Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [38]
“Maybe she sank,” said the sailor crouched on the bow, a small baby-faced youngster with a highly obscene tattoo on his chest.
“No such luck,” said Meatball.
“Could be,” said Horrible. “Chief Budge had ’em scraping bilges in number-two engine room. I told him there wasn’t nothin’ keepin’ the water out but that rust.”
“What do we do now, Mister Paynter?” said Meatball.
“Well, let’s see. They wouldn’t put out to sea without the gig,” said Paynter slowly. “Probably they’ve just shifted berths. Look around.”
Horrible killed the motor. The boat drifted gently in dead quiet past a bobbing red channel buoy. From the water rose an effluvium of fuel oil and rotten vegetables. “There she is,” said Meatball, and clanged the bell.
“Where?” said Paynter.
“Repair basin. Right there starboard of the St. Louis-” The coxswain thrust the tiller over. The boat swung about.
“Yeah.” Paynter nodded. “Guess we get our alongside period after all.” He dropped back under the canopy.
Willie, staring in the direction Meatball had been looking, could see nothing that resembled the Caine. The repair basin was crammed with ships of every shape except the DMS silhouette which Willie had memorized from pictures. “Pardon me,” he shouted to Meatball, “can you point the ship out to me?”
“Sure. There.” The coxswain jerked his head meaninglessly.
“Do you see her?” Willie said to Horrible.
“Sure. She’s in that nest of cans in C-4.”
Willie wondered whether his vision had gone bad.
Paynter said, “You can’t see nothing but the trucklight from here. You’ll see her soon enough.”
It humiliated Willie not to be able to recognize his ship by the trucklight. He punished himself by standing up and taking spray in his face for the rest of the ride.
The gig came alongside a limp chain ladder hanging over the side of a new destroyer, the outer ship of four in the repair berth. “Let’s go,” said Paynter, “the Caine’s the one inboard of this. The men will bring your gear.”
Willie went up the jingling ladder, saluted the smart OOD of the destroyer, and crossed the deck. A tarry plank laid between the ships over four feet of open water led to the Caine. Willie got no distinct impression of his ship at first glance. He was too concerned about the plank. He hung back. Paynter mounted the board, saying, “This way.” As he crossed, the Caine rolled and the plank wobbled violently. Paynter jumped off it to the Caine deck.
It occurred to Willie that if Paynter had fallen from the plank he would have been crushed between the two ships. With this picture bright in his mind Willie set foot on the plank and pranced across like a circus acrobat. Halfway, hanging over the open water, he felt the plank heave upward. He leaped for life, and landed on the Caine in the arms of the OOD, staggering him.
“Ho! Don’t be so eager,” said the OOD. “You don’t know what you’re jumping into.”
“Rabbitt, this is the long-lost Ensign Keith,” said Paynter. “So I gathered.” Lieutenant (jg) Rabbitt shook Willie’s hand. He was of middle size, with a narrow face and an air of rustic good humor. “Welcome aboard, Keith. Say, Paynter, this Ensign Harding showed up too, half an hour ago.”
“All kinds of new blood,” said Poynter.
The focus of Willie’s mind widened beyond the plank now and took in the quarterdeck of the Caine. It was a place of noise, dirt, bad smells, and thug-like strangers. Half a dozen sailors were planking at the rusty deck with metal scrapers. Other sailors were walking past, cursing under crates of cabbages on their backs. One man in a welding mask was burning a bulkhead with a crackling sour-smelling blue flame. All around were patches of new gray paint, patches of old gray paint, patches of green prime coat, and patches of rust. A tangle of snaky hoses, red, black, green, yellow, brown lay all over the deck. The deck was covered with orange peel, fragments of magazines and old rags. Most of the sailors were half naked and wore fantastic beards and haircuts. Oaths, blasphemies, and one recurring four-letter word filled the air like fog.
“God knows where