Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [28]
Willie’s one aim in filling out the form was to remain near May. First he placed Staff, Atlantic, calculating that this must land him on the East Coast, possibly even in New York. Next he put Large Ships, Atlantic (large ships spent a lot of time in port). Last he wrote Submarines, Pacific, to show that he was really a daredevil at heart. This last touch was admired on the tenth floor and much imitated. Willie himself thought that his list showed an incisive knowledge of Navy mentality. For a while he was tempted to apply for communications school, a five-month course at Annapolis. Keefer had a brother, Tom, who had attended the school and enjoyed a wild time with the Baltimore girls. But it seemed to Willie that asking outright for half a year more of shore duty would show his hand. Tom Keefer had been sent to Annapolis after requesting an aircraft carrier. When Willie found that out, it decided him against listing the school.
Graduation was one day off, and during a study period the midshipmen of the tenth floor were droning over books, carrying out to the last the pretense of work though the marks were all totaled and nothing counted any more. A word crackled down the corridor like a spark. “Orders!” The midshipmen crowded to their doors. Down the hall came the mate of the deck with a bundle of envelopes. He came to 1013 and thrust two envelopes into Keefer’s hand. “Good luck, mates.”
“Hey,” said Keefer, “there’s three guys in here.”
The messenger riffled through his bundle. “Sorry. Guess Keith’s orders are held up. There’s another batch coming.” Keefer ripped open his envelope, burst into a cheer, and danced. “Made it! Made it! Staff, Pacific, by Christ!” Willie pounded his back in congratulation. All at once Keefer sobered, and pulled himself out of the hug. “Hey, Ed-what the Shinola’s eating you?”
The horse face was leaning against the wall, trembling as though he stood in a bumping trolley car. His envelope lay on the desk.
“What did you draw, Eddy?” said Willie anxiously.
“Dunno. I-I can’t open it, fellows.” He was staring at the envelope as though it were a live mine.
Keefer snorted. “Want me to?”
“Please.”
The Southerner rasped it open and read the orders. “Jesus,” he murmured. Keggs fell on his cot with his face to the wall, groaning.
“For God’s sake,” said Willie, “what is it?”
“’Report to San Francisco for transportation to DMS 21-U.S.S. Moulton.’ ”
Keggs sat up. “A ship? A ship? Not Mine Disposal-a ship?”
“A ship,” said Keefer. “Now what is a DMS?”
“Who cares? A ship!” Keggs fell back on his cot, threw his legs and arms in the air, and neighed, wept, and giggled all at once.
Keefer drew a picture manual, Ships of the Navy, 1942, from a shelf. “DMS-DMS-I swear to God there ain’t no such ship-no wait. Here it is-DMS-page 63.”
The others crowded around him as he flipped the stiff pages to a picture of a queer narrow three-stack vessel. He read aloud: “ ‘DMS-Destroyer Minesweeper. World War I destroyer converted for high-speed sweeping.’ ”
“Oh, God!” breathed Keggs. “Mines. Mines.” He dropped into the chair and writhed.
“Hell, boy, that’s a sight better than Mine Disposal. Sweeping is nothing.”
Willie couldn’t muster up any such false cheer. The three had often talked about minesweeping and agreed it was the worst seagoing horror the Navy had to offer. He pitied Keggs. All up and down the floor shouts were being exchanged. Most of the men had received their first preferences. Those who had been honest rejoiced; the others sulked or shivered. Willie was annoyed to learn that everyone who had asked for communications school, even as third choice, had been sent there. He had missed a chance. But Staff, Atlantic, was fair enough.
The mate of the deck appeared