Afloat: A Sim Greene Short Story

By Rob Avery

The US Navy’s top brass visit the upper reaches of San Francisco Bay to review the National Defense Reserve (or “Mothball”) Fleet. Security is paramount and Petty Officer First Class Sim Greene is sent on a temporary assignment to assist.

Threats are made against the Navy, activists work to disrupt the visit, and several

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jack Tar Publishing LLC
• Release date: Jun 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781945809118

Rob Avery

VP, professional services at Scala/VP, mobile strategy at Digitas Health/guitarist and bass for Boysetsfire and Son and Heir

Book preview

On Sim and Sailing

A lot of readers have asked me how and why Sim Greene came to live aboard a small sailboat. Go sailing – preferably for more than a day or two – and you will know the why. The how can be more difficult to pull off. This is how Sim did it.

Afloat

A Sim Greene Short Story

Rob Avery

JULY 2009

WE FOUND the body at 0740 hours about a hundred yards west of the southbound span of the Benicia-Martinez Bridge. Petty Officer First Class Kelly Thompson spotted him during our morning security review. As the local in command, she directed the Harbor Security Boat’s coxswain to intercept the body. It was my first day on Temporary Additional Duty assignment and, as the new guy, I got the nasty job of hauling the corpse over the HSB’s transom.

Why do so many of these jumpers go in naked? I asked.

It’s a metaphor, she said. They’ve been stripped of their personhood by man’s inhumanity to man and society’s indifference.

Too deep for me, Kelly.

He was probably homeless and finally had enough.

He looks pretty healthy to me, I said. Probably a stock broker or financial planner. Maybe he lost all his clients’ dough in the crash.

Either way, it’s a damned shame, she said.

I’ll bet he parked his Lexus on Bayshore and walked out on the pedestrian lane, I said. They’ll find a pair of wingtips and a three-piece suit piled up somewhere on the bridge.

We were both wrong, of course.

We radioed our find to Command and were told to take the body to the 1st Street Pier where the Benecia Police would meet us for the transfer. After unloading John Doe, we motored back to the bridge and finished our security review. By the time our shift was over and we’d returned to Mare Island, the deceased had been identified.

Ms. Thompson, Mr. Greene, said Master Chief Berenson. The guy you two brought in was a sandcrab. He looked down at a clipboard. "A civilian named Barton Powell; a curator on assignment from the Naval History and Heritage Command studying the Iowa. He left his clothes in a pile on the bow."

Sad, said Kelly.

And damned inconvenient, said Berenson. Secretary Mabus and Admiral Roughead will be here in five days to assess the Reserve Fleet in light of all the environmental flak we’ve taken from the press. That’s why we increased the security detail and why we brought Greene here from Point Mugu on a TAD.

Kelly and I remained quiet. When a Master Chief rants, it’s not because he desires wisdom and input from junior enlisted personnel.

Why couldn’t this guy wait until after the Secretary of the Navy and Chief of Naval Operations finished their visit? he continued. He picked up another sheet of paper from his desk and reviewed it as if reading it again would alter its meaning. In any case, NCIS wants a Master-at-Arms to assist in the investigation of Powell’s death. Do you have any problem working with them, Greene?

No, Master Chief.

So, I’m one MA down, he said. That doesn’t exactly make my job easier.

No, Sir.

Report to Special Agent Jonathan in the morning, Greene, and get this Powell thing resolved. We’ve got seventy-four old ships in that ‘mothball’ fleet and I don’t want any Charlie Foxtrots aboard during my watch. I need all the HSBs fully-manned and out there watching the bridge and the restricted area so I want you back here as soon as possible. Understood?

Aye aye, Master Chief.

I left his office and walked outside toward the parking lot. Kelly stayed behind to discuss security details.

The lot overlooked the mouth of the Napa River where fresh water from California’s wine country mixed with the saltiness of San Pablo Bay. Three marinas lay four hundred yards away on the civilian side of the river and I stood there watching the boat traffic. Fishing boats, a few kayaks, and some sailboats plied the river’s waters. A fine-looking sailboat with two laughing couples aboard sailed past.

The boat reminded me of the times my dad had taken me sailing on a friend’s boat out of Marina del Rey. The trip to Catalina was etched in my brain as one of the finest memories of my childhood. I wished I could call him and tell him where I was and what I was seeing. My reverie was interrupted by the sound of work boots approaching over asphalt.

Haven’t you had enough of the water for today? Kelly asked.

I never get tired of watching boats.

Hungry?

Starving, I said.

You want a burger?

Only if it comes with fries and a shake.

I know a great place, said Kelly.

I’m the new guy. You drive and I’ll buy.

We got in her Toyota and she drove out the main gate, across the Mare Island Bridge, and down Sonoma Boulevard.

You like this car? I asked.

It gets me around.

Ever have any problems with the brakes?

It’s not one of the recalled models, she said.

I have a Jeep back in Oxnard but I’ve considered upgrading.

Well, this car has been ultra-reliable. It starts every time and takes me where I want to go.

"Like they say,