Chapter 3

Traeger wasn't sure what to expect upon arriving through the gates of RTC San Diego. An old tug was her guide through the impressive naval base. The 6-year old destroyer was barely full grown. Her missile tubes only just fully developed. If one looked at her they could never guess her history. Traeger was a vessel born for war. Her mother was an oil tanker running the Straits of Hormuz during the Gulf War. Her grandmother, from whom she inherited her warship appearance was a blockader during the Cuban Missile Crises. Being in the thick of it was in her blood. When her mother was killed two months ago by an Iraqi mine, Traeger wasted no time leaving Gulf waters for the states. The open door policy the United States had to any warship of American descent proved useful as well as the reason she was here.

So anyways she didn't know what to expect. But hearing a loud voice ring out "Destroyers form one column. Cruisers in another. Carriers over by MM2!" followed by melee was not it! As she passed, Traeger got a look at who was doing the shouting. From the sheer volume she had assumed a carrier but instead she saw a large submarine. The flare in the forward part of the sail told Traeger it was a Seawolf-class. And she wore the insignia of Senior Chief. Traeger did recall meeting a Seawolf once, when her mother was outbound to Gibraltar from Malta. The sub was surface transiting the straits to a posting off Libya. Traeger, a young little tyke snug on her mother's deck had offered a friendly wave which was happily returned. This sub was not this one. This sub was foul. She was mean-tempered. She was vicious and Traeger did not like the way she was looking at her right now. "What's that stare for recruit?!" The sub snarled at her. "Never seen a submarine before? Get back in line!" "Aye aye senior chief." Traeger's quick response saved her a beating her first day. Sometimes it helped to be versed in navy parlance.

She stood there for what felt like hours as every ship was lined up in formation. There were 82 in all. The sub wasted no more time. "Alright, LISTEN UP!" She roared, starting to pace down the line. "My name is USS Jimmy Carter SSN-23. I am a Seawolf-class fast attack submarine formally based out of Bangor Washington. I took this assignment to see to it that you rugrats are trained properly. No fleet mate of mine is going to be forced rely on a lazy ass merchant who dares call herself a warship. You will all learn to rely on each other and be strong or you will go home. IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?!" "Yes Jimmy Carter!" screamed the new division with the exception of Traeger who said something different but accurate. Carter's keen hearing picked up on it and the submarine glanced her way but said nothing. She simply turned about and made another pass down the line. Traeger knew she wasn't seeing things when she saw the ships straighten their keels as she went past. "My title is Senior Chief. I have earned my rank and while you are here you will use it to address me. None of you have earned the right to use my name so when you speak to me you will use the words Senior Chief IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?!" "YES SENIOR CHIEF!" This time Traeger gave umph to her reply. "Until proven otherwise you lot are all recruits. You are unworthy to even cross my wake but by the grace in me I allow that. Am I fucking clear or am I really fucking clear?!" "YES SENIOR CHIEF!" "Alright good. Now, before we go anywhere I'm going to teach you how to make a proper formation. Remember this because any time you leave your berthing you will form up like this." And so began Traeger's first day at basic training.