Hard Discipline in the Navy
Hard Discipline in the Navy
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Heheh...a maritime commission for
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"...fifteen seconds till impact, sir!"
Captain Foster gripped the armrests of his chair while his teeth grit together.
"Hard a port!" the Rottweiler yelled roughly. "Ahead flank!"
The entire ship vibrated under the strain of the engines revving up to their maximum power. People all over the bridge held onto their stations while the ship banked steeply to the port.
"Ten seconds! Still going to hit, sir!"
"Hard to starboard!" the Captain barked out. "Brace for impact!"
"Five...four...three...two...one...!"
A loud, incessant buzz filled the bridge and made every pair of ears flatten, none the least those of the Captain, whose teeth were now bared in a growl.
"...and we're dead," said Lieutenant Commander Leslie, the Executive Officer of the USS Robert Fulton, from his own post behind a console near the Captain.
The Captain's tail smacked against the base of his chair. His facial expression was not suitable for seeing by the rest of the gathered crew.
"Stand down," the Rottweiler muttered under his breath, "resume course."
"Yes, sir!" announced Mr. Leslie. The lion grabbed one of the intercom receivers hanging off their curly cables from the ceiling above his post, and spoke into it. "Now hear this, standing down general quarters. Battle drill is over, I repeat, drill is over. Secure your stations and return to normal duties. This is the bridge, out."
A bell rang to announce that the ship had returned back to business as usual after the combat drills. Even though the enemy threat had been simulated, the bridge crew could be seen to relax, noticeably so, after the announcement.
"Helm, take us to direction oh seven zero and proceed at 10 knots."
"Aye, aye, sir, 10 knots, oh seven zero, mark!"
The ship turned onto its original course in a much more leisurely manner, enabling the crew to stand on the deck properly again. The Captain continued to grind his teeth while he stared through the windows onto the calm seas ahead.
"Well, I thought we had it," Commander Leslie spoke up. "Sir."
One of the Rottweiler's long ears flicked at the lion's words, but he did not speak up.
"I better have the after action report ready, sir" the XO said. "See what the CIC has to say."
"Hmmmm," the Captain vocalized.
"I'm sure that Lieutenant Wilkes has his suggestions," the XO offered helpfully.
"Hmmmmmphh."
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"...so basically you're saying that the Virginia shot a pair of torpedoes up our asses because we were too noisy, Lieutenant?" Commander Leslie stated to the sour-looking coyote sitting opposite to him on the wardroom table.
"Yes, sir," answered Lieutenant Wilkes. "Though Commander Jules was somewhat more...verbose about it on the Gertrude, sir."
Commander Leslie looked embarrassed. The tactical officer simply appeared unhappy. The Captain's face looked like he'd received the said underwater projective directly into his own unlubricated backside as a result. Everyone around the table knew that their commanding officer was not impressed by their performance during the day's painstakingly arranged battle drill. Practicing submarine hunting with a real atomic submarine lurking under the sea was not an opportunity they had too often, and now that they'd gotten their live target, things hadn't turned out for the best.
"I bet he was," Mister Leslie grumbled.
The people around the table were trying not to do it, but everyone, including the Captain was looking at one particular occupant of the wardroom. The timberwolf in question sat on his own spot and looked...ambivalent at best, paws resting on the tabletop. He was wearing the blue boilersuit of the Engineering department, and appeared quite calm despite the scrutiny he was under. None was as blunt with it as the Captain. The Rottweiler on the end of the table was unable to hide all of his displeasure at the moment.
"Well," the Captain said, after a pause that was too weighty for comfort, "so what did the Commander say? I presume that he was a bit more detailed than just calling us noisy."
"Mmmindeed,"Lieutenant Wilkes nodded. He had a few sheets of paper piled in front of him, and the top one was covered in paw-written text. The coyote took a moment contemplating the contents before he spoke up again. "Their computer identified our propellers momentarily, plus there was a high-pitched noise they were able to track consistently and used for preparing the firing solution on three different occasions they used for simulated attacks before they transmitted the pulse that sunk us."
He arranged the papers together and tapped them onto the surface of the table like a newscaster, and awaited for the perfect storm.
"Right," Captain Foster declared.
"Commander Trey?" Mister Leslie spoke up. It appeared that the XO wished to ease the tension by acting as a mediator between the stoic-faced Chief Engineer suffering from the Captain's Tomahawk missile-like glances and the commanding officer himself. The timberwolf appeared much less affected than the Rottweiler, who still kept cracking his knuckles.
""There's a few things it could be," the timberwolf spoke calmly. "Reduction gear, a turbopump issue, the seawater system..."
"That's not good enough, Chief," Captain Foster wasn't in the mood for waffling, and that was obvious. "You're the one who runs the shop down there, you should know better."
"All the systems cleared the sound proofing checks during the last layover," the Chief Engineer replied. "And the bilge pump that was giving us cavitation issues was fixed on Monday."
"Could that been it, then?" Wilkes asked. "maybe there was a residual issue?"
"Hard to say," the timberwolf mused. "Everything was running smoothly as far as I could tell. We were going by the silent running procedure the whole time we were under general quarters. I've got my diagnostics guys going through the systems logs and comparing the timestamps with the data from the Virginia to see if we can correlate any system malfunction with them detecting us. That's pretty much all I want to do for now."
"You want to do, Chief?" the Captain stated.
"There's no point for me to start taking things apart or crawling into the maintenance shafts to listen at pistons with a stethoscope," the timberwolf said. "There're dozens of systems it could be from and before I see those reports, we're taking a shot in the dark. At least the reports offer a chance of taking an educated guess at it."
"What kind of a timeframe are we looking at, Chief?" Mister Leslie asked.
"With the hundred other things on my maintenance schedule..." the timberwolf replied.
The Captain slapped his paw against the tabletop and grunted.
"Meanwhile the sub boys are laughing their asses off at us getting sunk," Captain Foster harrumphed.
"The vanguard of the Navy ASW force..." Chief Trey commented.
The Captain's ears dropped faster than the simulated torpedo had caused their hopes of military glory to become submerged into the bottomless sea of broken dreams.
"Do you find this in some way amusing?" the Rottweiler rumbled.
"No, sir," the Chief Engineer said.
"The Virginia has to proceed to Groton in the next three hours to keep unto their own schedule," Mister Leslie chimed in. "Unless we want to let them do a couple of simulated attacks on us while we continue troubleshooting..."
"Let them go," Captain Foster huffed. "If we're going to be sitting ducks, I'd rather admit defeat and have them go their way."
"I shall inform them, sir," the lion replied in a chipper manner.
"Unless anyone has anything constructive to say about this drill, you're dismissed," Captain Foster ordered.
They filed out of the the room in a somewhat disheartened queue of men, leaving a growly Rottweiler behind them as they jumped ship.
"Crap," the Captain rubbed his muzzle and huffed out his displeasure at the turns of the day. "Fuck."
The Rottweiler kicked his ass mentally for his unprofessional conduct during the day. He hated it when the more hotheaded part of his personality interfered with his work. It'd gotten him into trouble enough in the past.
"Shit," the Captain muttered while glaring at a photo of the Commander-in-Chief hanging on the wall to spy on them at every moment.
"Ghrrrr..."
*
2314 Hours - The Lower Decks
Captain Foster was roaming the ship.
His official duty shift had ended hours ago, but still the Captain was awake - even beyond his general belief that a commanding officer never really did go off duty while he was onboard his ship and responsible for the well being of the entire crew. He'd been in terrible moods ever since the disastrous sub hunt drill, spending the time shouting at his officers, drinking too much coffee and doing the most mind-numbing thing he knew, paperwork.
After he'd finished all the reports, to his own surprise, the Skipper had gone to the ship's small gym and spent almost two hours on the treadmill, lifting a few weights and slamming his gloved fists at the punching bag until sweat poured down his back and glued his grey Navy issue exercise shirt onto his fur and skin. The Rottweiler's arms hurt, but in that good way that told him that at least he'd accomplished something. It still wasn't enough to take his mind entirely out of the failure of the day, and hence the dog's restlessness had continued.
Though a Navy ship never slept, the activities were somewhat curtailed during the night, and the Captain could see as much during his long trek through the countless bulkhead doors and hatches, up and down manholes and ladderwells and the other fittings of a ship built for utility and combat, not for leisure cruises down the Carribbean.
Looking at the walls covered in carefully labeled panels and different-colored pipes, it was easy for Foster to feel a measure of pride for the ship and her company of men, the day's events notwithstanding. He couldn't decide which one to dislike more, the misbehaving bulkheads or the men who were supposed to be running her at peak performance. At least they'd been humiliated by a sub boy and not someone from the rest of the surface fleet. Those submarine boys liked keeping to their own company for most part, and generally they liked to keep their cock-waving contests to themselves.Hopefully the report he'd file in with Command would make the incident seem like a brief technical difficulty and nothing more.
Otherwise he might have asses to kick...
The dog's tail remained stiffly between his legs while he stomped down along the corridor. His ears were slowly drawing lower, as the level of noise increased. He had wandered down near the bottom of the ship, filled to the brim with the powerful machinery that propelled the ship and kept both the vessel and her crew in fighting fit condition. The air was different there, too, smelling of lubrication oil, warm plastic and painted steel. The vibration of the nearby machinery made the bulkheads thrum in tune, and that affected the strangely charged air enough that the Rottweiler's whiskers were similarly affected. It made Foster want to sneeze, but it was also a strangely exhilarating a sensation as well. It was like he was truly inside the ship there, surrounded by the powerful, pulsing core of his little floating domain.
He loved being in command of a destroyer. Each of them was a true hot rod of the sea, powerful, armed to the teeth, a proud, nimble thing that actually responded under his commands and didn't have the handling qualities of a floating skyscraper like an aircraft carrier might do. He also enjoyed the fact that these ships did their business with cunningness and open aggression rather than the boys of the 'silent service' - the submariners whose black ocean-going turds did all their shooting on the back. Foster considered his ship a smoking gun, one that could be pointed at anyone's face - or their balls, he thought, with a grin - and they'd definitely know what was coming before he'd fire a Tomahawk under their tails.
Another set of steps later he landed onto yet another deck, and the noises grew headier, so low as to almost pass into the unperceivable, more to be felt than heard. He was in the compartment between the bulkheads that separated the forward generator room from the auxiliary propulsion plant, pieces of machinery that rarely stopped running. The light level was low, and he got the sense that personnel rarely came in, unless they really had to. It didn't really feel like the most welcoming part of the ship. Even though quarters were tight throughout the vessel, here the walls felt like they were pressing down on him. The singular damage control passage was flanked by axle spaces and little cupboard-like spaces containing further rarely accessed equipment rooms.
It was the end of the line. Everything between him and the sea was the bilge. It'd be time to turn back on his tracks and return to the upper decks.
CLANGGGG!
His ears picked up a strange metallic noise, followed by a muttered "shit!" that the Skipper noted with similar ease. It was coming from behind a door nearby, on the other side of the narrow passage. The Captain wasn't sure why anyone would be down there at that hour, and decided to investigate.
The Rottweiler grabbed the wheel on the hatch-like door and tested it. He only had to turn it half a circle to release the locking mechanism, which meant that whoever was inside had been lazy while closing the hatch. The Captain was already preparing a sharp remark of a reprimand for such sloppy conduct when he pulled the door open and stepped inside with the practiced ease of a naval dog, when he realized just who was occupying the small room.
Chief Trey looked like he'd been working at his business for some time now. There were parts on the floor, and the machinery by the wall had been partially disassembled with the tools that peered out of a sizeable kit he must've brought with him. The timberwolf's blue boilersuit was stained with grease, as were his paws, and the smell seemed to be even stronger in the confined space the small machinery hold provided.
"Captain," the wolf spoke curtly.
The Rottweiler almost did a double take. He hadn't expected to meet anyone down there, let alone the Chief Engineer, whom had been in his mind for much of the day. He'd felt intense annoyance that went beyond normal bother from the poor performance during the drill, followed by the lupine's seeming attitude issues from the post-action briefing. Suddenly being face to face with the subject of his fuming was unsettling, and surprising.
"Chief," the Captain muttered.
There was an awkward silence that stretched long enough that it prompted the timberwolf to speak again.
"The OWS pump gave a red flag on one of the diagnostics," the engineer said. "I'm taking it apart."
The Captain eyed the pile of parts belonging to the device that was meant to remove oil from the water that trickled into the ship's bilge. It was a very large piece of machinery, like a family fridge, really, yet it served an important function. That didn't really provide an answer to the Captain's wondering on why the Chief Engineer of all crewmembers was doing such maintenance work at that hour, when he wasn't on duty.
"And is this what blew the drill?" the Captain asked.
It seemed like the most reasonable assumption to make - the wolf finally putting it all together and fixing things to show that he was up to his job. It was a matter of professional pride for the Captain to give the wolf such a chance.
"Nope, as far as i can tell," the timberwolf said. "It gave a red flag and it needs a once-over. Might as well do it now."
The sweaty Captain looked at the messy wolf and the scattered pieces of his ship on the floor of the small room. It sounded strange to him.
"Don't you have anyone else to do it?"
"It's not urgent," the Chief said, "and it's what...2300 hours, anyway?"
That's when you're supposed to be sleeping so that you're not asleep during your shift you asshole! the Captain thought.
"So is everyone else trying to find the source of the noise?" the Captain grunted.
The Chief shrugged.
"I've got a couple guys looking at it," the tinberwolf said. "See what comes up."
The Captain's tail snapped down against his taut, muscled ass enclosed in his training pants. Hearing the dismissive tone in the wolf's voice was not helping his blood pressure. The CMO might ground him if he'd done a test at that moment.
The Rottweiler cleared his throat loudly.
"I thought I made it very clear, Chief, that I consider it to be of maximum priority," the dog spoke. "Our operational capacity has been compromised and - "
The Chief shrugged again.
"It's a whine," he said. "Did you hear the tape they made of it? It's a tiny whine, like an electric drill running, nothing more."
Maybe you're the one whining here you son of bitch!
"If that was a hostile sub and they'd picked up that whine when we were doing high speed maneuvers they could have sneaked up on us and we'd be floating in the middle of an oil slick in the Atlantic!" the Captain muttered.
"That's why I'm fixing this OWS pump so that we won't be leaving a trail of oil behind us like a Cuban trawler," the Chief said.
The Captain bared his teeth.
"That goddarned sub didn't find us by a fucking oil trail!" the Rottweiler barked out. It sounded even louder and echoing in the tiny space they occupied. "You're just fucking TINKERING down here when there's real work to be done elsewhere!"
The timberwolf looked taken aback. He was obviously not pleased by the intrusion into his work, let alone one such bad tempered coming from his commanding officer. Captain Foster was starting to both look and sound livid, with his aggressive body language and the growl rising from his throat.
"I've got an entire engineering department to run and those flank speed turns are never easy on the ship, you know," the Chief said. "A lot of stuff gets rattled."
It was the 'you know ' that caused the Rottweiler's frayed nerves to burst into full outright anger. He growled and launched forward towards the Chief - a foolhardy thing considering how many bludgeon-like stainless vanadium-molybdenum tools were within the wolf's reach - and gripped him by his uniform.
RATTLE THIS! yelled the Captain's mind, but his throat only let out a very deep, dangerous growl that the timberwolf responded to with a loud bark. They snapped teeth and grappled, with the Chief thrown against the pipes running along the wall, pinned onto them by the apparently blindly angry canine trying to assert himself.
The Skipper landed on the Chief heavily, weighty doggie muscle covered in sweaty, musky fur that pressed all over the engineer who was doing his best trying to escape from the crazed canine's clutches.
There was precious little space, it was hot in there, and the air soon smelled more of sweat and masculine aggression than the original combination of oil and peeling paint. They couldn't move away from one another, it was heady and hard, each trying to win the upper paw while they gripped, clicked teeth and let it loose. The Captain pressed onto the Chief hard, trying to keep him immobilized while his claws made tears onto the fabric of his boiler suit.
They didn't exchange verbal slurs anymore. This was no longer about the chain of command or differences in personal opinions or command styles. This was now just a primal struggle to see which one of them was the bigger, stronger, meaner dog on the boat- They clawed and gnawed on one another, tore into each other's clothes and covered their opponents' bodies in their scent. The Captain might've been sweaty before, but even the brief physical exertion in the confined, warm space made his body put out a fresh batch of even muskier perspiration that stained the man he was about to put back into his place.
"...you whelp!" the Rottie hissed as he took the wolf into a good headlock and pulled his muzzle down onto his heaving chest.
The Chief kicked at the dog's legs and tried kneeling him in the groin, but the Captain delivered a powerful kick at one of the timberwolf's knees. He let out a yelp that blew hot air down the angry Captain's body, only serving to inflame him further.
""Fucking piece of ass - "
The Captain twisted at the wolf's neck and threw him down onto the floor. He landed amidst the scattered tools and his head swung forward dangerously, yet he had not the time for his forehead to smack onto the series of pipes and valves on the wall in front of him. The Captain made sure of that by grabbing the wolf's neck furs into one rough, big paw and pulling.
"You ain't going anywhere - " the Captain snarled, spit pouring down and over his chin.
His other paw took hold of the wolf's tail and he yanked hard, causing the pinned lupine to let out a yelp. The Captain was now in a complete, primal frenzy and no longer considered anything else but the domination of the timberwolf lodged against the bulkhead.
There was only one way possible, in his mind, and that involved tearing the sturdy cloth of the boilersuit. He'd clasped a pawful after delivering the harsh tug on the wolf's tail, and now, pulling and using his claws, the fabric came apart at the seam down the ass of the suit. The Captain briefly considered the amusing fact that while the engineer's outfit had been rated to withstand a lot of wear, it was no match for one angry Rottie needing to get his frustrations out.
"You-fuck-with-me!" the Rottie spat harshly. "I - "
He didn't even have the breath to say it. Instead,he Captain delivered a heartless slap onto the wolf's ass before he used that very same slightly stinging paw to pull down his training pants and his Navy boxers. A red, very sweaty, dirty cock flopped out and stood brilliantly in the otherwise dark, dank room. His length glistened with sweat and precum that had accumulated both during the workout and now during their impromptu sparring. The Rottweiler was so aroused that his knot was easily fully engorged already, firm, veined, and ready to burst.
"Won't even be angry that it's the only thing that makes you obey my fucking orders!" the Captain hissed dirtily into the wolf's ear while he fisted saliva over his length, two, three rough pulls of wet fingers over his cock before his red rocket was ready for action and pushed unceremoniously between the wolf's ass cheeks.
"Nhhuuuh!" the timberwolf let out a yelp when the dick pushed through the ragged opening on the back of his ruined boilersuit and onto his cleft.
"Hmmhhph!" the Rottie huffed like one of the Chief's precious steam exhausts, right down onto his neck that he was also mauling with his teeth, skin, cloth and fur in the grip of his jaws.
He hammered his hips forward, going by the simple feel of difference between bare skin and musky, unwashed fur to find the spot, deep under that squirming tail. His arm went around the wolf's neck and shoulder and pinned him even further into place, not just with his weight but also the hot poker thrusting against his asshole and the reminder of the teeth gnawing on his neck scruff.
"Fffffff...."
The Captain's huffing dry-fuck soon became the real thing, when he pushed against the Chief' asshole again and again until the reluctant muscle had no choice but to give way to the attack of the hard, wet dick. He let out an "umph!" when he was rudely spread open initially, but it was nothing compared to what was happening when the wolf's hips slammed forward and delivered several inches of straining hard slick Rottie-cock deep into the timberwolf's barely ready ass.
The Rottie was ready to fuck the wolf into submission, and that he did. He hunched against the still cloth- covered rump, and his hips fucked a storm while he gave it hard up the ass for the insubordinating senior officer the dog had decided needed a very particular lesson in proper obedience and respect to his Captain.
Just a little bit of saliva and precum made for a rough, almost dry fuck, but the Rottie made for it with his sheer strength. His balls slapped hard onto the wolf's ass crack with every thrust he made to fill him up with his meat, and on the withdrawing pulls the skin of the wolf's once delicate anus tugged backwards to create a slurping ring of lips that stimulated the Captain's messy tool all the way before he was ready to hump back into the tight pipe he was pistoning into.
Now that was his kind of engineering, thought the Rottweiler, not missing a single thrust while he braced a paw onto a nearby cold water pipe so that he could use the extra leverage to fuck even harder into the Engineer's rump.The bent over wolf was all rumbles and whinnies by now, reduced to this level of semi-delirium by the experience of getting the Captain's hard hot poker stuffed repeatedly into his guts.
Even if getting buttfucked by a rough, frustrated dog wasn't enough. The presence of the threatening, bulging knot slamming against the wolf's tailhole with every thrust only drove in the message that he was truly and utterly under the mercy of the big Navy officer ramming himself up the Chief's ass like he meant it.
His whines became more like pants when the bulb of flesh on the bottom of that meaty dick spreading him open began to gain ground. The leering, puffing Rottie knew as much, too, and only worked his hips to angle himself right and pry the wolf's backside truly open. The sensation put the dog's mating instinct into overdrive and prompted him to do even more serious pounding into the wolf's invaded ass.
"Huh...huh...huh...huh..."
It was nothing short of electric, when he plugged in and his cum simply poured down into the Chief's guts. The fierce bursts of Captain-cum painted the huffing wolf's insides, making the walls of his rectum constrict and tug on Foster's cannon firing away a full broadside.
The Captain had nothing more to say, and the Chief seemed to not expect anything, either, during the brief time they remained mounted and tied, followed by the plop of the knot being pulled out of the Chief's stuffed rear. His hole was obscene red and open and expelled a trickle of cum down into his taint and his balls, down into the torn pants where it mixed - as the Captain's nose told him well enough - with the cum the timberwolf had spewed in there on his own accord from the sheer pressure of being fucked hard up the ass.
"Next time you give me lip like that, I'll make sure your shitter will see more action than the cheapest whore in Norfolk when this ship returns there, you fucking heard that?" the Rottweiler snarled after he'd stolen some paper towels from the Engineer's kit to wipe himself clean of cum and smut.
The engineer gave him an indignant look. The Captain growled, grabbed the man by his ears, and stuffed the balled-up cummy paper towel into the wolf's muzzle before he hocked up a heavy wad of spit directly between his eyes.
"And that's Sir to you even when my dick's up your ass," the Captain growled out his final parting shot before he decided that it was time to leave the gormless officer behind.
"See you and your sore ass later, sweetcheeks," Captain Foster snorted.
He turned around just before the Chief's lips tugged into a tentative smile, even with his ass sore and oozing and his tongue becoming covered with a soggy, smelly mixture of cum and dissolving paper.
*
Thank you for reading! I hope you had a good time, and I look forward to your comments! Remember that your feedback will always help others to find these stories to enjoy as well!
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