A Commodore of Errors by John Jacobson Page A

he nearly came out of his chair.
    â€œA speech, Bobby? This is about a fucking speech?”
    â€œYes, sir. A speech, sir. The regiment appears lackluster. Forlorn, almost. A motivational speech will—”
    â€œI thought this was about the bandleader. The regiment is forlorn, Bobby, because their bandleader is missing and word is their Commodore might have something to do with it.”
    â€œBut the bandleader is no longer missing, sir. And it seems I’ve gone from suspect to victim—the man tried to run me over.”
    Johnson stared at the strange man in front of him. He was having difficulty processing what he had just been told, in no small part because of the manner in which it was told to him. The Commodore seemed completely unaware of the effect the missing bandleader had on the academy. Not to mention that he seemed totally unfazed by the fact that he was a suspect in the case. Johnson was beginning to think the man was a true sociopath.
    â€œThis place has been on pins and needles for the past three days, Bobby. Are you at all aware of that?”
    â€œPins and needles, sir?”
    â€œAre you fucking with me, Bobby?”
    The sad truth was that the Commodore was not fucking with him. Johnson knew that. The man had his head so far up his own ass that he was incapable of noticing anything or anyone else around him. How the hell did Johnson end up with this lunatic as his second in command?
    â€œIf the regiment has been on pins and needles, then maybe a speech is just what they need, sir.”
    Johnson knew he had to surrender. There was no other way to deal with this man. He put his hands over his face and leaned back in his chair. He stayed this way for what seemed like hours. He eventually removed his hands and let out a long sigh. He looked up at the Commodore standing in front of him. It amazed him how sincere the Commodore could seem when he wanted something.
    â€œWhat kind of speech, Commodore? Like a pep talk or something?” Johnson’s words came out slowly, as if they were being uttered by a man facing defeat.
    â€œExactly, sir! A pep talk is what our boys need.”
    â€œI don’t do pep talks.” Johnson set down the spoon. “Speaking in public makes me nervous.” He looked over his shoulder for the nurse, who usually met him inthe mess hall after the noon meal ended. Johnson liked to take a sail with the nurse after lunch—it helped his digestion. His digestion could sure use the help today. “Besides,” he added, “the regiment was doing okay until this thing with the bandleader. They’re probably just in their usual summer funk, maybe, like they always are in August. It’s hotter ‘n hell in the barracks—it saps their energy.”
    â€œIt’s not their energy that is sapped, sir. It is their spirit. We give them food to nourish their growing bodies, do we not? They deserve spiritual nourishment as well. Words nourish the spirit, especially when one backs one’s words with emotion and delivers them in a stirring oratorical fashion. A well-delivered speech is an intoxicant, sir, an elixir for the masses.”
    â€œSo who the hell is going to give this stirring speech? The commandant? He can barely string two words together.”
    â€œAs it happens, sir, I have a speech prepared,” the Commodore said.
    â€œNot your ‘Back End’ speech!”
    â€œNo, sir.” The Commodore seemed oddly rushed today, in his own pompous, ponderous way. “I’ll give a speech on leadership. It’s a spellbinding speech, sir. Some have called it evocative.”
    â€œI don’t know, Bobby. The regiment has enough going on. Academics, regimental training, inspections, parade rehearsals. What the boys need is to get laid. The poor bastards are walking hormones at their age. They need pussy, not some evocative speech. They need entertainment.”
    â€œDid I hear somebody say