Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [265]
“Whole plane is down in there, sir! Whole goddamn place is on fire. Budge told us to get out. He’s trying to shut off the main fuel valve-I don’t know if he can get out any more- I turned on the foam system before I came out-”
“How about the boiler?”
“I don’t know, sir, the place is all steam and fire-”
“Do you know how to open the safety valves?” Willie screamed above the noise.
“Yes, sir-”
“Okay, blow ’em off-”
“Aye aye, sir-”
An explosion threw a round puff of white flame out of the fireroom. Willie staggered back. Fire was wriggling up the side of the galley deckhouse. Willie pushed through running sailors to Bellison, who was twisting a fire-main valve with a wrench. “Are you getting pressure on your main?”
“Yes, sir-looks like one hell of a fire, sir-are we going to abandon ship?”
“Hell, no. Put that fire out!” Willie yelled.
“Okay, sir. We’ll try-” Willie slapped the chief’s back and fought through the thronged passageway, stumbling over hoses. Coming to the bridge ladder, he was startled to see Keefer pop out of his cabin, carrying a lumpy gray canvas sack.
“What do you say, Willie? Have we got a chance?” Keefer said as Willie stepped aside to let him up the ladder first.
“I think so, sir. What’s the sack?”
“Novel, just in case-” Keefer dropped the sack by the flagbag and squinted aft, coughing and clapping a handkerchief to his nose. The gun crews on the deckhouse were scrambling through smoke and fire, untangling hoses and swearing in screeches. The bridge sailors-radarmen, signalmen, soundmen-and three of the new officers pressed around Willie, their eyes wide open and staring.
“Captain, it doesn’t look too bad yet-just one fireroom-” Willie began to describe the damage. But he had a strong feeling that Keefer wasn’t listening to him. The captain was staring aft, his hands on his hips. Smoke streamed past his face. His eyeballs had an opaque yellowish look and were rimmed with red.
Clouds of screaming steam burst above the deckhouse. Keefer glared at Willie. “What went up then?”
“I told them to lift the safeties on number three, sir-”
On the galley deckhouse there was a sudden rattling explosion. A fireworks shower of flame-white, yellow, and streaking red-went shooting in all directions. Sailors tumbled down the ladders, yelling. Bullets whistled and pinged against the bridgehouse. “Oh, Jesus, there goes the AA,” shouted Keefer, dodging for shelter. “This ship’s going up, Willie. It’ll be in the magazines in a minute-”
All three stacks boiled over with yellow dirty smoke like vomit. The vibrating of the main engines stopped. The ship glided, slowing, wallowing. The flames amidships cast an orange glow on the gray sea. “Water in the fuel lines.” Keefer was gasping. “We’ve lost suction. Pass the word for all hands to-”
Three-inch shells began exploding in the ready box on the deckhouse with terrifying CRACKS! and sheets of white fire. Keefer screamed, staggered, and fell to the deck. Reeking waves of gunpowder smoke swathed the bridge. Willie crouched beside the captain, and saw several blue-dungareed legs climb up on the rail and leap overboard. Keefer said, “My arm, my arm,” holding his shoulder and kicking at the deck. Blood welled between his fingers and dripped.
“Captain, are you all right? The men are beginning to jump-”
Keefer sat up, his face twisted and sick. “Let’s pass the word to abandon ship-Christ, my arm feels like it’s coming off-I think I took a piece of a shell-”
“Sir, I swear I don’t think we have to abandon yet-”
Keefer got up on one knee and staggered erect. He stumbled into the wheelhouse, and grabbed at the public-address level with a bloody hand. “This is the captain speaking. All hands abandon ship-”
Willie, at the doorway, heard only the captain’s weak voice in the wheelhouse, and no answering boom in the loudspeakers. “Sir,” he shouted, “your p.a. is dead-”
The bridge sailors were huddled against the bulwark, like cattle seeking warmth from each other’s bodies. “What do you say, Mr. Keith? Can we jump?” Urban cried.
“Stay where