Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [129]
“Well, you get more or less used to it, Ducely. I guess you don’t like the clip shack too much, eh?”
“It’s revolting. I almost died in there the first night. Why, that stack gas!”
“Awful, isn’t it?” said Willie, with huge enjoyment.
“Abominable.”
“Well, after a while you won’t mind it so much.”
“No fear. I don’t sleep there any more.”
The grin faded from Willie’s face. “Oh? Where do you sleep?”
“In the ship’s office, on the half deck. Nobody uses it at night. I have a folding cot. It’s swell in there. Real airy.”
This information irritated Willie extremely. “I don’t think the captain will approve of that. He’s very particular about-”
“I asked him, sir. He said I could sleep anywhere that I could find six vacant feet.”
Willie said to himself that he would be damned. He had suffered five months without thinking of this simple escape. “Hm. Well, now, you’re supposed to assist me in communications, and-”
“I’ll be glad to try, sir, but I don’t know beans about communications-”
“What do you know about?”
“Practically nothing, sir. You see, my-that is, I got a direct commission into the Navy. My mother owns most of a shipyard in Boston, and so-the whole thing is just a mess. Just one letter of the alphabet fouled me up-one letter. When they were making out my commission they asked me whether I wanted to be an S or a G. I didn’t know. They said S meant Specialist and G meant General. So I asked which was better and they said that a G was regarded as much superior. So naturally, I asked for G. That was my mistake. My God, it was all arranged. I was supposed to go into Public Relations. I did, too. But I got ordered to some hole down in Virginia. And suddenly one day this directive came through saying that all ensigns designated G were to be sent out to sea. It all happened so fast there just wasn’t a thing my mother could do about it. So, here I am.”
“Tough.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. Public Relations is worse than the Caine, I think. The paper work! If there’s one thing I’m no good for, it’s paper work.”
“Too bad. Communications is all paper work, Ducely. You’ll just have to get good at it-”
“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you, sir,” said Ducely with a resigned sigh. “Naturally, I’ll do my best. But I’m just not going to be worth a damn to you-”
“Can you type?”
“No. And what’s worse, I’m absent-minded. I can’t remember where I’ve put a paper two seconds after I’ve laid it down.”
“Beginning tomorrow you’ll get yourself a typing course from Jellybelly and learn to type-”
“I’ll try, but I don’t think I’ll ever learn. I’m all thumbs-”
“And I think you’d better get started on decoding right away: Do you have a watch tomorrow morning?”
“No, sir.”
“Fine. Meet me in the wardroom after breakfast and I’ll show you the codes-”
“I’m afraid that’ll have to wait, sir. Tomorrow morning I have to finish my officers’ qualification assignment for Mr. Keefer.”
It had grown dark now, and the sky was crowded with stars. Willie peered at the dim face of his assistant and wondered whether he himself had ever seemed such a mixture of effrontery and stupidity. “Well, stay up a little late tonight and finish your assignment.”
“I will if you insist, Mr. Keith, but I’m really horribly fagged out.”
“The hell with it. Get a good night’s sleep by all means,” said Willie. He started to walk away. “We’ll start decoding in the afternoon. Unless, of course, you have something more important to do.”
“No, sir,” said Ducely, with bland sincerity, tagging after him, “I don’t believe I have.”
“Great,” said Willie. He twisted the dogs on the forecastle door viciously, motioned his assistant through, and slammed the door with a clang that was heard in the after crew’s quarters.
This force will assault and capture Kwajalein Atoll and other objectives in the Marshall Islands, with the purpose of establishing bases for further attacks to the westward-
Willie stared at the blotchy mimeographed words. He tossed aside the thick operation order and snatched a war atlas from the bookshelf.