by David Poyer
There it was, the subject he’d so carefully avoided: Evlin’s refusal to fire. He didn’t know what to say about it. He respected him, but if Evlin wasn’t going to obey orders, what was he doing in the Navy? He said, just to say something, “That’s what the captain decided?”
“It’s not like he has a choice. I refused a direct order in front of witnesses, in a combat situation. He can’t let anybody do that and walk.”
“I guess I understand why you did it,” he said carefully. “But, Al—you joined the service. Why? If you felt like that?”
“I didn’t then. But that was six years ago. Before I met Deanne and, through her, the Master. I’ve done a lot of thinking since. I had to get used to the idea that what I thought was important was worthless. I had to replace the idea of success with the idea of usefulness. Finally I concluded I had no place in an organization that exists, when you get down to it, to do violence in the service of the state. That’s why I decided to resign.”
“Maybe they’ll take that into account. If it’s a religious issue, and you—you really thought you were right.” He didn’t believe it, though, and he was afraid Evlin could hear it.
When the lieutenant spoke again, his voice had turned brisk, but it was touched, or perhaps Dan only imagined it, with regret. “Well, I did it. I guess I’ve got to take what comes after.
“Okay, break out the maneuvering boards. Let’s see what you know about repositioning bent-line screens.”
20
Latitude 53°–32′ North, Longitude 13°–50′ West: 200 Miles Due West of Ireland
“PULL!”
The disk flicked upward and dwindled swiftly. Quicker than thought, he threw the barrel up and squeezed as the bead steadied. The crack of the twelve-gauge made his ears ring.
The skeet drifted down like a feather from pillows of cumulus scattered across a sky like a blue wool blanket, and settled whole and untouched into the broad road of Ryan’s wake. “Well, three out of ten, that ain’t bad first time out with a scattergun,” said the potbellied gunner’s mate. “Want to try her again? Twenty rounds each training allowance.”
“Thanks, Cherry, my shoulder’s starting to hurt.”
Dan handed back the riot gun and strolled forward. Inside his head tiny sirens sang only to him. Should have worn earplugs, he thought. As he reached the grills the messmen had set up on the Dash deck, his appetite wavered between the conflicting odors of roasting meat and stack gas. Gulls whirled overhead. He took a paper plate and stood in line past catsup, relish, buns, the stale, tasteless Navy potato chips. He wondered whether they specified them that way, so they’d taste the same after months at sea, like hardtack.
“What you be havin’, Mr. L?”
“Double burger, cheese, I guess.”
“Coming right up.”
“Hey there, Ensign.”
When he turned, the seaman recruit was standing right behind him. “Hello, Lassard.”
“Going for that hamburger? Or one of them officers’ steaks?”
“Those steaks are for anybody who wants one. You know that.”
“Far-out. Slick’ll maybe have one, then. If you’re sure nobody’ll mind.” Lassard kept grinning. “Got to hand it to you. You really faked him out.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Making Slick spill his guts, thinking you’d keep the lid on. Yeah, the XO had him in last night about that. Thanks a lot, man.”
He stared at the red-rimmed eyes. “Wait a minute, Slick—I mean, Seaman Recruit Lassard. I didn’t tell him anything. You mean Bryce said that I—”
“Slick had you figured for a straight arrow. Well, he just got himself to blame. Hell, Brute Boy could of told him better than to trust the fucking brass.” Lassard hawked noisily and spat on the deck. He pushed past and sauntered toward the grills.
Dan looked after him. He hadn’t expected this. But it made absolute sense. All his worry, his agonizing over doing the right thing—
Goddamn Benjamin Bryce. God damn him.
He settled in the deck-edge nets with the loaded plate and bug juice. He didn’t want any now, but still he took a bite. Greasy low-bid hamburger, frozen for months and scorched by a messman with a day of training. Self-preservation won. He tipped it over the side and concentrated on the pickles. It was hard for the supply department to ruin pickles.
The sea gulls whirled down after the floating bread. He watched them dip and wheel over a gray-green restless sea, choppy, but welcoming compared to the Arctic. The air was still cold, though in the last two days they’d made nine hundred miles southing. It felt strange to see blue again above the slowly leaning mast.
Norden came by and he moved over on the net. The lieutenant had a New York strip. Dan looked at it, trying to decide whether to go back.
“How’s it going?”
“Oh … so-so, Rich. So-so.”
“You getting much done up forward?”
“Well, we got all that chipped and red-leaded where the chains were knocking around.”
“Good. How are … other things going with the division?”
Dan looked down at the fantail. The kinnicks were queued up to shoot skeet. He wouldn’t have trusted any of them with a loaded shotgun. The trap twanged and the report drifted up. A fragment separated from the clay disk. It wobbled, canted, spun down, and sliced edge-on into the face of a wave. The gulls whirled down at it, crying bitterly at being forestalled by the bottomless appetite of the sea.
“Oh, about the usual, I guess.”
“Any more evidence of drug use?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe they’re playing it smart.”
Norden sawed at the steak with the plastic knife. “About that night we had to go up on the forecastle. During the storm.”
“Yes, sir?”
“You probably think I should have gone first.”
He’d thought about it. But not as much, he suspected, as Norden had. “I didn’t notice it at the time,” he said, at least half truthfully. “You looked pretty seasick.”
“I wasn’t seasick. I was scared.”
Dan examined his pickles.
“Let me tell you something. Last year during refresher training, when we were firing off Culebra, we had a hot gun. A live round jammed in the breech. It could have cooked off any time. I went out there with the gunner’s mates while they cooled it down with the hoses. I didn’t want to. I made myself do it.
“But this last time … I should have been out there with you. But I couldn’t make myself go.”
“You don’t have to tell me this, Rich.”
“I know,” said Norden. He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “I just wanted to let you know I’m not happy about it.”
“You don’t have to take a risk just because it’s there. You got a family to think of.”
“Maybe that’s it.” He seemed to turn that over, then put it aside for later consideration. “Anyway, I’ll be out there with you and the guys next time.”
“Okay,” said Dan.
He decided to try a steak, and got the last one. Then it was time to go. He took the outside ladder two steps at a time, noticing as he climbed the direction of the swells and calculating the relative wind in his head.
“Ready to relieve, Mark.”
Silver had shaved his beard off, complaining that saltwater made it itch. Without it he looked like a naïve boy. He stroked his chin as he briefed on the rendezvous. “You should have Kennedy and the rest of the task group in sight on your watch. The captain wants to be called as soon as we make visual contact. When we join up, we’ll take station on the oiler. They’ll let us know when we can come alongside to refuel.”
“Roger. Who’s got the conn?”
“I do.”
“I’ll take it. Al wants me to get as much experience as I can. He wants us both to be qualified OODs before he leaves.”
“Good luck.” Silver raised his voice to the helmsmen and boatswain and quartermaster. “Th
is is Mr. Silver: Mr. Lenson has the conn.”
Dan kept checking the radar. At 1300 he had a collection of pips ahead that looked like the task group. He went out on the wing. Lassard was standing there, binoculars dangling on his chest, staring down at the water. Dan studied the horizon. Nothing yet.
“Whatcha looking for, Ensign?”
“Ships. We should have them showing soon about zero-one-zero relative. Keep a sharp eye out and report as soon as you see them.”
“Sure.” Lassard yawned. “That cookout was a blast. How many of them sea gulls you hit, man?”
He didn’t see any point in responding. Bryce had put paid to any hope of reaching the head of the kinnicks. He was suddenly filled with a cold anger. “Quit fucking off, Lassard. Get those binoculars up.”
“Cheery aye aye,” the seaman sneered. Dan waited till he raised them, then went back inside. When he glanced back, Lassard was staring into the water again.
At 1400 the other lookout reported masts ahead. Dan laid his glasses against the window and caught them, half hidden by the waves that jagged the horizon, three pinpricks spaced across five degrees of ocean. A few minutes later, Packer came up. He settled into his chair with a grunt. “What’s formation course?” he asked the bridge at large in a hoarse voice.
“Don’t know, sir,” said Evlin. “The rendezvous message didn’t say, and they’re steaming in radio silence except for primary tactical.”
“We’ll pick it up when we get closer. You say they’re using pritac?”
“Yes, sir, it’s short range only.”
“And radar silence?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Go ahead and shut down, then.”
Evlin bent to the intercom. A moment later, the radar picture shrank to a bright point and disappeared.
The captain said nothing more. Presently he nodded off.
The formation gradually took shape ahead. When they were close enough to make out the carrier, a tiny gray V seen end-on, Dan began taking bearings with the centerline alidade. Over several minutes, they showed a slow drift right. “I think we’re coming up astern of them,” he said to Evlin.
“Sounds good. Keep taking those bearings. We’ll be depending on that, without the radar.”
He centered the alidade on the carrier and noted the bearing carefully. Tactical maneuvering was done by relative motion. You could do some by eye, but most were solved on polar coordinate paper, maneuvering boards. It could get complicated with several ships in a formation. He was nervous about it, but he’d studied up.
He could make out the oiler now. There were three other ships that through the binoculars looked to be destroyers or maybe frigates. Or maybe one of them, a bit larger, was a light cruiser. It was too far to tell.
“Okay, JOD, give me a recommendation.”
“I figure head right for the oiler, sir. Slide up her port side, outside of the formation, then drop speed to match whatever they’re making.”
“Sounds good,” said Evlin, who was studying the operation order. He reached for the intercom. “Signals, Bridge: Be alert for flag hoist or flashing light from ships ahead.”
“Sigs, aye.”
The exchange woke the captain. He stretched and sniffled and asked the boatswain to call up a cup of coffee for him. He blinked around the horizon, squinted over the bow. Then he sat up suddenly.
“Mr. Evlin. What are you doing?”
“Sir, we’re going to port of the carrier and slide up outboard of the oiler.”
“Like hell we are! Which way’s Kennedy going?”
Evlin frowned for a moment at the formation, still some eight miles distant, then lifted his binoculars. A second later, he snapped, “All engines stop.”
“All stop, aye. Engine room answers, all engines stop, sir.”
“That bird farm’s headed right down our throat, Al! Are you watching her?”
“Sir”—he glanced at Lenson—“no, sir.”
“Get on the stick, Lieutenant! You’re at all stop with superheaters lighted! Kick her in the ass, left full rudder, get the hell out of their way.”
“Ahead full. Left full rudder, steady course one-three-zero.”
“Zero-nine-zero; show them you mean it.”
“Steady course zero-nine-zero.”
The helmsman answered. The bow swung rapidly as the screws dug in again. Packer shaded a stare out the window with one hand. “Okay. Now plot a course to station a thousand yards abeam of the oiler. Assume formation course as three-five-zero, speed ten.”
Evlin grabbed the pad of maneuvering paper, not looking at Dan. Lenson bit his lips and stared at the alidade. He could think of nothing to do but read off another bearing. He saw now that the carrier’s island, her superstructure, was on the left, his right. That meant she was coming at them, not going away.
He started to sweat.
“Damn it,” said Evlin under his breath.
“I’m sorry. It’s hard to tell—”
“Not if you look at them.”
Packer interrupted. “Lenson. You understand your screwup?”
“Yes sir. I’m sorry. I thought—”
“Sorry doesn’t fix a goddamn thing. If you don’t know what’s going on, ask somebody. Al, you’re letting him conn during in-company maneuvering?”
Evlin took the conn back. Dan stood rigid, waiting for Greenwald to snicker. There were mutters behind him. Greenwald snickered.
“Silence on the bridge,” said Evlin.
The gray pinpricks burgeoned rapidly into oncoming warships, flung miles apart across the gray-green sea. Ryan described a sweeping turn around them and fell in a mile behind the tubby silhouette of Calloosahatchee. Halfway through the maneuver a light began blinking from the carrier. When the signalman brought the message down, Packer scowled as he read it. He crumpled it and stared out the window.
The light began winking again, a steady chatter that went on with only an occasional bang of shutters as Ryan’s signalmen receipted. When this came down, Packer studied it, then held it up. “Plot this, please.”
It was the screening plan. Dan took it back to the chart-room and pulled dividers and parallel rule from the rack. The carrier was the guide, the hub around which the other ships took station. There were four screening stations spaced around the perimeter. The destroyers would spend most of their time there, providing antisub and antiair coverage. The tanker trailed astern, within the circle but some thousands of yards behind Kennedy. There were also two plane guard stations, astern of the carrier to port and starboard. When aircraft were being launched or recovered, one of the destroyers would stand by there to recover the pilot should an aircraft ditch.
He diagrammed it quickly but carefully, placing a small flag in the middle to symbolize the carrier, then drawing in each screen sector. He didn’t plot a course and speed. This would change as the carrier steamed hither and yon during the exercise, seeking the wind and trying to evade “enemy” attack. When he was done it looked more like a dartboard than anything else, round, with curved numbered segments circling the bull’s-eye that was Kennedy. He checked it against the message one last time, resolved not to screw up again, and took it out. “Done, sir.”
Packer told him to tape it up on the bulkhead. The signalman came down with another message. The captain coughed as he read this one, then waved it at Evlin without comment. The lieutenant taped it up too. Dan went out on the wing, checked the bearing of the oiler, and came back in. “Slow right drift, now bears zero-eight-three.”
“Where are you measuring to?”
“Her bridge.”
“Know how to use a stadimeter?”
“Yes, sir.” He got the manual range finder from its walnut box, examined it, then took it out on the wing.
“Twenty-two hundred yards, sir.”
“Indicate rpm for eleven knots. Left, steer course three-four-seven.”
“Left, three-four-seven, aye … engine room answers, eleven knots.”
&nbs
p; Evlin kept him busy for the next few minutes. Without the radar, maneuvering was a complex combination of trigonometry, vectors, and seaman’s eye. When they were exactly two thousand yards away and abeam of the oiler, Evlin came back to formation course and speed and reported to the captain that Ryan was on station.
“Okay, I’m going below. Call me if we get any orders or course changes.”
Things relaxed when Packer disappeared. Dan leaned against the bulkhead and read the message. It was from the task-group commander.
FM : CTG 21.1
TO : TU 21.1.2
FORWARD TO USS RYAN ON RENDEZVOUS
SUBJ : MANEUVERING
THIS EXERCISE WILL TEST AND HONE OUR PERFORMANCE OF SCREENING AND CLOSE–IN MANEUVERING X AT 2000Z ALL UNITS WILL SET AND ADHERE TO WARTIME CONDITIONS INCLUDING RADAR SILENCE AND DIMMED LIGHTING X ALL COMMANDING OFFICERS BEAR IN MIND THAT WHEN UNITS ARE NOT ACTUALLY ON STATION THEY ARE NOT CONTRIBUTING TO FIGHTING EFFECTIVENESS OF TASK GROUP X THEY WILL ACCORDINGLY ESCHEW SLUGGISH MANEUVERING AND CHANGE STATIONS IN THE MOST EXPEDITIOUS MANNER X IN WAR AS IN LOVE TIMING IS EVERYTHING X PROMPT AND RESOLUTE ACTION EVEN AT THE EXPENSE OF AN OCCASIONAL MISTAKE IS A HALLMARK OF SMART DESTROYER OUTFITS X ADMIRAL HOELSCHER SENDS
He was thinking this over when Evlin clipped another message to the board. Information was coming in steadily. They had to play catch-up, and quick, before the exercise started.
“Say, Dan—”
“Sir?”
“Don’t get down in the mouth about misreading the situation. Everybody screws up once in a while. That’s how human beings learn.”
“It was just such a stupid mistake.”
“Well, you won’t make it again. See this, from the oiler? We’ll be refueling at seventeen thirty. Station Two.”
“I’d better get on that. Can I get a relief? I need to get my guys ready.”
“Sure. Call Trachsler, why don’t you. He can shoot an approach even with a busted arm.”
* * *
HE found Bloch, as he’d expected, in the chiefs’ quarters. He was sitting in a sweat-stained T-shirt, a cup of coffee in front of him, a cigar sputtering smoke into the air from a stamped aluminum tray. Dan was opening his mouth to ask him what happened to working hours when he saw what he was doing. Enlisted evaluations, scribbled and lined through and erased, covered the table. Bloch glanced up. “H’lo, sir,” he said, his pouchy eyes dull as old sea glass.