The wild scramble began again with the gear of the port paravane. Willie was no longer sure whether the faultless first launching had been a matter of luck or skill. When the turmoil and blasphemy reached their height as before he was inclined to attribute it to luck. But splash, grind, yowls, curses, silence--and the second paravane was streaming as neatly as the first. "I'll be damned," he said aloud.
"Why?"
Willie jumped a little at the voice. Captain de Vriess was leaning over the bulwark beside him, watching the operation.
"Well, sir, it looked pretty sharp to me, that's all."
"That was the lousiest launching I've ever seen," said De Vriess. "Hey, Steve, what in the Christ took you forty-five minutes?"
Maryk smiled up at him. "Hello, Captain. Why, I didn't think the boys did too bad, for a four-month layoff. Look, sir, none of the other ships have even started to launch."
"Who cares about those snafu buckets? We streamed at Noumea in thirty-eight."
"Sir, that was after four days' practice-"
"Well, I want it done in thirty tomorrow."
"Yes, sir."
The dirty, sweating, ragged sailors stood around, hands rest-ing on their belts, looking singularly self-satisfied under the captain's criticism.
"Sir, it was my fault," spoke up the boatswain's mate. He began an alibi which sounded to Willie like this: "The port bandersnatch got fouled in the starboard rath when we tried to galumph the cutting cable so as not to trip the snozzle again. I had to unshackle the doppelganger and bend on two snarks instead so we could launch in a hurry."
"Well," said De Vriess, "couldn't you have vorpaled the silabub or taken a turn on the chortlewort? That way the jaxo would be clear of the varse and you could forget about the dudelsak. It would have done the same thing."
"Yes, sir," said Bellison. "That might work okay. I'll try it tomorrow."
Willie's heart sank. He was certain that if he sailed a hun-dred years on the Caine he would understand such abracadabra no better than he did at that moment. "Sir," he said to the captain, "is there a standard time for launching the gear?"
"Book calls for one hour," said De Vriess. "The standard on this ship is thirty minutes. I've never been able to make these stumblebums do it. Maybe your friend Queeg will have better luck."
"That's a curious use of the word `standard,' sir," ventured Willie.
De Vriess gave him a satiric look. "Well, that's Navy jargon for you- All right," he called down, "you of the minesweep detail. All things considered it wasn't too terrible a job."
"Thank you, sir," said the sailors, grinning at each other:
The other minesweepers got their gear launched and an afternoon of practice maneuvers began. Willie was dizzied by the turns and twists and changing formations. He tried hard to follow what was happening. Once he went to the bridge and asked Carmody, the junior officer of the deck, to explain the proceedings. Carmody answered with extended gibberish about Baker Runs, George Runs, and Zebra Runs. Willie gathered at last by using his eyes that the ships were pretending to be in a mine field and simulating various emergencies and disasters. A lugubrious business, he thought. The sun was low and the clouds were reddening when word came over the p.a., "Cease present exercises. Recover sweep gear." Willie at once returned to the after deckhouse, partly to learn what he could about hauling in paravanes, but mainly to enjoy the cursing of the sailors. He had never heard anything like it. There was a fine dithyrambic sweep to Caine obscenity in hot moments.
He wasn't disappointed. The minesweep detail worked in a fever, racing against time to get the two paravanes aboard. They kept a constant watch on the two black balls hanging on the yardarms of the other ships; the drop of a ball would mean that a paravane had been recovered. In fifteen minutes the Caine dropped its ball on the port yardarm; and they had the starboard paravane in sight before the Moulton hauled down a ball. Lieutenant Maryk worked with the sailors, stripped to the waist, pouring sweat. "Come on," he shouted, "Twenty--eight minutes so far! Best yet! Let's get that damned egg aboard." But at the last moment there was a calamity. The sailor Fuller, who was pulling the little red float out of the wa-ter, juggled it and dropped it. The float bobbed away in the ship's wake, free.
The other sailors gathered around Fuller and discharged such a flood of inspired cursing that Willie wanted to applaud. Maryk sent word to the bridge. The Caine stopped and then backed slowly. Maryk tore off all his clothes and wrapped a line around his waist. "No sense fooling around with the gig. I'll swim for the goddamn thing. Tell the captain to stop the screws," he said to the chief, and dived over the side.
The sun had set. The float was a red dot on the purple waves, about two hundred yards off the port quarter. The sailors lined the rail, watching the first lieutenant's head slowly approach the float, and Willie heard them muttering about sharks. "I saw a goddamn hammerhead five minutes ago," Bellison said. "I'm damned if I'd swim for it. Save five minutes for the old man and get my behind snatched off-"
Somebody was tapping Willie on the shoulder. He turned impatiently. "Yes, yes, what is it?"
A radioman stood behind him with a flapping despatch in his hand. "This just came over Fox, sir. We're the action addressee. Mr. Keefer says you got the coding duty-"
Willie took the message and glanced at it. "Okay, okay. I'll break it in a few minutes." He thrust the sheet in his pocket and looked to sea. Maryk's head was barely visible now on the dark water. He had reached the float. He thrashed around in it for a minute or so, kicking up white foam, then leaped half out of the water and waved his arms. His shout came feebly on the wind, "Okay, haul in!" The sailors began to pull the wet line back aboard frantically. The float came cutting through the water with Maryk clinging to it.
Willie, tingling with excitement, scampered down the ladder to the fantail. He lost his footing on the slippery deck and fell. A wave of warm salty water broke over him, drenching him. He got himself up, spitting water, and grabbed a life line. The dripping float clanked on the deck. "Haul down the ball to starboard!" Bellison yelled. A dozen arms reached for Maryk as his head bobbed up near the propeller guard. He clambered aboard.
"Christ, sir, you didn't have to do that," said Bellison.
Maryk gasped, "What was the time of recovery?"
The telephone talker said, "Forty-one, sir, when the float got aboard."
"Beat 'em all, sir," said a sailor, pointing seaward. Black balls still hung at the yardarms of the other ships.
"That's fine," grinned Maryk. "Never have heard the end of it if one of those buckets beat us." His eye fell on the bedraggled figure of Willie. "What the hell happened to you, Keith? Did you dive in, too?" The sailors noticed Willie now and snickered.
"Got too interested watching you," said Willie. "That was great work."
Maryk swept water from his broad brown chest and shoulders with his palms. "Hell, I've been looking for an excuse to take a dip."
"Weren't you worried about sharks?"
"Sharks don't bother you if you keep moving. Hell," said the first lieutenant, "I'd take a shark any day rather than the old man if Iron Duke Sammis beat him recovering sweep gear- Come on, Keith, you and me need new clothes."
Willie dumped his sodden khakis in a heap in a corner of the clipping shack. He had completely forgotten the despatch in his pocket. There it lay, dissolving to a pulp inside the crumpled khakis, while the ship steamed through maneuvers for the next two days.
The weather was good, and with the novelty of the different minesweeping gadgets, electric, moored, and acoustic, for en-tertainment, Willie found himself enjoying the trip as an amused spectator. In his watches on the bridge he got on a little better with Captain de Vriess by making a mighty effort to please. Taking as his rule Tom Keefer's dictum, "How would I do this if I were a fool?" he play-acted a struggling over-conscientious ensign. He stood erect for the whole four hours, peering to sea. He never spoke, except when spoken to, or to report an object he sighted through binoculars. Even i
f it seemed absurd to mention it-a floating log, a tin can, a spread of garbage dumped from a ship-he gravely announced it; and the captain invariably thanked him in pleased tones. The more he slipped into character as a plodding dolt, the better De Vriess seemed to like him.
On the third day the formation moved in to shallow waters near a beach and swept some dummy mines. Not till Willie saw the yellow-painted horned iron balls bobbing on the foamy blue waves did he truly realize that the fantastic rig of cables and paravanes was good for anything but races against time between the captains of minesweepers. He took a strong in-terest in this part of the show. Once the Caine narrowly missed a mine cut by the Moulton. Willie pictured what might have happened had the mine been a live one, and began to wonder whether he ought to wait six months before applying to the admiral for rescue.
The last sweep was completed two hours before sunset. There remained a chance that the ships could get back into Pearl Harbor before the submarine nets were closed for the night, by running for home at twenty knots. Unluckily the Moulton, which had the squadron commander aboard, lost a paravane in the last moments of recovery, and fished for it for an hour while the other vessels waited and the crews fretted. When the Moulton grappled its paravane at last the sun was setting. The four old sweepers had to steam all night outside the channel entrance in futile circles.
When they went in next morning, the Caine and Moulton were paired in one buoy berth. As soon as the gangplank was laid between the ships Willie got Gorton's permission to cross over and visit Keggs.
He was startled by the difference between the two ships the moment he set foot on the other quarterdeck. In structure they were identical. It was hardly conceivable that they could look so unlike. There was no rust here, no splashes of green prime coats. The bulwarks and decks were a clean uniform gray. The cording on ladder railings was new-white. The leather wrappings of the life line, tightly sewed, were a natural rich brown, where those of the Caine were frayed, hung loose, and were covered with cracked gray paint. The dungarees of the sailors were clean, and the shirts tucked inside the trousers, whereas a flapping shirttail would have been a proper heraldic device for the Caine. Willie saw that it was not necessary for a DMS to look like his ship; it was only necessary for the outcast Caine to look like what it was.
"Keggs? Sure, he's in the wardroom," said the OOD, neat as an admiral's aide.
Willie found Keggs at the green-covered table, drinking coffee with one hand and working a coding device with the other. "Hello, Keggsy boy! Knock off for a minute, for Pete's sake-"
"Willie!" The cup clattered to the saucer. Keggs jumped up and grabbed Willie's outstretched hand with both his own. Willie thought- the other's hands were trembling. He was dis-turbed by his friend's appearance. Thin as he had been, he had lost more weight. The bones protruded from his cheeks and the pallid skin seemed to stretch with difficulty the long distance to his jaw. There were a few strands of gray in his hair which Willie had never noticed before. His eyes were ringed in blue shadow.
"Well, Ed, stuck you in communications, too, did they?"
"I relieved the communication officer last week, Willie. I've been his assistant for five months-"
"Department head already, eh? Nice going."
"Don't make jokes," said Keggs haggardly.
Willie accepted coffee and sat. After they chatted awhile he said, "Have you got the duty tonight?"
Keggs pondered foggily. "No-not tonight-"
"Great. Maybe Roland hasn't shoved off yet. We'll hit the beach and hunt him up-"
"Sorry, Willie. I'd love to, but I can't."
"Why not?"
Keggs looked over his shoulder. There were no other officers in the immaculate wardroom. He dropped his voice. "The paravane."
"The one you lost? What about it? You recovered it."
"The whole ship is restricted for a week."
"The whole ship? Officers, too?" Keggs nodded. "Everybody."
"Why, in God's name? Who was responsible for losing it?"
"Everybody is responsible for everything on this ship, Willie-it's the way-" Keggs suddenly stiffened, sprang to his feet, and swept the coding device off the table. "Oh, God," he said. Willie saw or heard no reason for the act except a muffled door slam overhead.
"Excuse me, Willie-" Keggs frantically stowed the code machine in a safe, locked it, and seized a clipboard of decoded despatches hanging on a hook in the bulkhead. He stared at the wardroom door, gulping. Willie rose and stared, too, an uneasy fear possessing him despite himself.
The door opened and a straight thin man with scanty light hair, knitted brows, and a mouth like a puckered scar, stepped in.
"Captain Sammis, this-this-is an acquaintance of mine, sir, from the Caine, sir, Ensign Keith."
"Keith," said Sammis tonelessly, extending his hand. "My name is Sammis."
Willie touched the cold hand, and it withdrew. Captain Sammis sat in the chair Keggs had been using.
"Coffee, sir?" quavered Keggs.
"Thank you, Keggs."
"This morning's traffic is ready, sir, if you wish to look at it."
The captain nodded. Keggs scrambled to pour the coffee, then he drew despatches from the board and presented them for the Iron Duke's view one by one, bowing slightly each time, and murmuring a comment. Sammis inspected each des-patch and handed it back to Keggs without speaking. It was a picture of flunky and master such as Willie had never seen outside of costume movies.
"I don't see number 367," remarked Sammis.
"Sir, I was breaking that down when my friend came. It's three quarters finished. I can complete it in two minutes, sir-- right now if you desire-"
"What precedence is it?"
"Deferred, sir."
Sammis cast a bleak look at Willie, showing awareness of his presence for the first and last time after the handshake. "You may wait," he said, "until your visitor has gone."
"Thank you very much, sir."
Iron Duke Sammis sipped the rest of his coffee at leisure, looking neither left nor right, while Keggs stood at his elbow in respectful silence, clutching the despatch board. Willie leaned against the bulkhead, marveling. The captain patted his mouth with a handkerchief, lit a cigarette with a flick of a gold--plated lighter, rose, and walked out.
"Banzai," murmured Willie, as the door closed.
"Sh!" Keggs shot him an imploring look and fell into a chair. After a few moments he said hollowly, "He can hear through bulkheads."
Willie put his arms compassionately around Keggs's bowed shoulders. "Ye gods, man, how did you ever let him get you so buffaloed?"
Keggs looked at him in mournful surprise. "Isn't your skipper like that?"
"Hell, no. I mean, he's a low brute in his own way, but--good God, this one is comical-"
"Take it easy, Willie," Keggs begged, glancing over his shoulder again. "Why, I imagined all captains were pretty much the same-"
"You're crazy, boy. Haven't you been on any other ship?" Keggs shook his head. "I picked up the Moulton at Guadal-canal and we've been operating ever since. I haven't even been ashore in Pearl yet."
"The captain doesn't live," said Willie through his teeth, "who can make me do monkey tricks like that."
"He's a pretty good skipper, Willie. You just have to under-stand him-"
"You just have to understand Hitler, for that matter," said Willie.
"I'll come over to your ship, Willie, as soon as I can. Maybe later today." Keggs took the coding device out of the safe with unconcealed anxiety to get to work. Willie left him.
On the rusty littered quarterdeck of the Caine, by the DOD's desk, stood a strange figure: a marine corporal in faultless dress uniform, straight as a tin soldier, his buttons glittering in the sun. "Here's Ensign Keith now," said the OOD, Carmody, to the marine. The stiff figure strode up to Willie and saluted. "With the compliments of Rear Admiral Reynolds, sir," he said, presenting Willie with a sealed envelope.
Willie opened it and read a typewritten
note:
Ensign Willis Keith is cordially invited to a reception for Rear Admiral Clough at the home of Rear Admiral Reynolds tonight at 2000. Transportation will be furnished by Com-CarDiv Twenty barge which will arrive at the Caine at 1915.
Captain H. Matson,
by direction.
"Thank you," said Willie. The marine saluted rigidly again, went through all the forms of leaving the quarterdeck with the jerkiness of an animated doll, and climbed down the chain ladder outboard to a sleek admiral's barge with a white-fringed canopy. Carmody dismissed the boatswain, and the barge purred away.
Herman Wouk - The Caine Mutiny Page 15