Away Boarders

by Daniel V Gallery

  "You remember old Bosun Anderson?" asked Scuttlebutt.

  "Sure," said Corky. "I remember he used to say that as soon as he got his twenty years in, he was going to start walking inland with an oar over his shoulder. When he finally got so far inland that somebody stopped him and asked him what the hell that thing was he had on his shoulder, that's where he was going to settle down for the rest of his days."

  "Yeah," said Scuttlebutt. "That's what he used to say - and that's what he did. But a year of it was all he could stand. He's back in again now, doing thirty. He's got the fo'c'sle on the America."

  And so it went for the next hour, until the sun was just about to sink below the horizon. Then the butler came out and cast loose the halyards on the American flag.

  "Colors," announced Corky, putting down his drink and rising. The others stood and faced the flagpole. Evening colors rang out loud and clear over the hi-fi loudspeaker while the butler slowly lowered the flag and the three sailors stood at attention.

  Dinner that night was a spread that would have done credit to Toots Shor. They had oysters, soup, roast beef, salad, and a flaming dessert. They had red and white wine, champagne, and liqueurs afterward. It was served out in the garden under the stars by an elderly countryman dressed in elaborate local regalia. Soft music conducted by Toscanini poured forth from the hi-fi throughout the evening.

  "That was quite a spread, Corky," remarked Fatso after dinner.

  "Tell it to the cook," said Corky, and he called the waiter over and told him to go back to the galley and get the cook.

  The cook was the waiter's wife, a little old lady with tanned face and sparkling eyes. She beamed from ear to ear as Fatso and Scuttlebutt praised her cooking and said, "I try specially hard to please any friends of Senor Corky. We all love him very much."

  As they lingered over the liqueurs afterward, Fatso remarked, "It's going to be tough for you to give all this up, Corky."

  "Whaddya mean, give it up?" demanded Corky.

  "I mean when this tour of duty is up, and you've got to start living like the common people again."

  "Well," said Corky, "I've only got another year to do on thirty. Then I retire."

  'That's what I mean," said Fatso. "It's going to be a hell of a comedown for you to settle down somewhere back in the States."

  "You must think I'm nuts." said Corky. "I own this place. This is where I'm settling down when I retire. Hell, I've got everything I want here. I got five servants and only pay them thirty bucks a month, but they all think I'm wonderful. I got my shortwave radio, hi-fi, and TV with an attachment that picks up the satellite broadcasts. I got my books, and all kinds of hunting and fishing. Do you think I'd go back to the rat race we've got in the States now, with the hippies, draft-card burners, and black-power groups - to say nothing of inflation? My taxes on this place are about twenty bucks a year. No sir. I'm settling down right here where I'll be a rich man on my retired pay. Hell, at the end of the month, I'll be better off than old Sparky Wright is as vice president of RCA. I'll keep the Bureau of Personnel advised of my address, and if they need me when the next war breaks out, I'll be ready. But until then - this is where I'm staying."

  Next morning LCU 1124 got underway and headed for Tel Aviv. At breakfast that morning Adams had only a glass of orange juice.

  "Whatsa matter, Adams?" asked Webfoot. "You ain't eating."

  "I guess I've gotta cut down some on my eating," said Adams. "I'm getting fat. I've put on about ten pounds since I've been aboard here."

  "I noticed you seem to be getting kind of big around the fanny," observed the Judge.

  "It's my belly," said Adams. "I've had to let my belt out three notches."

  "No-o-o," said the Judge judicially. "It ain't your belly. It's your ass."

  "What the hell?" said Adams. "Why should my ass get bigger?"

  "Well, you see, you spend so much time on it. On a small ship like this, you spend most of your time sitting down. So your ass begins to spread out, and of course it works up to your belly. We all had the same trouble when we first came on board. But you can lick it by taking exercise. Jumping rope is good for it."

  That afternoon, Adams started jumping rope, and put in morning and afternoon sessions at it every day from then on. Webfoot quit shortening his belt and diddling with the scales, >and pretty soon Adams was eating full meals again.

  That evening after dinner the boys were sitting around the messroom when Adams lit up a rather pungent-smelling cigarette. After he had taken a few puffs on it Jughaid said, "What the hell are you smoking, Adams?"

  'Tot." replied Adams. "You want some?"

  "What the hell did you say?" demanded Fatso.

  "Pot," said Adams. "You ever tried it?"

  "Put that goddamn thing out," said Fatso.

  "There's no law against smoking pot, skipper," said Adams, taking another drag on his cigarette.

  Fatso got up, walked over to Adams, snatched the cigarette from his mouth, dropped it on the deck and stamped on it.

  "You got no right to do that," said Adams indignantly.

  "We got a ship's order on here - no pot smoking," said Fatso. "You got any more of those things?"

  "Yeah - I got some more," said Adams.

  "Well, hand 'em over," said Fatso.

  Adams looked around the table and saw nothing but stony stares directed his way. He reached into his pocket, hauled out a pack of cigarettes, and laid them on the table.

  "You got any more in your locker?" asked Fatso.

  "No," said Adams.

  "Open it up and let me see," said Fatso.

  "No," said Adams.

  "Listen, bud," said Fatso. "I'm the skipper of this ship. You don't say 'no' to me."

  "Well, I just said it," said Adams.

  Fatso hauled off and clouted Adams alongside the ear, knocking him backward onto the deck. "Now," said Fatso, "I don't want to get into no argument with you about this. So we'll have somebody else open your locker up. Scuttlebutt, you and Webfoot open Adams' locker."

  "All right, skipper," said Adams, picking himself up off the deck. "You win. I'll open it."

  Adams opened his locker and produced two cartons of marijuana cigarettes. "This is all I got," he said.

  "Thrown them overboard," said Fatso.

  Adams opened the door at the end of the compartment and tossed the two cartons overboard. Then he said, "You're all wet on this pot deal, skipper. Pot is no more harmful or habit forming than cigarettes. It doesn't affect you near as much as getting loaded up with liquor. Plenty of medical experts are on record about it."

  "Yeah. I know," said Fatso. 'The experts disagree. And, as long as they do, I'm believing the ones who say it's a habit-forming drug and opens the gate for other drugs. We're not going to have any of it on here."

  "Okay, I can get along without it," said Adams. "Easier than the rest of you guys can without cigarettes."

  "Have you ever tried LSD or heroin?" asked the Professor.

  "Not heroin," said Adams. "But I've had a couple of trips on LSD."

  "What does it do for you?" asked the Professor.

  "It's hard to describe," said Adams. "But a good trip is a hell of an experience. You're just at peace with the whole world. Time slows down, colors are brighter, and music sounds better. You have beautiful hallucinations. You understand all about everything and you think of all sorts of wonderful things. You can't keep a record of them and you can't remember much about them afterwards. But they're good while they last."

  "You still use the stuff?" asked the Judge.

  "No. I saw three or four kids when they were off on bad trips. It was really grim. Scared the hell out of me. So I quit."

  "I hear you can get pot, LSD, and even heroin on almost any college campus these days. Is that so?" asked Fatso.

  "College campus? Hell, you can get them in any high school. Plenty of high-school kids are hooked on heroin now. Some of 'em put out fifty to two hundred bucks a day for it."

  "Tw
o hundred bucks a day!" said Fatso. "Where the hell does a high-school kid get that kind of dough?"

  "They steal it," said Adams. "They start off stealing it at home and then work up to muggings and stickups. Once you're hooked you've got to have it and you'll do anything to get it. A lot of 'em wind up as pushers, peddling dope to the other kids to pay for what they've gotta have."

  "From what I hear," said the Professor, "it's even in the grade schools now around New York and Washington. I was reading just the other day how they're finding twelve- and thirteen-year-old kids who are hooked on heroin. Twelve- and thirteen year-olds - mainlining it. Stealing from supermarkets and snatching purses to pay for it. When their parents find out about it, they won't believe it."

  "Well, what the hell?" said Fatso. "Their teachers must know about it. Can't they stop it?"

  "Hah," said Adams. "In a lot of the schools now, the teachers are afraid of the kids. If a teacher says anything to a kid that's high on heroin, he's apt to get beat up. And, as a matter of fact, it was a college professor at Harvard that started this LSD business. And they had a hell of a time getting rid of him. He claimed it came under the heading of academic freedom."

  "Dope is a hell of a big thing in the States these days," said the Professor. "It's a multi-billion dollar racket, and it's spreading. The pushers are going after little kids now - and getting a hell of a lot more of them than people realize. This stuff, once it gets a foothold in school, spreads like wildfire. The kids try it just for kicks, or because some friend of theirs had done it and they want to do the 'in' thing too. Before they know it, they're hooked. It's one of the biggest problems we've got in the country today."

  "Well, by God," said Fatso, "I think we ought to hang any son of a bitch who peddles dope to kids. I mean it. Hang him."

  "But even if you catch the peddlers," said the Professor, "They're really just little cogs in the machine. The big wheels, the ones who bring it into the country in quantities, are the Mafia. You'll have a hell of a time pinning anything on them."

  "Well, there's nothing I'd rather do than help nail one of them," said Fatso.

  CHAPTER NINE

  En Route Tel Aviv

  Next morning they backed off the beach, got underway, and headed east.

  "Where are we going now, skipper?" asked Jughaid.

  "Tel Aviv and Athens," said Fatso. "We got two big shipments of liquor to deliver to the embassies in Israel and in Greece."

  As they ran along the coast, a flock of pelicans began circling the ship and diving into the water after fish. This generated a discussion about pelicans between Fatso and Scuttlebutt, with the rest of the crew listening to the old-timers respectfully.

  "I remember one time early in the war out in the South Pacific I was on a little seaplane tender called the Half Moon. Our skipper was a Commander Galloway and he was one hell of a guy. They sent us out with a squadron of PBY's to establish a base in a little lagoon on New Ireland. It was right under the guns of the Japs in New Guinea and we couldn't afford to risk a big ship up there. But the Half Moon was a little bit of a spit kit and she was expendable. We got to this lagoon and we tied up to the beach right under some big palm trees, so you couldn't see us from the air. We put out buoys for the planes around the lagoon right close to the beach, where the trees hid them. There was a lot of Jap planes flew right over the place and never saw us.

  "There was a lot of pelicans in this lagoon and I guess they'd never seen an airplane before. Anyway they seemed to be quite interested in these big birds we had, and whenever a plane landed or took off they would flock around watching it and squawking to each other. Well, one day there was a bunch of aviators back on the fantail taking in the sun when this one old pelican decided to put on a show for them and demonstrate how the real experts fly. He got up at a couple of hundred feet astern of the ship and dove straight down at the water. Just before he hit, he leveled off and came shooting past the ship about half a foot off the water. Then he did a steep wing-over at the bows, did a 180, dove at the water again, and came back past the stern going the other way. He put on one hell of an exhibition for the boys, and whenever he passed the stern he would look up at all the aviators who were watching him as if to say, 'How am I doing, boys?'

  "After four or five passes he decided to land. So he did his wing-over and dive and then leveled out for a full-stall landing about twenty feet from the stern. He did a beautiful job of it, except there was about a fifteen-knot wind blowing that day and the old guy missed the wind by 180 degrees and landed smack downwind. Naturally he was going so fast when he hit that it up-ended him and ducked him headfirst in the water. As the old guy righted himself, paddled around into the wind and shook the water out of his eyes you could practically hear him saying to himself, 'Son of a bitch.' "

  As Fatso was telling this yarn, Scuttlebutt got his story-telling gleam in his eye. As soon as Fatso finished he said, "I was on a destroyer at Espiritu when we made friends with an old pelican one time. There was a lot of pelicans hanging around there and one day we noticed one old guy who just sort of paddled around and never flew. He looked kind of old and feeble. So we sent a boat out, caught him, and brought him on board. When we got him aboard we found out his pouch was split. So he couldn't eat any fish. When he caught a fish and tried to swallow it, it would pop out through the slit in his pouch. So our pharmacist's mate decided to sew him up. He got a sailmaker's needle and some surgical thread and a couple of us held the bird while the medic sewed him up. When he got through we fed him a fish and he gulped it right down. So we filled him up with fish and turned him loose. At first he still couldn't fly because he was too weak and too full of fish, I guess. But the next day, after he had digested the fish, he flew just as good as any of them, and pretty soon he was catching fish the same as the rest of them. The old guy knew our ship and was grateful to us. He used to hang around when we were in port. Whenever we got underway he would circle around and escort us out, and would meet us when we came back in again."

  Fatso still hadn't finished with the saga of the Half Moon. "That skipper we had on the Half Moon," he observed reminiscently, "that Commander Galloway was a can-do guy. Nothing ever fazed him. They gave us the wrong kind of fuses for our bombs. They had a long delay element in them so when a bomb hit a Jap ship it would punch a hole clear through it, come out the bottom, and explode way the hell and gone down deep in the water, where it wouldn't do no harm. The Japs would just plug up the clean hole it had made and go on about their business. So the Captain had all our fuses sent up to his cabin and went to work on them. He took out the detonator caps, took the fuses apart, changed the delay element, put the detonators back in, and reassembled them."

  "Boy! That's a tough way to make a living," observed Webfoot, who was a bomb-disposal expert and knew a lot about fuses.

  "You're damn right it is," said Fatso. "You make one little mistake handling one of those detonators and it goes off right in your face."

  "You're not supposed to monkey with fuses aboard ship," said Webfoot. "The book says you gotta ship them back to an ammo depot to make changes."

  "Yeah," said Fatso, "but when you're hiding out in a little lagoon right under the Jap guns and the nearest ammo depot is a couple of thousand miles away, you don't feel like doing that. But if anybody else on that ship had tried to monkey with a fuse, the skipper would of hung him higher than a kite. He got a letter from the Bureau of Ordnance a couple of months later telling him he could be court-martialed for it. But in the meantime we had sunk eighty thousand tons of Jap ships.

  "Our skipper used to get letters from Washington, too," observed Scuttlebutt. "When he wanted to do something and he wasn't sure whether it was allowed or not he would break out the regulation book and start going through it. Finally he would come to a regulation that said something about what he wanted to do, and then he would 'interpret' it, the same way the Supreme Court interprets the Constitution. He used to always talk about the spirit of the regulations rather than the le
tter, and could always read a hell of a lot between the lines. Anyway, when he got through interpreting the book, it always said he could do what he wanted. About six months later he'd get a letter from Washington saying, 'What the hell. Can't you read the regulations?' But by that time it didn't matter any more."

  "Our skipper used to run the Half Moon pretty much the way he thought it ought to be run," said Fatso, "irregardless of what the book said. He hardly ever held mast. But one time when he did he marooned a guy."

  "Marooned?" said the Professor incredulously. "I didn't think anybody had been marooned since the days of sail - and only pirates did it then."

  "Well, Cap'n Bill Galloway of the Half Moon did it," said Fatso.

  "What for?" asked the Professor.

  "For mutiny," said Fatso. "We had this wardroom messboy who just ran up the red flag and wouldn't do as he was told. The exec gave him a direct order and he just said, 'No, I won't do it.' So the exec had him up to mast before Cap'n Bill. Cap'n Bill said, 'How about it, Johnson? Are you going to do as you're told?' 'No, Cap'n,' said Johnson. So Cap'n Bill gave him a long fatherly lecture about how refusing to carry out orders was mutiny and mutiny in time of war is a very serious offense. When he got through he said, 'Now how about it, Johnson? You going to carry out orders?' 'No sir,' said Johnson. So Cap'n Bill said, 'O.K., we'll have to maroon you, Johnson. Lock him up,' he said to the master at arms. So the MAA took Johnson below and locked him up in the brig.

  "Then they got all Johnson's stuff together and put it in a sea bag. They got another sea bag and filled it up with a lot of canned provisions. They put in a fishing rod, a shotgun and some shells, and a couple of cartons of matches. We was on our way to that little lagoon at the time, and the next day we passed a little uninhabited island with a lot of palm trees on it. Cap'n Bill stopped the ship about half a mile offshore, and they lowered a boat and put Johnson's gear into it. Then Cap'n Bill had Johnson brought up from the brig. They put him in the boat, took him ashore, and left him on the beach. The boys in the boat's crew said he expected to spend the rest of his life on that island. Everybody else on the ship throught he would too, for that matter.