He was a Kamikaze pilot who destroyed himself in order to set the rusty old Caine ablaze at Okinawa.
Keefer was captain, and Willie was exec. The able trouble shooter, Captain White, had spent five months restoring order on the anarchical minesweeper and had passed on to his inter-rupted career in big ships. The four-pipers were falling into the hands of young reserves. Willie had become a senior-grade lieutenant on June 1; some of the old minesweepers even had jg's as execs.
The Bureau of Personnel had evidently decided that scat-tering the Caine's officers and crew was the best way to dis-solve the bitterness of the Queeg days. Fully three quarters of the sailors were replacements. Farrington was the only other officer left from the mutiny time. Maryk had been detached from the ship a week after his acquittal, and sent to command an LCI, a humiliation which spelled the end of his naval hopes. Nobody knew what had become of Queeg.
Willie was running the ship. Keefer had retired into an isola-tion like Queeg's-except that he worked on his novel instead of solving jigsaw puzzles. Luckily for Willie, Captain White had taken a liking to him and had put him through intensive training, two months as engineering officer, two months as first lieutenant; he had been gunnery officer when the dispatch came elevating him to the executive post. In all that time Keefer had been executive officer, a sullen, seldom-seen figure around the ship. He had never completely wiped from his face the yellow stain Barney Greenwald had thrown on it, The new officers and sailors all knew the story. The mutiny and court--martial were endless topics for gossip when Keefer and Willie weren't present. The general feeling on the Caine was that the novelist was untrustworthy and extremely queer. Willie was better liked, but for his part in the mutiny he was also regarded askance.
In the rare times when Keefer took the conn he was nervous, impatient, and harsh, and much given to pounding stanchions and yelling for instant execution of his orders. He wasn't a good ship handler; he had gouged the sides of oilers and tenders a dozen times. It was freely said that that was why he allowed Mr. Keith to do most of the conning.
Keefer had the conn, however, when the Kamikaze hit.
"There she comes!"
Urban's yell on the starboard wing was almost gay. But there was no mistaking the fright in Keefer's voice, the next second: "Commence firing! All guns commence firing!" At the same instant, not in response to the captain's order but spon-taneously, came the popping of the 20-millimeters all over the ship.
Willie was in the charthouse, marking bearings along the- course line. The Caine was rounding the southern end of Oki-nawa en route to Nakagusuku Wan to pick up mail for the mine fleet. There had been no air-raid warning. It was ten o'clock in a gray cloudy morning. The sea was calm and lonely.
He dropped his pencil and parallel rulers and went scamper-ing through the wheelhouse to the starboard wing. Pink curved dotted lines of tracer bullets pointed to the Kamikaze, about a thousand feet up, well forward of the bow, brown against the clouds. It was slanting straight for the Caine, wobbling clum-sily as it came down. It was a small, flimsy, obsolete-looking machine. Its wings seemed to be stretching outward as it drew near, and the two red balls were plain to see. There were four streams of bullets converging on it; the plane was absorbing them all and floating down placidly. It was now quite big; a teetering, flapping old airplane.
"It's going to hit!" Keefer and Urban threw themselves to the deck. The plane, only a few feet away, tilted sidewise. Willie caught a glimpse of the goggled pilot through the yellow cockpit bubble. "The crazy fool," he thought, and then he was on his knees, his face to the deck plates. He thought the plane was coming right at him.
It seemed like a very long time before the Kamikaze hit, and Willie experienced a race of vivid clear thoughts as he crouched with his face to the cold blue-painted deck. The im-portant point-the fact that changed his life-was that he felt an overpowering tearing regret at not having married May. Since jilting her he had been fairly successful in pushing thoughts of her out of his mind. When he was tired or upset they had come crowding back, but he had fought them off as products of weakness. This mighty feeling of longing for lost joy that possessed him now was different. It had the clang of truth. He thought he was done for, and above all his para-lyzed terror towered the regret that he would never see May again.
The plane hit with the sound of cars colliding on a highway, and a second later there was an explosion. Willie's teeth grated as though he had been punched in the face, and his ears rang. He staggered erect. He could see a puff of blue-gray smoke curling up from behind the galley deckhouse, where the gun crew still sprawled in individual gray lumps.
"Captain, I'll call away GQ and then lay aft and see how it looks-"
"Okay Willie." Keefer rose, brushing himself with trembling hands, his unhelmeted hair hanging in his eyes. He had a dazed, vacant air. Willie ran into the wheelhouse and pressed the lever of the p.a. box. The helmsman and quartermaster watched him with frightened eyes. "Now hear this," he said loud and quick, "we have taken a Kamikaze hit amidships. Set condition Able throughout the ship. Away forward and after fire-fighting and damage-control parties-" Blue bitter smoke came wisping into the pilothouse. It stung his lungs like a dry cigarette. He coughed and went on, "Make your damage reports to the bridge. Turn on foam, sprinklers, and carbon dioxide as needed. Stand by magazine flood valves-ugh, ugh-but don't flood until ordered-"
He jerked the red GQ handle, and went out on the wing as the clanging began. He was amazed by the billow of smoke and blast of heat that struck his face. Tall orange flames were leap-ing as high as the mast behind the galley deckhouse and lap-ping forward toward the bridge-the wind was astern. Smoke in clouds boiled from the flames and rolled over the wing. "I thought you were going aft," Keefer shouted peevishly, his form dim in the smoke. He and the bridge gang were putting on life jackets.
"Aye aye, sir. Just going-"
Willie had to use elbows and shoulders to make his way down the well deck and the passageway through milling, yell-ing sailors dragging hoses, snatching life jackets, or just run-ning. He broke through to the main deck. There was less smoke here than on the bridge; it was all blowing high and forward. Red flames, thick as oak trunks, were roaring out of an im-mense jagged hole in the deck over the after fireroom. Black-ened sailors were stumbling out of the narrow hatch of the air lock. Pieces of the plane's wings were scattered on the deck. The gig was on fire. Hoses were tangled around on the deck and the fire-fighting parties, white-faced, helmeted, in life jackets, were fussing with fire-main connections or dragging red toy-like handy-billies toward the hole. They uttered thin lit-tle shouts drowned by the banging of the GQ gong and the roaring from the exposed fireroom. The smell was of burning-burning oil, burning wood, burning rubber.
"What's the dope?" the exec yelled at a sailor staggering out of the air lock.
"Whole plane is down in there, sir! Whole goddamn place is on fire. Budge told us to get out. He's trying to shut off the main fuel valve-I don't know if he can get out any more- I turned on the foam system before I came out-"
"How about the boiler?"
"I don't know, sir, the place is all steam and fire-"
"Do you know how to open the safety valves?" Willie screamed above the noise.
"Yes, sir-"
"Okay, blow 'em off-"
"Aye aye, sir-"
An explosion threw a round puff of white flame out of the fireroom. Willie staggered back. Fire was wriggling up the side of the galley deckhouse. Willie pushed through running sailors to Bellison, who was twisting a fire-main valve with a wrench. "Are you getting pressure on your main?"
"Yes, sir-looks like one hell of a fire, sir-are we going to abandon ship?"
"Hell, no. Put that fire out!" Willie yelled.
"Okay, sir. We'll try-" Willie slapped the chief's back and fought through the thronged passageway, stumbling over hoses. Coming to the bridge ladder, he was startled to see Keefer pop out of his cabin, carrying a lumpy gray canvas sack.
> "What do you say, Willie? Have we got a chance?" Keefer said as Willie stepped aside to let him up the ladder first.
"I think so, sir. What's the sack?"
"Novel, just in case-" Keefer dropped the sack by the flagbag and squinted aft, coughing and clapping a handkerchief to his nose. The gun crews on the deckhouse were scrambling through smoke and fire, untangling hoses and swearing in screeches. The bridge sailors-radarmen, signalmen, soundmen-and three of the new officers pressed around Willie, their eyes wide open and staring.
"Captain, it doesn't look too bad yet-just one fireroom-" Willie began to describe the damage. But he had a strong feel-ing that Keefer wasn't listening to him. The captain was star-ing aft, his hands on his hips. Smoke streamed past his face. His eyeballs had an opaque yellowish look and were rimmed with red.
Clouds of screaming steam burst above the deckhouse. Keefer glared at Willie. "What went up then?"
"I told them to lift the safeties on number three, sir-"
On the galley deckhouse there was a sudden rattling explo-sion. A fireworks shower of flame-white, yellow, and streak-ing red-went shooting in all directions. Sailors tumbled down the ladders, yelling. Bullets whistled and pinged against the bridgehouse. "Oh, Jesus, there goes the AA," shouted Keefer, dodging for shelter. "This ship's going up, Willie. It'll be in the magazines in a minute-"
All three stacks boiled over with yellow dirty smoke like vomit. The vibrating of the main engines stopped. The ship glided, slowing, wallowing. The flames amidships cast an orange glow on the gray sea. "Water in the fuel lines." Keefer was gasping. "We've lost suction. Pass the word for all hands to-"
Three-inch shells began exploding in the ready box on the deckhouse with terrifying CRACKS! and sheets of white fire. Keefer screamed, staggered, and fell to the deck. Reeking waves of gunpowder smoke swathed the bridge. Willie crouched beside the captain, and saw several blue-dungareed legs climb up on the rail and leap overboard. Keefer said, "My arm, my arm," holding his shoulder and kicking at the deck. Blood welled between his fingers and dripped.
"Captain, are you all right? The men are beginning to jump-"
Keefer sat up, his face twisted and sick. "Let's pass the word to abandon ship-Christ, my arm feels like it's coming off--I think I took a piece of a shell-"
"Sir, I swear I don't think we have to abandon yet-"
Keefer got up on one knee and staggered erect. He stumbled into the wheelhouse, and grabbed at the public-address level with a bloody hand. "This is the captain speaking. All hands abandon ship-"
Willie, at the doorway, heard only the captain's weak voice in the wheelhouse, and no answering boom in the loudspeakers. "Sir," he shouted, "your p.a. is dead-"
The bridge sailors were huddled against the bulwark, like cattle seeking warmth from each other's bodies. "What do you say, Mr. Keith? Can we jump?" Urban cried.
"Stay where you are-"
Keefer came lurching out of the wheelhouse. A fresh explo-sion in the smoke on the deckhouse sent a rattle of metal against the bridge and a blast of heat. "This ship won't live another five minutes!" Keefer ran to the rail and peered aft. "Look, they're all jumping back there. The whole goddamn main deck must be going up." He dived through the bunch of sailors and clutched the canvas sack. "Let's go! All hands over the side-"
The sailors and officers began yammering, and jostled each other like subway riders in their eagerness to climb the rail. They bumped and pressed Willie, who was leaning out, trying to see aft through the stinging fumes. "Captain, nobody's jumping back aft-those guys in the water are all from the bridge!" One after another crewmen and officers were leaping off the wing into the water. Keefer had one leg over the bul-wark. He clasped the canvas sack in his uninjured arm. He was climbing with methodical care, favoring his bloodstained arm. "Captain," Willie shouted at him, "they're not jumping back aft-they're not-"
Keefer paid no attention whatever. Willie seized him by the shoulder as he leaned out to jump. "Captain, I request permis-sion to stay aboard with volunteers to try to get the fire under control!"
A flicker of understanding appeared in the novelist's glazed eyes. He looked vexed, as though Willie had said something particularly stupid. "Hell, Willie, if you want to commit suicide I can't stop you!" Keefer leaped out far, his skinny legs flailing the air. He fell into the water on his stomach and began pulling himself away from the ship. Heads bobbed all around him. Only Ensign Farrington remained on the bridge, leaning against the flagbag, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. Willie said harshly, "What's holding you back?"
"After you, sir." The ensign's collar-advertisement face was smeared with black, and he grinned half in fright and half in boyish enjoyment.
With the wheel untended, the Caine had meanwhile slewed around broadside to the wind, so that the bridge was rapidly clearing of smoke. The deckhouse fire had been blown apart by the explosions. There was only a dull yellow flickering here and there. The ammunition boxes were smoldering jagged ruins. Willie could see irregular flaring flames aft amid giant billows of white steam.
All at once his vision expanded. He saw the ocean and Oki-nawa again. There were the green quiet hills and the horizon. The ship was half turned around, so it took him a moment to get his bearings; then he realized that they had hardly moved since being hit. The peak of Yuza Dake still bore 320. The ship wobbled on a gently swelling sea. A trickle of yellow smoke dribbled from number-one stack. Scattered yells from amid-ships emphasized the calm silence. A couple of sailors in the water, drifted astern, were waving and shouting at the men on the ship. There weren't many who had jumped, so far as Willie could see, going from wing to wing: fifteen or twenty.
He felt an immense peace and personal power descend on him, wrapping his shoulders like a jacket. "I don't know but what we can save this bucket," he said to Farrington.
"Aye aye, sir. Can I help?"
"Can you start the Kohler-that putt-putt on the well deck?"
"Radio boys once showed me how, sir-"
"Light it off on the double. Cut in the p.a. switches. They're marked."
Farrington ran down the ladder. Willie scanned the men in the water through binoculars, and saw the captain about forty yards astern floating on his back, clutching the gray sack. The Kohler coughed, backfired, and began to chug like an old Ford. Willie went into the pilothouse. He was a little shocked at the sight of the wheel swinging back and forth, free. He got a power hum, pressing the p.a. lever. His voice blared over the decks:
"Now all hands, this is the executive officer. I ask you not to abandon ship. I've had no damage reports from any space but the after fireroom. The noise you heard was some ready ammunition popping on the galley deckhouse. Things looked pretty bad there for a minute. The captain gave permission to abandon but he also gave permission for volunteers to stay aboard and try to save the ship. Let's put out that fire and get some steam up to the main engines. Gunner's mates stand by to flood the magazines but don't do it unless I pass the word. Forward fireroom-if you can't get suction try shifting to the forward tanks. You probably have ruptured lines aft. Close off your stop valves so you don't get water backing up into the forward lines. Get the pumps going on this water we're throw-ing into the after fireroom. Keep calm. Just remember your drills and do what you're supposed to do. This ship can still steam into the harbor this morning under its own power. If we abandon it we'll all get dumped into the personnel pool on Okinawa. If we stick with it we'll probably pull an overhaul in the States. Stay with the ship."
Farrington came back to the bridge. Willie told him to take the wheel, and hurried aft. The passageway was empty. On the main deck sputtering red flames were poking up a little above the hole, all but smothered in fizzing gray clouds. Soapy foam and water ran in rivulets between the tangles of fire hose. Sailors and officers were jabbering by the life lines, well clear of the ragged crater. Some of them were smoking cigarettes. Fifteen or so clustered around the hole in the deck, pouring misty streams into the cavern of the fireroom. S
ome sailors were passing a hose down through the air lock, and from below there issued a stream of vile workmanlike cursing. The gig, charred but no longer afire, was being bailed out in methodical sloshes of greasy water by Meatball, sweating in his life jacket. Nobody was running any more.
On the deck outside the clip shack the pharmacist's mate was kneeling with two assistants, bandaging men lying on mat-tresses or in stretchers. Willie went to the injured men and talked with them. Some of them had been on watch in the fire-room. Their burns were swathed in thick yellow-stained bandages. There were men with gashes from the exploded am-munition, and one sailor with a crushed foot, swelled to twice its normal size and mottled green. Chief Budge was one of the burned ones.
"How goes it, Chief?"
"Okay, sir. Guess we got it licked. Lucky I got that main fuel shut off before I climbed out-"
Herman Wouk - The Caine Mutiny Page 64