Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [103]
Keefer looked stunned. He stammered, “Sir, that’s kind of tough-”
“Mister Keefer,” said the captain, “I did not ask you to pass an opinion on such disciplinary measures as I deem necessary for the instruction and safety of my crew. If these men are going to commit suicide by coming to GQ unprotected, well, nobody is going to say it’s because I didn’t impress on them the importance of wearing battle gear. Make the announcement.”
The men at the gun stations, hearing the words from the loudspeakers, could be seen turning their heads toward the bridge, their faces showing incredulity and rage. Then a boiling activity began among them, and helmets and life jackets began to appear magically, mushrooming all over the ship and passing from hand to hand.
“Now I want that knocked off!” roared Queeg. “I want those names, and I don’t want any man putting on any jacket or helmet until every single name is turned in to the bridge! Mr. Keefer, you announce that!”
“What shall I announce, sir?”
“Don’t be so goddamn stupid, sir! Announce that they’re to stop putting on that goddamn gear and report those names to the bridge!”
Keefer’s announcement blared over the decks: “Now knock off putting on gear. Turn in names of all men without gear to the bridge.”
Sailors were throwing helmets and life jackets from concealed places up to the deckhouses; a rain of the gear was flying through the air. Queeg screamed, “Send for the master-at-arms! I want whoever’s throwing those helmets and jackets put on report!”
“Chief Bellison, master-at-arms,” droned Keefer into the microphone, “please report to the bridge on the double.”
“Not to the bridge, you ass,” screeched Queeg, “tell him to go behind the galley deckhouse and arrest those men!”
“Belay that last word,” said Keefer, turning his face away from the captain to grin, “Chief Bellison, lay aft of the galley deckhouse and arrest whoever’s throwing helmets and life jackets.”
The words had scarcely died in the speakers when the deluge of gear stopped. It had served its purpose, however. There was gear on the deckhouses to spare for all hands, and they were rapidly dressing themselves. Queeg ran frantically here and there on the bridge, watching the men disobeying his orders wholesale, and yelled, “Stop putting on that gear! You, down there! ... Come here, Mr. Gorton! What’s the name of that man on number-three gun? Put him on report!”
“Which one, sir?”
“Hell, the redheaded one. He just put on a helmet. I saw him!”
“Sir, if he’s got a helmet on I can’t see his hair.”
“Christ on a crutch, how many redheaded men are there on that gun?”
“Well, sir, I believe there’s three. Wingate, Parsons, Dulles-no, Dulles is more of a blond-but I think maybe he’s on gun four now, ever since-”
“Oh, Christ, forget it,” snapped Queeg. “Of all the lousy fouled-up failures to execute orders I’ve ever seen, Burt, this is the worst! The worst.”
By this time every man aboard the Caine was wearing a helmet and a life jacket. Queeg peered around the ship, with an angry balked glare. “Kay,” he said. “Kay. I see these birds think they have me licked.”
He walked into the wheelhouse, and picked up the microphone. “This is the captain speaking,” he said, and the angry tone filtered through all the distortion of the speakers. “Now, I am displeased to note that some misguided sailors on this ship believe they can pull a fast one on their captain. They are very much mistaken. I have asked for the names of the men who came to GQ out of uniform. The names don’t seem to be forthcoming. Kay. Since I have no other way of dealing out justice to the numerous cowards who are disobeying my orders to turn in their names, I am hereby depriving every man on this ship of three days’ leave in the States. The innocent must suffer with the guilty, and you’ll simply have to punish the guilty ones among