir.”
Tenente Vivaldi eyed the Yeoman, “Never mind.” He threw his bag onto his bunk. Vivaldi removed his blouse and tie, and laid them next to his bag, and placed his hat on top of the neatly folded uniform. He briefly looked around, noting the comings and goings of the crew as they worked on various repairs from their just completed mission. From what he had heard the Foca would be going into dry dock in a few days for major repairs. He turned toward the wardroom to get a cup of coffee. He would then take an unguided tour of the boat and get acquainted with the boat and the men.
Once Tenente Vivaldo left his quarters, Gasparo gathered the lieutenant’s papers, reinserted them into their envelope, stood, and grabbed his hat.
Once ashore, Capitano Angelini headed toward the squadron headquarters.
---
“Capitano Ballarin, please.”
Angelini’s surprise was evident when the sailor responded, “He is expecting you, sir.”
Capitano Angelini knocked on the Personnel Officer’s door and awaited a response. “Enter.”
Gasparo opened the door and approached Capitano di vascello Federigo Ballarin, who was seated at his desk, with a coffee in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. Gasparo stopped at the desk and gave a perfunctory salute. Ballarin responded by lifting his cigarette laden hand, “Have a seat. Coffee?” “Please,” responded Gasparo as he took a seat across from Capitano Ballarin.
“Augostino!” “Sir?” “Coffee, for the Captain.” “Aye, sir.”
“So, why the formality? We’ve known each other too long for such nonsense, in private.”
“You sent me a child. I lost a seasoned officer, and a friend, and you send me a child.”
Ballarin, if a younger man he would most likely have felt insulted. However, he has the right temperament to handle personnel issues. It is also beneficial that he and Angelini have known each other since Angelini was an Ensign.
“Vivaldi was hand-picked….though, not by this office.”
Ballarin watched Gasparo’s face, as he mulled over his words, and finally realized their true meaning. Before Gasparo could respond, Ballarin continued, “Officially, it is out of our hands. Unofficially, Vivaldi’s family is connected, with much influence. Officially, you were selected due to your experience, and the vacancy in your crew.”
“We’re a baby-sitting service, now?”
“No, we are still a professional service. Vivaldi did not buy his commission. Despite his youth, he has earned, as far as I can discern, his current rank. He is a capable young officer, with one flaw, make that two flaws: he has no combat experience, and he is young. Neither is his fault.” Ballarin paused to await a response.
Angelini sat there digesting this information. “What am I supposed to do with him?”
“What would you do with any new officer?” Ballarin asked rhetorically.
“I am not putting him in as Secondo.”
“That is your prerogative, in this case. Put him where you want. Train him. That we know you can do.”
Angelini sat for a moment, looking at his superior officer. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Meet me at Il Gallo for dinner. Say, 6 o’clock?”
“Definitely.” At that, Gasparo stood, shook Ballarin’s hand, and headed to the officer’s mess for lunch.
---
“Gang way,” called the crewmen as they headed aft with material for some minor repairs before heading to drydock, “…, sir.” Vivaldi pinned himself against the bulkhead as the men passed.
“Tenente?”
Vivaldi turned to face the yeoman, “Um,…”
“Offredi, sir. Gioachino Offredi, yeoman.”
“Ah, yes, Offredi. What is it?”
“I just wanted to suggest you change into your duty uniform, or coveralls, if wandering around while we are making repairs. Can get a bit … dirty, around here.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you. Is the Comandante back, yet?”
“No, sir. Don’t expect him back until mid-afternoon.”
“Very well. What officers are on board?”
“At the moment, just you, sir. Tenente Eneide is dockside signing for provisions, and Tenente Ruggiero is at the dock master’s office.”
“Very well.”
“Sir? Chief of the Boat Gurino and Quartermaster Malfatona are forward doing inventory.”
Vivaldi looks toward the front of the boat.
“Anything else, sir?”
“No, thank you.”
Yeoman Offredi turned and headed back to his post.
Vivaldi turned and headed forward, stopping in the wardroom to deposit his long empty and cold coffee cup. As he headed forward, ducking through hatchways, and pinning himself against the bulkhead as work parties passed fore and aft, he finally reached the two senior enlisted men on the boat. Petty Officer First Class Gurino and Petty Officer Second Class Malfatona were huddled over a clip board with more sheets of paper it ever was intended to hold.
Malfatona glanced up briefly, noting the approach of Vivaldi, looked down and nudged the Chief of the Boat Gurino, and whispered, “He’s here.” The two continued their perusal and discussion of the multitude of items in the sheaf of papers held precariously in the overextended clipboard. Vivaldi waited a few moments, before interrupting.
No longer able to ignore the officer, Gurino turned, “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, men. I won’t keep you. Just wanted to introduce myself, Tenente Vivaldi. Just came aboard this morning.”
“Yes, sir, we heard. Welcome aboard. Apologies for not introducing ourselves earlier. Three months of heavy repairs ahead of us to prepare for.”
“Yes, of course. Carry on.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vivaldi turned aft again and returned to the wardroom for a fresh cup of coffee. Spying Cook’s Assistant Passero, he tried to joke, “Whatever this is, it isn’t coffee.”
Passero, not lost on the joke, “No, sir, never claimed it to be so.”
Appreciating the return jest, “Of course.”
“Sir, do you really want to know what it is?”
“No, I don’t think so. Some things are better left unknown.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vivaldi, headed to the nearest ship’s ladder, and climbed to the forward deck. Dockside, he observed who he assumed to be Tenente Eneide in discussion with another officer, standing next to a truck with its tailgate hanging down. Their conversation seemed quite animate. Vivaldi moved to the lee rail, just close enough to pick up a bit of the conversation, but far enough away not to seem eavesdropping.
“No, no, no! Not what I ordered. I only wanted dry goods, and minimal fruits and vegetables. I cannot take anything needing refrigeration.”
“It’s on the requisition, you take it.”
“I will not sign for anything. Do whatever you want with it.”
At that Eneide turned and headed up the gangway.
“Wait!”
Near the top of the gangway, Eneide stopped, but did not turn.
“Maybe we can come to a compromise.”
Eneide turned to face the man at the truck. Silent.
“How about you take half of the refrigerated goods?”
Eneide began to turn back up the gangway.
“Okay, you win.”
Eneide turned back down the gangway, motioning to the boat’s crewmen assigned to offload the provisions from the truck. They began to remove from the truck the items on Tenente Eneide’s list, provided to the senior enlisted mean in the detail. Wordlessly, Eneide began striking through a number of items on the truck manifest with his pen. He appeared to read through once more, then signed the manifest. He slapped the clipboard against the other man’s chest and headed back up the gangway. “Pleasure doing business with you,” was his parting remark.
As he climbed the gangway, Eneide noticed Vivaldi against a safety line stanchion, drinking his coffee, apparently staring off toward the dockside facilities.
Once aboard, Eneide headed forward toward Vivaldi. Nearing the young officer, “You Vivaldi?”
“Yes.”
“Salvatore.”
“Fulvio.”
“Dinner in the wardroom at 1800.” Eneide eyed Vivaldi briefly, “Casual.” Eneide nodded, and headed aft, needing to confer with the quartermaster.
Vivaldi felt self-conscious for the first time, while aboard. His was the only uniform in sight not stained with oil, grease, sweat, or blood. “This can only get better,” he thought.
Tenente Vivaldi headed back down the ladder into the boat and headed toward his bunk. He had no orders and felt ill at ease if he were to lay in his bunk. He decided to sit in the wardroom and write some long put off correspondence.
---
Shortly after 2100 Capitano Angelini returned to the Foca. He was a bit on the tipsy side, having more than a few glasses with his long-time friend Capitano Ballarin at Il Gallo. The two men spent their two plus hours conversing about everything but the war. It was a pleasant respite from the Foca’s recent loss of Tenente Bianco.
Boarding the Foca, Angelini sent word to have his officers meet in the wardroom in 15 minutes.
In his quarters, Angelini sat with his eyes closed, leaning back in his chair.
“Passero!”
A few moments later, a knock on the bulkhead, cook’s assistant Passero poke his head into the Comandante’s quarters, “Yes sir?”
“Coffee.”
“Sir.”
Passero returned several minutes later with a cup of black coffee. “Thank you, Ambrogio.” “Any time, sir.”
At the appointed time, Comandante Angelini entered the officer’s wardroom. Seated were his officers, each with a coffee, and the varying remnants of their breads or biscuits.
“At ease,” Angelini said, as they began to rise.
“Good evening gentlemen.”
“Good evening, sir,” came the replies.
“This will be rather informal.” He noted the assembled officers nod and look at each other.
“I wish to welcome Tenente Vivaldi to the Foca. Tenente…”
Tenente Vivaldi half rose from his seat, and gave a small bow to his fellow officers, then sat back down, somewhat flushed, at the warmer than expected welcome.
“Tenente Vivaldi comes to us highly recommended.” “Tenente, you realize that puts great pressure on you?” “Yes, sir, I do. I expect not to disappoint.” “Disappoint, sir, is something that is a luxury.” “Sir.”
“Gentlemen, we have served too long together to stand much on formalities. As of this moment, Sottotenente Eneide, you are my Secondo.” Comandante Angelini paused to let this soak in and gave the officers a moment to extend their congratulations. “I know what to expect of you, and you know what to expect of me. I know you won’t ‘disappoint’,” as he looked at Tenente Vivaldi, and gave a sly wink.
“Fulvio,” continuing to look at the young officer, “You will assume the responsibilities of weapons officer.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me, you haven’t faced the enemy, yet.”
“Gentlemen, we are expected to be in port approximately three months. Foca will go into drydock in about ten to twelve days for hull repairs. Between now and then we are to get as much accomplished as we can inside before we hand over the Foca. It will be another thirty or forty days before we can get back inside to complete those internal repairs. After that, about another month is estimated before we can take her out to test the repairs.”
Angelini allowed the officers a few moments to let the timetable register. A few grins and a few ‘Si’s!’ were expleted.
“Salvatore, you will draft up a work and furlough rotation with Chief of the Boat Gurino. Make sure you BOTH get leave. Raniero, I expect you to monitor all repairs,…except when you are on leave.” The officers laughed.
“Finally, Fulvio, you will shadow all of these officers, in rotation. By shadow I mean you will shadow them. You will be a second skin. You will ask questions, they will answer. You will demonstrate, and they will critique. I am aware of your record. Excelling in training is not the same as surviving combat. These men will teach you everything you need to know. You will not only learn their jobs, but you will be expected to fulfill your responsibilities at a superior level. You have just shy of three months.” “Aye, sir.”
“Gentlemen, I am moving to my shore quarters. You know where to find me. I will likely know what you want before you ask,” as he grinned at them. “Yes, sir,” they chimed.
“Good evening, gentlemen. I will leave you to continue to get acquainted. Salvatore, you are in charge, for now.” “Aye, sir.”
Angelini retired from the officer’s wardroom and headed to his quarters. He quickly packed his bag, then headed ashore to bachelor officer quarters. “I should see about a room in town,” he mused to himself.