Friday, August 11, 2017

The Viper

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© Guyspencer 2017

The Viper

Navy Chaplain Lt. Dan Morse was a contented man as he sat in Wilma Hutch's bedroom with Nancy, Wilma's 16 year-old daughter, splayed across his lap. Well, he was contented but not entirely satisfied. Wonderful as the prospect was of spanking Nancy's bare, firm and pristine buttocks, Wilma herself was his ultimate target.

As always, Chaplain Morse acted the part of a moral and upstanding man. Also, it's fair to say that having been caught smoking, Nancy honestly deserved this spanking and should actually benefit from it. Since Wilma's husband was deployed on a submarine and not available for the job, Wilma had requested Chaplain Morse to punish Nancy. Of course, it had been the Chaplain himself who had planted the idea that it took a male authority figure to properly apply discipline to teens!

As he normally did in these situations, he had sat the mother and daughter down in the living room to deliver a sanctimonious little talk. Today's talk was intended to impress on young Nancy the dangers of smoking and the Biblical command to obey her parents. Skilled at imparting guilt feelings to his flock, he had managed to bring Nancy to tears (and into submission) without raising his voice or actually scolding her. That talk, and the following prayer, left the pretty young girl feeling not only guilty, but anxious to feel the self-forgiveness that only comes from bawling her way through a sound bare-bottom spanking. Indicating the living room windows, the Chaplain suggested that they retreat to the privacy of the Hutch's master bedroom.

Solicitously opening the door and then stepping aside, the Chaplain followed the two females into the bedroom. As he did, his eyes were mostly on the mother's bottom. Since Nancy's flowering body also made a fetchingly shapely package, his eyes also caressed that young bottom.

The two adults had discussed Nancy's punishment in advance, so Wilma knew her part. As agreed, Nancy wore a loose skirt. The Chaplin sat on the edge of the bed, and then pulled Nancy across his lap at an angle, her face resting on the bed, her long legs dangling to the floor. As the Chaplain politely averted his eyes, Wilma reached under Nancy's skirt to draw her cotton panties down to her calves. That done, she lifted the back of Nancy's skirt high, uncovering a perfect pair of youthfully flowering buttocks.

Wilma stepped back respectfully,“She's ready Chaplain.”

Trying to muster an appropriate blush, he looked down at Nancy's shapely orbs, not missing her firm thighs. With practiced but firm gentleness, he pressed firmly on her back, effectively pinning her slim torso into place.

After a few words to ensure that the girl was both prepared for her punishment and remembered her sin, he raised his hand high. Feeling the motion, Nancy cringed her buttocks in unhappy anticipation of the coming sting.


Bunker Point Naval base was a modest submarine base located at the end of a swampy peninsula on the eastern seaboard. Lt. Morse was the base's sole chaplain. Single and in his late twenties, Dan Morse had at first been disappointed at the base's lack of eligible women. With no nearby towns, there were few local women to date. Worse, most female base staff were enlisted, making them untouchable for a commissioned officer like Lt. Morse. But Dan's wandering eye noticed the hundreds of “submarine widows” living on the base while their husbands deployed far away on their subs. Gradually Chaplain Dan Morse figured out ways to benefit from this abundance of unguarded womanhood.

In the military manner, Dan took care of his body. He was wide-shouldered, blessed by natural good looks and with a pleasant and sincere visage. Behind his back, the ladies called him “Chaplain Hunk”.


Chaplain Morse preached a gospel that was long on family values and parental discipline, but one that was slanted in a very male-dominated way. Repeating certain Bible passages, he constantly asserted that the husband must lead the family. By extension; in the absence of the husband, some other male authority figure should step in. In Biblical times, these authority figures were uncles or family patriarchs. However, since every couple at the base had been transplanted from elsewhere, family male authority figures were in short supply. It was exactly this bit of logic that gave the Chaplain so many bottoms to spank, and potentially carnal access to so many unguarded wives. You see; without specifically saying so, he offered himself as that necessary “stand-in” male authority figure.

Steeped in military machismo and traditional Navy conservatism, sailors swallowed this male-dominated version of the Gospel “hook, line & sinker”, and none seemed to recognize the dangers that it might present. Wives, mostly young and short on experience, accepted it in surprising numbers. Perhaps the Chaplain's handsome and “hunky” body had something to do with that?

The Chaplain's specifically advised that it was acceptable for mothers to punish younger children, but spanking teens was a father's job. If the father wasn't available, the job was best accomplished by a male authority figure. But since grandfathers and uncles were absent in this community of military transplants, some other trustworthy person must be substituted. The Chaplain never directly nominated himself for that job, but he was often asked, and he never declined.

Since half of the base's submarines were deployed at any given time, there were always plenty of Navy wives without a handy male authority figure, so Dan Morse was sometimes a busy man. Although he secretly preferred to spank girls, an equal number of boys found themselves bare-bottom across the Chaplain's lap. A teen's gender mattered little to Dan, because his main target was always the mother!

How did he get to the mothers? His main weapon was always guilt. He had only to make the mother feel responsible for the discipline problems of her children. The cure for the “submarine widow” mother's shortcomings was always a private bare-bottom spanking delivered by the Chaplain! Could there have been sexual improprieties in the overheated moments following those private bedroom spankings? More on that later.


Back in Wilma Hutch's bedroom, we left Chaplain Morse with his hand high, prepared to deliver the first swats to young Nancy's bottom:

Dan Morse was a strong man, and a man who preferred to do things his own way. Even when spanking a teen boy who matched his weight, he preferred to use only his hand, which was always up to the task. In fact, few spankings required his full strength. So today he easily spanked Nancy to genuine tears.

For her own part, Nancy was savvy enough to know that there was no advantage is holding back, so she allowed the growing sting in her increasingly-red behind to quickly transport her mind to “spanked girl land”. As spanks rained down on her bottom, she struggled, kicked, jolted, screeched and begged, doing everything you would expect from a girl who was suffering through a memorable spanking.

At first her hands desperately grabbed the sheet as she bawled into the mattress. But finally, in desperation and of their own accord, those hands felt their way south, searching for a way to assuage that fearful bottomly sting. Her left hand was foiled by the immovable bulk of Dan's torso, but her right hand sneaked towards its target until Dan firmly grabbed it, pinning it into the small of her back. He made that interception in a practiced manner, barely missing a spank in the process.

It's amazing how a person can split attention at times like this: As Dan spanked, he seemingly gave his full attention to Nancy's bouncing, roiling bottom, yet somehow he found time to muse about underwear!

You see, it occurred to him that males, except for some athletic activities, never think about their underwear. They wear boring briefs or boxer shorts. Females however, choose their underwear carefully for the occasion. From experience, Dan knew that for the occasion of a spanking, most teen girls choose the thickest, most full coverage panties they owned. Usually that meant white cotton, often somewhat baggy. Perhaps optimistically, they wore them even knowing those panties would be coming down, and therefore couldn't possibly offer protection.

So as Dan glanced below Nancy's frantically jerking knee hollows, he wasn't surprised to see white cotton panties bunched there. As expected, Nancy's kicking stretched the panties to their limit, yet kept her thighs tethered together, protecting her modesty. But in those instants when her legs clapped together, the panties briefly loosened, allowing gravity to take it's toll. Therefore Nancy's panties gradually fell down towards her ankles.

Ironically, had the girl worn more revealing, filmy, and tighter panties, they probably would have remained stuck to her upper calves like a large rubber band.

So as Dan spanked, and as Nancy kicked, fluttered, pumped and twisted her legs in response, the inevitable happened, her panties first reached her ankles, and then one foot finally slipped free. Unrestrained, Nancy's thighs periodically flew open, affording Dan fleeting glimpses of parts of Nancy's anatomy which which are traditionally viewed only by doctors and husbands. He noticed that those parts were framed, rather than hidden, by Nancy's sparse young pubic hair.

Having enjoyed a good eye full, he turned to the mother and feigned embarrassment, “Nancy is inadvertently showing a bit much, please hold her ankles together for modesty while I finish off her punishment.”

Willingly, Wilma sat on the bed with her hip almost touching Dan's, and then cradled Nancy's feet firmly her lap. With her torso pinned firmly over the Chaplain's lap, her hands restrained, and her feet immobilized by her mother, Nancy was totally helpless.
Using rapid, solid spanks, San started just above Nancy's knee hollows and spanked his way up the backs of her already-reddened thighs as Nancy bawled piteously. Once reaching the top of her thighs, he gave her sit-spots special treatment, peppering them with spanks that were distinctly harder than before. As he worked on those sit-spots, her voice again climbed the register from a sob, a squeal and then to a shriek. Finally she quieted, either from exhaustion or acceptance.

He paused, “Nancy, I'm about to finish off your spanking. No more smoking, and you will obey your parents from now on; promise?”

She blubbered, “Yes sir.”

Except for a series of juttering gasps, she took his final flurry of almost full-force spanks silently. Her bottom bounced and wobbled from the force. The adults kept her restrained, but her fight was gone.

Suddenly the spanking was over. Nancy's bottom would heal in scant days, but hopefully she had learned a lifelong lesson. Time would tell.

Dan flipped down the girl's skirt and helped her to her feet. Sobbing, she rubbed briefly through her skirt and then climbed into her mother's lap for a last apology and a final cry. Dan always felt awkward during these moments. Being human, his impulse was to comfort the girl, but that wasn't his role.

As Chaplain Morse waited out the aftermath of Nancy's punishment, he noticed something significant sitting on a bedside table; a pack of lady's cigarettes and an ashtray fouled with lipstick-stained cigarette butts. He licked his lips in anticipation.

With Nancy finally calmed down and back on her feet, Chaplain Morse gave her a quick squeeze and then dismissed her after a few last words of reinforcement. The girl left for her room, leaving her panties forgotten on her parent's bedroom floor.

Chaplain Morse turned to Wilma Hutch, “Do you think that you set a good example for your daughter?”

Wilma looked at him wide-eyed, “What do you mean?”

He indicated the evidence, “Does your husband know you smoke?”

She gasped when she saw where he was pointing. Why hadn't she hidden the evidence?

“No,” she admitted, “he forbids it.”

She looked at him, pleading for understanding, “But things really build up in my head when he's gone, smoking relieves the stress.”

Chaplain Morse spoke formally but not unkindly “Mrs Hutch, I want you in my office at ten tomorrow for a serious discussion. Meanwhile, think seriously about your parenting and your obedience to your husband. I'll see you tomorrow.”


The Chaplain's assistant, Seaman Apprentice (SA) Mike Edwards was sitting at his desk in the Chaplain's outer office when Wilma Hutch showed up for her ten o’clock appointment. He knew enough about his boss's activities to know that he had disciplined Mrs Hutch's daughter yesterday. Mike had detected a pattern to the Chaplain's activities, so he had a shrewd idea why the pretty navy wife was here.

Only recently out of boot camp, Mike's white sailor suit had two tiny stripes on the upper sleeve, denoting his lowly enlisted status.

When Wilma noticed an odd look on the young man's face as he escorted her into his boss's presence, she put it off to the usual awkwardness of a love-deprived sailor in the presence of a pretty woman. SA Edwards closed the inner office door and returned to his desk.

The Chaplain wore his handsome navy uniform, with the two golden stripes on his lower sleeves that showed his officer rank, full lieutenant.

By now, Wilma guessed the outcome of her “talk” with the Chaplain, and the thought gave her butterflies deep in her tummy. She knew that the subject would be her smoking, and that Nancy's recent spanking for smoking was partly her fault for setting a bad example. Truthfully, her husband would spank her bottom beet red if he discovered that she had smoked in his absence.

She wasn't disappointed! The Chaplain tore into her for “leading her daughter into sin” and for disobeying her husband's orders. A fair man, he listened carefully as Wilma detailed the pressures on her while her husband was deployed. Once accustomed to regular attentions from a loving husband, it's difficult for a still-youngish woman like Wilma to sleep alone every night. This, and many other pressures had led to her embracing an old smoking habit.


As they talked, Mike sat at his desk on the other side of the door. The Chaplain's office was at the rear of the chapel. Frankly, that office had certain design deficiencies. Mike's sharp young ears could hear some of the conversation in the inner office. Wilma's high voice carried well, but his boss's lower voice not so well. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately) when lecturing someone like Wilma, Chaplain Morse tended to lapse into the cadences of a preacher, emphasizing key words. Thus Mike could decipher certain of his boss's words, such as, “smoking...disobedience...daughter...sin”.

From this, and from previous experience, Mike suspected Mrs Hutch's fate; his boss would spank her like he had spanked her daughter!

For her part, Wilma also guessed what was in her future. There were whispers between Navy wives, so Wilma knew that “Chaplain Hunk” tended to take wifely discipline matters into his own hands. As the meeting continued, her stomach churned. Part of her was afraid, but another part was excited: She had finally won the full (if only temporary) attention of “Chaplain Hunk”!

As typical for Chaplain Morse, the meeting ended only when he had piled so much guilt on Wilma that she bawled in despair. That's when she agreed (as he knew she would) to be spanked by him. The chapel couldn't hide the noise of a spanking, so it would happen in Wilma's own 1300 hours that afternoon. That would give him time to be gone before Nancy returned home from school.

As usual, the meeting ended with Chaplain Morse reciting a sanctimonious prayer, begging for heavenly assistance to help Wilma see “the error of her ways”. Then he dismissed her to “go home and prepare for her punishment”. With mascara smeared and tears still running, Wilma swept past the young assistant on her way out the chapel door.


Wilma arrived home in time for a light lunch, which she hoped would settle her churning gut. Chaplain Morse's instructions hadn't been totally explicit. He hadn't directly said that she was to be spanked naked, but she got his meaning clearly enough. Besides, friends of hers had been through this, and she had secretly thrilled at their stories.

He had explained, “A child's spanking is always non-consensual. Oh that child may submit obediently and not argue, but basically a child has no choice. For that and other good reasons, we respect that child's modesty by removing only necessary clothing.”

Then he came to his real point: “An adult, on the other hand, must consent to be spanked. No consent, no spanking! Therefore it makes sense that an adult should consent and humble themselves 'all the way', holding nothing back.”

So she knew what to do. She showered, dried herself thoroughly, and then covered herself with a bathrobe, and then nervously waited the last few minutes. Doubtless he would arrive precisely at 1300.

As she waited she wondered, did she do this on purpose? Perhaps unconsciously? Was it guilt? It would have been easy to hide her cigarettes and ashtray so that Chaplain Morse couldn't have suspected, yet she hadn't. Why?


Sitting in his office, Dan Morse looked at his watch, 12:45. He donned his billed hat and straightened himself to present a perfect military appearance. As he left, he informed his assistant that he would be gone “for a while”.

Watching him disappear out the door SA Edwards thought, “The viper is about to strike again”. Being young and having been raised by strict and Godly parents, Mike understood spankings better than he would have preferred; but what happened after one of Chaplain Morse's spankings? Still virgin and unschooled in sexual matters, he could only guess what depraved things his boss must do to those poor Navy wives in those vulnerable minutes after their spankings.

Everything was close on this navy base, so Dan walked the three blocks to Wilma's house. With military regard for time, he knocked on her door at precisely 1300. Navy housing is compact, so three other wives noticed Dan. Two of them correctly guessed the Chaplain's errand. Any doubt disappeared when Wilma's across-the-street neighbor spied Wilma's bathrobe as she opened her front door for the Chaplain. Yes, word would zip around the informal wife’s network, but it was no big deal. Wilma was hardly the first wife to be spanked by “Chaplain Hunk”. A few wives would feel sorry for her, but most would envy her.


To set the proper mood, he sat Wilma down for another talk. After a prayer, he escorted her into her bedroom and closed the door behind them. Deliberately, he removed his hat and jacket. He was now “dressed for action”.

He sat on the bed in the same position as before, looked at her meaningfully, and patted his lap.

Wilma was so nervous that her teeth chattered. She felt like she could pee, but had wisely emptied her bladder at 12:57. He hadn't ordered her to, but she knew what was expected. She unbuttoned her robe, and shyly shrugged it off.

Dan's manhood went from firm to painfully rigid the moment Wilma emerged from her robe. She had firm breasts, shapely thighs, a flat belly, and luxurious hair “down there”. To hide her front she quickly bent over his lap, where she felt a distinct hardness against her left hip. She thought, “he likes me!”.

Naturally, Wilma's bottom-high position allowed Dan to ogle her posterior at close range. Wilma was no centerfold bunny, but to Dan's eyes her bottom, hips and thighs certainly passed muster! From behind, her waist seemed even smaller than from the front view. Perhaps responding to some childhood memory, Wilma put her right hand in the small of her back, offering it to be restrained. He accepted, wrapping a big hand around her wrist.

Her face was in the mattress, which had already absorbed some tears, but she turned her head to sob an apology for her behavior.

His response was surprisingly kind, “I appreciate that”, but then said, “Ready?”

She nodded into the mattress squeaking something unintelligible.

He raised his hand, and brought it down rapidly to her right buttock. Before she could gasp or squirm, he gave her left buttock the same treatment.

Soon he found a brisk tempo. Despite herself, Wilma tried to squirm under the rapidly increasing sting, but found that Dan had her torso firmly pinned. Without realizing it, her legs became mobile. As her feet levitated off the floor, her thighs opened, affording Dan new views to ogle and new vistas to spank.

Dan was in his glory. The view of her roiling bottom and churning thighs was a fantasy come true. Her throes hurt his rock-hard penis, while simultaneously stimulating him pleasantly.

Wilma wailed piteously, eyes shedding genuine tears. Dan spanked her thoroughly; buttocks, sit spots, backs and sides of thighs, and even a few opportunistic shots to the inner thighs, but he didn't spank her as hard as he had spanked Nancy. His goal for this spanking was to trigger a much-needed emotional release in Wilma, to give her a believable punishment, and to have some enjoyment for himself in the process. He had no desire to spank anyone severely. Besides, if he hoped for a return engagement, severity wouldn't be in his interest.

So finally it was over. Having been spanked to a bright pink hue in all of the aforementioned areas Wilma sobbed loudly. He held the distraught woman over his lap for several minutes, allowing her to regain her senses. He spoke soft forgiving words, telling her that her punishment was over.

This is when his fingers started wandering! As his digits wormed their way towards their target, he spoke soothingly and logically. “Not just anyone is allowed to do this, but I'm a professional and you are totally safe with me. Nothing will happen to hurt you, so just relax and let your brain carry you to some secret erotic place. It's okay! It's just a massage, and you need this.”

At first she stiffened, but then her thighs relaxed and parted to allow access. He dipped into her natural lubrication, and then carried the magic stuff to her nub. For a single man, he showed amazing talent. Soon she was gasping and moaning her way through her first orgasm since her husband's deployment.

Still holding her down, he allowed her breathing to return to normal, and then repeated her “massage”. This time she spread her thighs wide and thrust her red bottom up towards him. Soon her buttocks were plunging as she worked her way towards her second climax, her movements stimulated Dan almost over the edge...almost. Finally Wilma recovered from her second orgasm, and Dan helped her to her feet. True to his personal code, he made no sexual advances towards her, not even a single hug or kiss. Wilma knew what this must be costing him, and she had heard whispers from other wives about what to do about it.

Without asking for permission, she unzipped him, undid his belt, and unbuttoned his pants.

She growled, “If it's okay for you to do me, then it's okay for me to return the favor. This could get messy. You might wanna push those pants down and pull up your shirt.” After spreading his precom around the head of his impressive member, she expertly rubbed his penis with her soft hands. Sooner than she expected, he stiffened and gasped. Knowing the symptoms, she searched frantically before grabbing a pair of her own panties from a bedside table, with she used to catch the ensuing tsunami. Wilma's quick action saved them from a sticky mess.

“I'll be right back,” she promised. True to her word, she returned with a damp towel to clean him up. That done, she reverently caressed his now-shriveled appendage. Before he could object, she impulsively ran her tongue over his glans. Almost instantly his tool again reported for duty. She grinned, “You gave me two orgasms, so I owe you one more.” This time she favored him with an expert tongue-twirling blow job. He dutifully tried to warn her just before he exploded, but her only answer was “mmpfffff”. Once the carnal deed was done, there was no cleanup necessary.

Just like after the spanking, Dan would allow no hugs or kisses. He wanted no emotional complications to develop. He took liberties, but never would he have actual intercourse with another man's wife.

Only a few minutes later, a fully uniformed Chaplain Dan Morse marched out the front door of Wilma's house as if nothing had happened. And in a way, nothing had, except that Wilma's stress problem was alleviated, and she wouldn't be tempted to smoke again; at least not soon.

Of course, after that session Chaplain Morse was pretty de-stressed himself!

It was truly a win-win situation, both Wilma and the Chaplain had profited from their private encounter.

Yes, most folks would think it wrong, but Wilma's smoking had been an early symptom of a growing problem. Had it continued, her husband might have come home to some serious Wilma-caused marriage-straining problems. So now Wilma had avoided possible disaster and was back on the right track, doing well in both her parental and wifely roles.

Chaplain Morse's unusual methods were generally known around the base. Many people on the outside would think what he was doing was a terrible thing, but in the insular confines of this little Navy community those methods worked. The submarine service is known as the “silent service” for a good reason: Instinctively, navy people seldom talked directly among themselves about the Chaplain's methods, and never with an outsider!

Some wives were totally honest with their husbands about any private encounters they had had with the Chaplain, while others kept a discrete “don't ask-don't tell” silence. To a man, every deployed sailor on the base would prefer that his wife have a harmless mini-fling with the trusted Chaplain rather than to lapse into real infidelity. (But honestly, should the Chaplain visit their own wife, not all of those sailors wanted to hear about it.) So even though the situation was gray, arguably the Chaplain was hardly the “viper” that Seaman Apprentice Edwards thought he was.

In fact, largely due to the Chaplain's disciplinary methods, this little isolated submarine base had little of the teenage delinquency that infests some navy communities, plus it had a tiny divorce rate.


Being new to the military, Seaman Apprentice Mike Edwards still had much to learn about navy ways. He was a religious person, who sprang from a religious family in a religious small southern town. His life's ambition was to pastor a church. To this end, he had spent one glorious year in a college Divinity program. Unfortunately, financial pressures had forced him into the military. He planned to save his Navy pay so that he could resume his Divinity studies and eventually become an ordained minister. The Navy had assigned him here to serve on the base staff, where he had initially been delighted to land a job as the Chaplain's Assistant.

But Mike still had much to learn, and had found his job a big disappointment. He thought that he would be an Assistant Pastor, helping Chaplain Morse with his flock and helping him lead them to the “true word”. He had also imagined himself having long debates with the Chaplain on deep religious theory. Perhaps the man would even see things his way! But as it happened, the Chaplain had a network of lay leaders to help him with his flock and he saw the mentoring of those leaders as an important jobs. Further, Chaplain Morse had little desire to debate religion with a young man who had barely started his religious education.

Like everywhere in the Navy, in the chapel the junior person did the lowliest jobs. So rather than serving as an Assistant Pastor, Mike served as the Chapel's toilet cleaner, receptionist, coffee maker, and Janitor. He thought it all beneath him, and totally unfair. That's part of the reason he disliked his boss. The other reason was that Mike was brought up with a rigid moral code. So as he gradually became aware of the Chaplain's unusual methods, he increasingly disapproved, thinking, “something must be done about this”.

By a miscommunication, the Base Commander's wife appeared in the chapel office to see the Chaplain at a time when he wasn't there. So she talked to the nice young sailor to make a new appointment. Just before she turned to leave, Seaman Apprentice Edwards nervously cleared his throat and spoke up.

“Umm ma-am? Something's heavy on my heart. I've been praying about taking it to the newspaper, but I think the Lord has brought you here to hear me.”

Thinking of her husband's career, the lady's eyebrow's shot up, “Newspaper?” She croaked, “We must never tell the newspaper about military matters.” In a conspiratorial voice she explained, “Military secrets you know, people go to military prison for that.”

He gulped, “Goodness ma-am, I hadn't thought of that. Truly, you must have been sent here for a reason. Will you hear my story and then advise me what to do?”

She stared owlishly, “Yes son, let's have it.”

“Chaplain Morse is a viper,” he wailed. “I don't know what he's doing with our Navy wives, but surely it's something immoral.”

As he told everything he knew (which happily wasn't much) Mike failed to notice the woman's mouth tighten into a small white line.

Yes, she knew about the Chaplain's methods. She didn't exactly approve, but one couldn't argue with results, nor with the esteem that everyone held for him. On the other hand, she couldn't have this young man running around flapping his jaws.

But the Navy has ways of taking care of such problems.

“Leave this in my hands,” she said as she left the office, but her mouth still formed that thin white line. “Stay in your barracks this evening, we may...err...need more information.”

That evening, two husky sailors from Base Security appeared in Mike's humble barracks. They had written orders for him, and plane tickets. After ordering him to immediately pack his sea bag, they drove him two hours to the closest commercial airport, and personally put him on a plane. He had several more flights ahead of him over the following days. At each terminal he was met by military security and held incommunicado until his next flight.


Tired, confused and badly needing a shower, Seaman Apprentice Mike Edwards finally landed on Guam, a dot of land in the middle of the Pacific. There he again found himself assigned to base staff. This time though, there was no interview with the base Chaplain. Strangely, the man never seemed available to talk with him. Rather than the chapel, he was assigned to the base sewer plant.

For the rest of his navy career Mike spit-shined the sewer plant's brightly painted pump room and machinery. His boss was a grumpy, grizzled Chief Machinist Mate whose vocabulary consisted mostly of curse words, but who was obsessed with making Mike keep that sewer plant as sparkling as a new ship's engine room.

Mike never did figure out what he did wrong.

It bears repeating: The Navy has ways of taking care of problems like Mike. For that matter; if Chaplain Morse ever becomes a problem, the Navy is capable of making him disappear also.

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