Chapter Sixteen:

"So what's wrong with following established procedures?"

-M. GORBACHEV

THE WAREHOUSE WHICH was Supply Depot Number Thirteen was truly immense, which is to say it was big. In fact, it was so huge that youse got the feelin' that if the weather turned bad, they could move all the stuff out of here and have the war indoors. The only trouble with that idea was that by the time they got everythin' moved out, odds are they would have forgotten what it was they was fightin' about in the first place ... but even if they could remember, they'd probably be too tired to want to fight about it.

There was racks of stuff everywhere, with aisles big enough to drive a wagon down scattered around so as to carve everythin' into a series of islands, and lots of tunnels and crawlspaces twistin' their way into each of the islands. It occurred to me upon first viewin' this expanse that it was gonna be a perfect base of operation for us, as when and if anythin' went wrong, it would make one whale of a hideout. This thought was amplified when we discovered that the crew what had worked here before us had apparently opted to live on-site, as there were a lot of "nests" and hole-ups around the warehouse furnished with cots and hammocks and pillows and other stuff obliviously filched from the piles of supplies.

In short, it was a sweet setup, and the crew loses no time settlin' in, after some of them scattered and went explorin' to find out just what sort of stuff we have inherited to ride herd on while a couple of us tried to make sense out of the paperwork and charts heaped up on the desks.

"Hoo-ey!" Shu Flie sez, emergin' from the stacks with his brother at his side. "I've never seen so much stuff in one place! They got everything here!"

"A lot of it's pretty old, though," Hy Flie sez. "We had newer stuff than some of this junk back on the farm ... and most of that stuff is still around from Pop Flie."

"Pop Flie?" I sez before I has a chance to think about whether or not I really wants to hear the answer.

"That's our grandpa," Shu explains. "Course, sometimes we call him ..."

"I get the picture," I sez, interruptin' before he can explain any more.

It occurs to me to make a point of not ever visitin' the Flie residence.

"What I can't figure," Junebug sez, joinin' our discussion, "is how they keep track of all this stuff. I mean, there doesn't seem to be any order or scheme to how things are stored. It's like they just keep pushing the old pile further back and stack the new stuff in front as it comes in without any effort to group things by category."

This sounds uncomfortably like the beginnin' of an idea which could improve our efficiency ... which is, of course, the last thing my cousin and me want to see happen. Sneakin' a glance at Nunzio, I can see he's thinkin' the same thing, and catchin' my eye he gives a little shake of his head to confirm that observational.

"Ummm ... I don't guess it is such a bad system, Junebug," I sez, thinkin' fast. "I mean, would you want to rearrange all this stuff to make room for each new shipment as it comes in?"

"You could get around that by leaving extra room in each storage category," he sez, not backin' off from his idea. "We gotta do something to organize this mess. Otherwise, we'll be spending all our time just trying to locate each item when we have to fill an order. I can't see how they've been operating around here without some kind of system."

"They've got a system all right," Spellin' Bee sez, lookin' up from the Forms Instruction Manual he was readin'. "The problem is, they've got so much duplicate paperwork to fill out they probably never had any time left over to try to organize the warehouse itself! I can't believe they expect us to fill out all these forms for every item in and out of inventory."

What the officer told me flashes across my mind, and it gives me an idea.

"Do you think you can come up with a better trackin' system. Bee?" I sez.

"Probably," he sez, shuttin' the instruction manual. "Let's see ... we'd need some sort of floor map ... two of them actually, one so we know what's already here and where it is, and a second to establish the redefined areas ... and then a simple In/Out Log so we could track the movement of items ..."

"Okay," I interrupts, "get started on it. Figure out what we're gonna have to do and what you'll need in the way of information."

This, of course, earns me a hard look from Nunzio.

"I ... If you say so, Guido," Bee sez, hesitantly, glancin' at the instruction manual. "But shouldn't we be following the established procedures?"

"Just go ahead and work up your plan," I sez. "We'll worry about fillin' out the army paperwork after we get this place functionin' the way we think it should."

"Okay," Bee shrugs. "Come here a second, guys, and I'll show you what I need. If you can start mapping out what's already here, I can start roughing out an In/Out Log, and ..."

"Excuse me, Sergeant Guido," Nunzio sez. "Can I have a word with you ... in private?"

"Why certainly, Sergeant Nunzio," I smile, givin' it right back to him, and follow him as he moves a little ways away from where the crew is huddlin'.

"What are you trying to do?" he hisses, as soon as we are alone. "Maybe I missed a loop, but I was under the impression that improving efficiency was the last thing we wanted to do here!"

"It is," I sez, "except everyone on the crew is thinkin' just the opposite. I'm just stallin' for a little time by insistin' that Bee come up with a complete plan before we actually have to implement any changes."

"Okay," Nunzio nods, "but what happens after he finishes comin' up with a new setup?"

"Then we either stall some more ... or see if things will actually get fouled up more if we go ahead and try to go against army procedures. The officer what was briefin' me seemed pretty certain that the whole army will grind to a halt if all that paperwork Bee is talkin' about doesn't get filled out. At the very least we should have a chance to find out whether or not he is right."

"I dunno," my cousin frowns. "It seems to me that ..."

"Guido! Nunzio!!"

We turn to find an apparition bearin' down on us. At first, I think it is one of those new armored wagons the army has been experimentin' with ... only done up as a parade float. Then I look again, and see that it's ...

"Massha!"

By the time I get this out, our associate has reached us, wrappin' one meaty arm around each of us in a humongous hug.

"I heard you guys were here and just had to come by and say 'Hi'!"

Because I am sorta to one side of her instead of directly in front of her, I can see past her to where our crew has stopped what they are doin' to gape at us ... which is the normal reaction of folks what is seein' Massha for the first time.

"H ... Hi, Massha," Nunzio sez, managin' to squirm loose. "How are things going? Any word from the Boss?"

"Not a peep," Massha sez, lettin' go of me. "There were some funny signs coming through a while back on the monitor ring I gave him, but they settled down and since then everything seems to be normal."

"Do you think he's okay?" I sez. "He's been gone nearly three weeks now."

"Maybe ... maybe not," she shrugs. "Remember that time doesn't flow at the same speeds on all dimensions. It may only have been a few days where he is."

"I get it," Nunzio nods solemn-like. "Like in Moorcock's Eternal Champion books."

"That's right," Massha beams. "As to your other question, things couldn't be going better, Hugh and I are hitting it off like a house afire. I'll tell you boys, I don't like to brag, but I've got him so lovesick, I don't think he remembers that he's in the army ... much less that he's supposed to be running it."