by Buzz Harcus
Rain suddenly spattered across the bridge windows. The storm had arrived. On deck sailors scurried about quickly gathering up their mattresses and hurrying below deck as sheets of rain swept across the ship. Nurad rolled easily with the increased wave action.
Harry had watched after Peter, puzzled at his statement - vun last time. What the hell did that mean? Yet, just as suddenly, the tension in the wheelhouse lifted. Peter returned to the front of the wheelhouse, whistling softly to himself, staring out through the rain slick windows.
Harry's thoughts turned to the gob of putty. Although he had nothing to show, he felt he had to talk to Peter about his concern. After all, Peter had said early on if there were any problems they should be brought to his attention first.
"Peter, you know that guy down in the engine room, the one called Ernst -"
"Yes. Vy?" Peter turned abruptly at the mention of the man's name. "Vot about him?"
Harry was momentarily startled at the response. "Uh, I'm curious about him. He's not very friendly. I tried to introduce myself to him the other day but he wouldn't have a thing to do with me. I got the distinct impression he hated my guts. Called me a lousy American pig and that I had taken his job away from him."
"Ahhh, Ernst, vat can I say? He has a bad temper. I vouldn't pay too much attention to him." Peter waved it off with a simple gesture of his hand. "He vould like to be up here but Captain Andress und I felt you ver der best man for der job. In fact, I vanted you in dis job."
"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence," Harry replied, flattered at his remark. "But seriously, is Ernst the kind of man who holds a grudge to the point where he might do something dangerous?"
"How do you mean?" A serious look came into Peter's eyes. "Vot do you mean by dangerous?"
"Endangering the ship and crew?"
"No. Not Ernst. Vy do you say dat?"
"Well, after our talk the other day, I decided to tour the ship to become more familiar with it. While I was below deck, down in the area of the bilge where there's some small walkways, I found something wedged up against the skin of the ship. Well, it looked like putty at first, but before I had a chance to examine the stuff, I got hit on the back of my head and wound up stuffed inside a small storage bin -"
"Hit on der head?" Peter exclaimed. "Who hit you?"
"I don't know. A rat had jumped out and I had ducked back. Apparently my head hit something solid and, well, when I came to, I was in a small storage locker. Now you don't bump your head, knock yourself out, then wake up fifty feet away from the point of impact in a storage locker without someone's help.
"Anyways, I went back to that spot yesterday morning after I got off duty and found the gob of putty. Only this time, there was something sticking out of it, something that looked like a fuse. Before I could examine it, Ernst came walking along so I hid. Why? I don't know. I guess I don't trust the guy and this was not the time nor place for any confrontation. I hid and watched as he took the fuse out of the putty and walked away. After he left, I pinched off a piece of the putty and examined it. The more I handled it, the more convinced I became that it was a plastique explosive. I brought the piece back to the cabin to show you but, somehow, I lost it. Frankly, if that is a gob of plastique explosive up against the outer hull, that size charge could punch a hole in the side of the ship and all hands would end up on the bottom of the Pacific Ocean."
"Dat is a serious charge, Harry," Peter said, having listened intently to every word. "Ernst is not a madman." He scratched at his chin, turning, peering out the front windows. "Haf you spoken to anyvun else about dis?" he asked.
"No."
"You tink it vas an explosive?"
"Yes. I didn't know who to talk to about it. I felt it best that I talk to you. You could bring it to the attention of Captain Andress."
"Not yet," Peter replied. "I vill check all dis out first. Don't talk to anyvun, especially Captain Andress. I don't tink he should be unduly alarmed. I am sure dere is a logical explanation. Ernst is not like dat. I vill talk to him und den let you know."
"Fair enough." Harry felt relieved, glad that Peter would pursue it. "Probably my active imagination working overtime," he grinned, "but you never know."
"Yah." There was a wry smile on Peter's face. "Too long at sea can make a person's mind play tricks on dem."
Yet, the thought that someone might have placed an explosive charge on board ship must have rankled Peter for several times he came back to talk to Harry about it. "Veil, you can be sure of vun ting. I vill get to der bottom of dis. Please leave der whole ting in my hands. Ernst vill explain or I vill slap him in irons."
The bridge grew quiet once more. Harry sensed tension building by the way Peter paced, the way he fidgeted, the sudden scanning of the horizon, the dropping of the binoculars, the constant pacing.
"How much longer before we reach the Chinese mainland?" Harry asked hoping by changing the subject he could lesson the tension.
"Vat?" Peter snapped about. "Vat did you say?"
"China. The Chinese mainland. How much longer before we reach it?"
"Oh, China. Ve should arrive in Shanghai in five days if all goes veil. Der veather reports indicate relatively good veather, maybe some showers, and a possible squall. A small typhoon has passed vest of der Philippines heading northvard toward Korea und Japan. But it is vay ahead of us. Yah, Shanghai in five days; Tsingtao in seven, possibly eight days."
"Good deal," Harry beamed. "Hope we can get ashore in Tsingtao. I'd sure like to see the old place again. Might even recognize some of my old girlfriends." He laughed. "Hell, I could even fix you up, Peter."
Peter laughed, giving a negative shake of his head. "Tanks, but no tanks, Harry. Remember, you haf aged und dey haf aged. Und who vants to fool around vis some fifty-year old voman?" He cocked his eyebrow. "Yah, am I not right?"
"Yeah. Right. But then, I never turn down any free stuff."
Peter laughed heartily. "Harry, you are incurable! You never cease to amaze me for a man your age. You remind me of an eager young man out for his first taste of life und adventure, his first conquest of forbidden luf." He raised his binoculars scanning the horizon again. "I vill never understand vy you vould vant to come back to dis part of der vorld. It is probably just as bad und dirty as ven you left it. Vy come back?"
Was he making casual conversation, Harry wondered, or, perhaps, he had snooped through his personal belongings and was trying to figure out why he was modifying the jacket. Yet, the thought of sharing his real reason for making the trip to China had crossed Harry's mind several times. Peter had been his logical choice. They were cabin mates. They had fostered a healthy respect for one another both off and on duty. Perhaps if he told Peter and enlisted his aid, it might prove useful to him in getting ashore in Tsingtao and, later, getting his booty ashore back in Saginaw.
But a gnawing feeling deep inside said no. It was something he couldn't explain, much more than just a gut feeling. He would wait. He knew the man, but how well? His vitriolic attack on Captain Andress earlier bothered him. It was so unlike Peter, the always quiet, mild-mannered and even-tempered one he had come to know and
respect. No. He'd let it ride for now.
He glanced over at Peter, surprised to find him staring back at him as though awaiting an answer to his question.
"Ohhh, coming back. Well, when this crazy set of circumstances came about, finding out that I had a chance to return to China; I guess I just wanted to see it once more, see the changes - so here I am." Peter gave an understanding nod. Yet, Harry sensed he was obviously waiting for more. He continued. "You know how it is, Peter. As the saying goes: you only go around once in this old lifetime, so I'll take all the gusto I can get now. I don't expect to get rich in my lifetime, especially at my age, but I'm willing to take tradeoffs and get what I can get out of life. I hate to admit it, but I'm not getting any younger, so I take a chance now and then. China: this is the time."
"Yah. I know vat you mean," Peter said with a
heavy sigh. "It vould be nice not to be a pawn to profit makers, but it costs so much just to exist today, to raise a family, to try to get into a position ver der real money is. It sickens me to prostitute myself to make odder men richer, but der only vay to get to der top of der heap is by playing der game using dere tactics. In a vay, I envy you. I vish I could vash my hands of all dis responsibility und do vat I vant to do, not vat I am committed to do."
His response came as a surprise to Harry. Hell, he thought, second in command of a ship rates good money, bonuses, perks. "What d'ya mean?" he asked, puzzled.
"Nossing."
"I guess if I were second in command of a vessel, I'd be happy," Harry said.
"Captain of a vessel is better," Peter replied.
"Are you slated for command?"
A wane smile crossed Peter's face. "Yah. I haf been promised a command ven dis mission is completed."
"Well, that's really great!" Harry replied enthusiastically. He grabbed Peter's hand shaking it vigorously. "Let me be the first to congratulate you."
"Tank you, but your congratulations are premature," Peter said
retrieving his hand. "Too early, and please don't tell anyvun about dis," he cautioned. "It is still top secret."
"Mums the word. I won't tell a soul, but damn, that's really great!"
"Yah. I tink so." Then, in a somber tone of voice, he added, "I hope my vife vill finally be happy."
"Why wouldn't she? Wife of a captain! She should be very happy."
Peter shrugged. "She nags. Alvays nagging about the need for more money. She vants nossing but der best. Even my kids dress bedder dan der fadder. Nossing but der best."
He moved away, lifting the binoculars to his eyes, scanning the distant horizon. The storm had passed, the moon breaking through, stars twinkling above. Except for an occasional command from Peter, and the pervasive throbbing of the huge twin screws, the wheelhouse grew silent.
Harry thought of his former wife and the demands she had placed on their marriage. How similar, nothing but the best. He knew full well the pressures of a nagging wife, the need for more money, the need for a bigger house, two expensive cars, membership in the country club, entertaining, all important to their lifestyle. Yet, how often he had wished they could chuck it all, could have gone back and lived that simpler life they once knew, a time when they were struggling to make ends meet, and they always seemed to do it, and been able to spend more time with the kids, to let them know how special they were. But you can't go back. The distance between the two grew and grew until the divorce. At least he wasn't shackled to a bitching wife anymore or a job that was really the pits.
Working as a carpenter for the past few years had been the best. You worked with people you enjoyed. No phonies; just real honest, down-to-earth people. They were the kind who cared, who listened, who gave a damn about you. Sure, maybe they drank a little too much, swore a little too much, farted when they had to relieve themselves, but they lived life with a passion and made love the same way, and wasn't that what life was supposed to be all about.
Sandy had been a part of this group. Divorced from a drunken husband who was still chasing the bottle, she had determined to
change her life around. At thirty-three years of age, she had determined she could be somebody if she wanted to, if she tried hard enough, and she knew she could also enjoy the pleasures of life at the same time.
They had met one night at the Pub. She was with a group of people Harry knew casually. Somehow, they had got paired off at darts. Harry hadn't objected; hell, she was a good-looking woman. She was good at darts. Good eye, good trajectory. He had stood back watching her. Good form, too, he had noticed almost immediately. Tight fitting designer jeans, shimmering black nylon blouse and, obviously, no bra, a real turn on seeing hard nipples pressed against the flimsy material. Damn but she was cute. And she had a warm, outgoing personality to match.
"Sandy, just call me Sandy," she had said when the match first started. He was good at darts but as the night progressed his concentration began to fade for he couldn't take his eyes off her. Soon he was losing consistently, much to the teasing of his friends and teammates. He ended up buying at least five rounds, and apologizing for his form, which was way off, while his competitor's was great. She had laughed at this, a soft, throaty laughter that made him tingle.
Al had called for the last round; soon the night would be over. Would he see her again? Did she have a steady boyfriend? Forget it, Martin, he had chastized himself; she wasn't even remotely interested in an old man.
His heart had skipped a beat when she tugged at his arm saying, "C'mon, Harry, the gang's coming over to my apartment for early breakfast." He didn't need a second invitation.
Scrambled eggs, sausage, hashbrowns, beer and coffee. He remembered it well. By four a.m. most of the revelers had gone. As much as he hated to, he had no excuse for staying. Stepping into the kitchen, he thanked Sandy for the breakfast, and for such a good time. She had squeezed his hand tightly. Then, to his surprise, had kissed him on his cheek, whispering, "Come back in about fifteen minutes."
Hell. He thought he had heard wrong. She couldn't mean him, not a fifty-year old fart. He had pointed at himself. She nodded yes as she whisked away saying goodbye to more departing guests.
He had left with the last of the group. She smiled, winking at him as he eased out the door. Nonchalantly, he waved goodbye to the others in the parking lot, got in his car and drove off. He checked his watch a dozen times in the next fifteen minutes as he drove around. At one point he laughed aloud; she was pulling his leg. That had to be it. A young gal like her and an old fart. Naw, she didn't really mean for him to come back. He must have misunderstood, but she did whisper it to him.
He drove back to her apartment complex and parked. His heels had clicked sharply on the hard tarmac surface. Stopping at the apartment building door he had yanked on the handle. Locked! Damn! He knew it was too good to be true. She was just teasing him. He started to leave when he spotted the resident listing. Hell, he couldn't even remember her last name. Sandy, Sandy, what?
Running his finger along the listing, he came across S. Simpson. He noted it, then continued running his finger down the entire listing. It was the only name with an "S" for the first name. It had to be her. Sandy Simpson. He rang the button for her apartment. Almost instantly a buzzer hummed and the door unlocked. He entered and quickly moved across the small lobby and up the steps. At the top he looked down the hallway. She was standing in her open doorway, a warm, inviting smile on her face, a diaphanous black peignoir covering her lithe body.
"Bring her ten degrees to starboard," Peter commanded, interrupting Harry's reverie. "There's a small ship cutting across our bow about two miles ahead. Didn't you see it?"
"Sorry," Harry replied. "I was looking away at the moment." Glancing down at the radar screen, he saw the blip. The small ship was probably an inter-island steamer. Dammit, Harry muttered under his breath, once again looking into the darkness of night, so much for pleasant thoughts. He glanced back down at the radar screen. The blip was gone.
Nurad responded as he turned the wheel changing course. In a matter of minutes the small ship had slipped along well past theport side and Peter ordered Harry to resume the previous course.
Harry glanced down at the radar. The blip was there again. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, or maybe the radar was malfunctioning again.
"Good morning, chaps," Captain Andress said stepping into the wheelhouse. A broad smile filled his face, a cup of steaming coffee in his right hand. Peter threw a quick salute. "How goes the night, Mr. Selham?" he nodded in courtesy to the salute. Even Harry felt himself stiffen to attention.
"Everyting is going vell sir," Peter replied crisply. "Ve made a ten degree course change just minutes ago to avoid an island steamer crossing our bow, den corrected back to our regular course. Oddervise, der night has been uneventful."
"Good. How is dis man, Harry Martin, vorking out? I
t appears he is turning into qvite a helmsman. Does he do his job vell?"
"Yes, sir. Good," Peter replied with a faint grin. "He is earning his keep."
"Good. Good. Keep him busy und out of mischief."
Captain Andress winked at Harry as he passed by. "I couldn't sleep so I decided to come up to der bridge. You two seem to haf everyting under control." He scratched at his beard then took a sip of coffee. "By der vay, is der radar vorking okay now since der engineer fixed it?"
"I tink so," Peter answered. He glanced at Harry. "Is vorking okay?"
"I was about to mention to you, Mr. Selham, that when I checked the small ship on the screen a little while ago, it's blip didn't appear on the screen. It seems to appear, then disappear for several sweeps, then reappears. Now you can't see it."
Captain Andress studied the scope, the smile fading into a scowl. "Dis is der second time dat damned piece of equipment has malfunctioned. You vould tink a modern ship like dis vould haf better equipment on board. You call up der engineer right now und tell him I vant dat damned piece of junk fixed now!"
"Aye, aye, sir!" Peter snapped back sharply. He turned, picked up the bridge phone and called the chief electrician conveying the
captain's request in very curt terms.
"He vill be up shortly," Peter said, hanging up the phone as he turned back to Captain Andress.
"Good. Make sure he fixes it right dis time!" With a broad sweeping glance about the bridge area, he gave a perfunctory salute and started away. "Carry on. I go down for Osa's breakfast." He patted Harry's shoulder as he passed by. "She's vun fine voman."
Harry offered an anemic smile in return. "She's very nice, sir," he replied, deciding it was better to offer a nice comment than none at all. A fine woman? Cold as a cucumber!
The sun would soon be rising, its thin rays reflecting off the distant clouds and a new day would be at hand. Harry was particularly pleased. At the change of watches, he would be duty free for the next twenty-four hours. The last twelve days had been unduly demanding. The time off would be a welcome relief.