Food Fight?

"The cooks will not take such abuse from the swabs!" Chef's face was red, and he slammed his ladle into the round table.

"Your soup is little better than our mop-water!" screamed the chief swabbie.

"My steersmen and engineers can't stay awake, living off these meager rations!" interrupted the sailing master.

Captain Brakt could see the blame was headed straight for her.

"You lot shut up!" The Captain stood and straightened her holster, making it plain that she was not above using her piece to keep the peace. "Cook! Report on the stores."

"Out of sugar and flour, Captain. Hard tack will last until the end of the week. One pinch of dried herbs, one barrel of chicken stock, and not enough tea to float an eyeball."

"What is the nearest planet to our location?"

"Rock-mar, Captain. Nothing there but mud. Next is Calligula, and you know how they are. Shoot first, ask later."

"CAP! Enemy warship spotted! Looks Fraunkin," a voice reported via intercom.

Amy Brakt smiled. "What say we take some Fraunkin weanies?"