Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [196]
“How do we know?”
“Sir, the Dietch in our squadron got caught in a storm in the Aleutians, and got sank by its own depth charges tearing loose. Blew off the stern. Skipper got a general court-”
“Hell’s bells, if your heart is so set on putting the depth charges on safe go ahead. I don’t care. Just be damn sure there’s somebody standing by to arm them if we pick up a sub-”
“Mr. Maryk,” spoke up Stilwell, “the depth charges are on safe, sir.”
“They are!” exclaimed Queeg. “Who says so?”
“I-I set ’em myself, sir.” The sailor’s voice was shaky. He stood with legs spread, clutching the wheel, his eyes on the gyrocompass.
“And who told you to do that?”
“I got standing orders, sir, from Mr. Keefer. When the ship is in danger I set ’em on safe-”
“And who said the ship was in danger, hey?” Queeg swung back and forth, clinging to a window handle, glaring at the helmsman’s back.
“Well, sir, on that big roll around seven o’clock, I-I set ’em. The whole fantail was awash. Had to rig a life line-”
“God damn it, Mr. Maryk, why am I never informed of these things? Here I am, steaming around with a lot of dead depth charges-”
Stilwell said, “Sir, I told Mr. Keefer-”
“You speak when you’re spoken to, you goddamned imbecile, and not otherwise!” shrieked Queeg. “Mr. Keith, place this man on report for insolence and neglect of duty! He told Mr. Keefer! I’ll attend to Mr. Keefer! Now Steve, I want you to get another helmsman and keep this stupid idiot’s ugly face out of my sight from now on-”
“Captain, pardon me,” said the exec hurriedly, “the other helmsmen are still shot from last night. Stilwell’s our best man and we need him-”
“Will you stop this back talk?” screamed the captain. “Great bloody Christ, is there one officer on this ship who takes orders from me? I said I want-”
Engstrand stumbled into the wallowing wheelhouse and grabbed at Willie to keep from falling. His dungarees ran with water. “Sorry, Mr. Keith. Captain, the barometer-”
“What about the barometer?”
“Twenty-eight ninety-four, sir-twenty-eight-”
“Who the hell’s been watching the barometer? Why haven’t I had a report for a half hour?” Queeg ran out on the wing, steadying himself from hand to hand on the windows, the engine-room telegraph, the doorway.
“Mr. Maryk,” the helmsman said hoarsely, “I can’t hold her on 180. She’s falling off to port-”
“Give her more rudder-”
“I got her at emergency right, sir-heading 172, sir-falling off fast-”
“Why is the rudder emergency right?” Queeg bellowed, lurching in through the doorway. “Who’s giving rudder orders here? Is everybody on this bridge going crazy?”
“Captain, she’s yawing to port,” said Maryk. “Steersman can’t hold her at 180--”
“One six zero, sir, now,” said Stilwell, with a scared look at Maryk. It was the dreaded weather-vane effect, taking charge of the Caine. The rudder was not holding, and the ship was skidding sideways at the pleasure of wind and waves. The head was dropping off from south to east.
Queeg grabbed at the helmsman and steadied himself to stare at the compass. He jumped to the telegraph and signaled “Flank Speed” with one handle and “Stop” with the other. The engine-room pointers answered instantly. The deck began to vibrate with the one-sided strain on the engines. “That’ll bring her around,” said the captain. “What’s your head now?”
“Still falling off, sir, 152-148-”
Queeg muttered, “Needs a few seconds to take hold-”
Once again the Caine took a sickening cant to starboard and hung there. Waves coming from the port side broke over the ship as though it were a floating log. It wallowed feebly under the tons of water, but did not right itself. It came halfway back to level and sagged further to starboard again. Willie’s face was pushed against the window and he saw water no more than inches from his eyes. He could have counted little bubbles of foam. Stilwell, hanging to the wheel, with his feet sliding out from under him, stammered, “Still falling off, sir-heading 125-”
“Captain, we’re broaching to,” said Maryk, his voice lacking firmness