Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [143]
But Willie feared the captain too much to whisper the great news to Rabbitt. The first lieutenant stood the midwatch that night and stumbled to his bunk in the misty dawn, unaware that his visa out of misery lay on the captain’s desk; or that it lay on the conscience of the communicator, too, so that Keith could hardly sleep.
Willie was drearily deciphering the day’s traffic in the wardroom after breakfast when Queeg came in, followed by a commander-evidently a newly appointed one, for the leaves on the visor of his cap were bright untarnished yellow. The ensign jumped to his feet.
“Commander Frazer, this is my communicator, Ensign Keith.”
Willie shook hands with a tall tanned man of about thirty, with a long jaw, clear blue eyes, and blond hair cut down to bristles. The commander’s khaki shirt was beautifully ironed. Queeg looked shabby beside him, in grays faded by the Caine’s vitriolic laundry.
“Go right ahead with your work, Willie,” said Queeg.
“Aye aye, sir.” He moved his coding material to the far end of the table.
Whittaker came in with a steaming jug, and poured coffee for Queeg and his guest. It developed that Frazer, the captain of a destroyer, had just been ordered back to the States to assume command of a new destroyer-minesweeper, new in the sense that a modern destroyer, not a World War I relic, was being converted for sweeping. He had come aboard, he said, for a look-see, because he knew nothing about minesweeping. “They’re converting a whole squadron of them,” said Frazer. “The boss man of my squadron, Captain Voor, thinks I’m being yanked back to get a div or squad command. I don’t know. I’d sure as hell better bone up on sweeping, that’s for sure.” He began to light a curved brown pipe.
Queeg said, “I’ll be happy to show you around, sir, and tell you whatever little we know, here. What ship did they give you, sir?”
“Oaks,” said Frazer.
Willie’s heart bounded. He saw Queeg glance toward him; he bent low over his work to avoid the look. “Oaks, hey? Sixteen-fifty-tonner. I had a year on one of those as a jg. Nice ships.”
“Bureau was nice enough to send me a tentative roster of my new wardroom,” said Frazer. He pulled a flimsy sheet out of a breast pocket. “Seems as how I’m kidnapping a man from you. What’s the name? Oh-here. Rabbitt.”
Queeg drank coffee.
“His orders haven’t come through yet to you?” Frazer asked. Queeg took another swallow of coffee, and said, “Oh, yes, we have the orders.”
Frazer smiled. “Well, fine. I rather thought you had. I saw the BuPers despatch to you on the Fox sked and had my boys break it- Well. He’s your first lieutenant, isn’t he? Guess he’s pretty well up on sweeping.”
“Competent officer.”
“Well, maybe I’m in luck then. I can get some pretty high NATS priorities. Maybe Rabbitt can fly back with me and give me a long fill-in on the way.”
“Well, but we’re getting under way this afternoon, going south.”
“No strain. Send him over to my ship for berthing. I think I can get us out of here in a couple of days. My relief is aboard and ready to take over.”
“Well, there’s still the question of Rabbitt’s relief,” said Queeg, with a chuckle. It was a strange solitary sound in the wardroom.
“What do you mean, Captain? Doesn’t Rabbitt have a qualified relief aboard?”
“Depends on what you mean by qualified- More coffee, Commander?”
“No, thank you- Are you that shorthanded, Commander Queeg? How long has Rabbitt’s assistant been aboard?”
“Harding? Oh, I’d say five-six months.”
“Is he a weak sister?”
“Well, that’s pretty harsh.”
“Hell, Captain, there isn’t an officer on my ship, outside of the exec, that I couldn’t detach in twenty-four hours. I figure it’s part of the job to maintain that level of training.”
“Why, it’s all a question of standards, sir,” said Queeg.