Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [45]
The messenger, a small seaman first class named Mackenzie, promptly sat down on a crate of cabbages, with a happy sigh. Willie was stupefied by this defiance. “Get up, Mackenzie,” he said uncertainly.
“Aw, why? I’m here if you need me for a messenger. Hell, sir,” said Mackenzie, with an ingratiating smile, leaning back comfortably, “you don’t have to pay no attention to Lieutenant Adams. He’s the only officer that makes us stand up. Captain de Vriess don’t care.”
Willie suspected that this was a lie. He glanced at the gangway petty officer, Engstrand, a tall broad-shouldered first-class signalman, who was leaning against the desk, enjoying the byplay with a toothy grin.
“If you’re not on your feet in two seconds,” said Willie, “you’re on report.”
Mackenzie got up at once, muttering, “Christ, another one of these lousy fireballs.”
Willie was too embarrassed to object further. “I’m going to inspect the guards,” he said.
“Aye aye, sir,” said Engstrand.
On the forecastle, where a pleasant breeze blew and the night was blazing with stars, Willie found the guard curled up against the anchor windlass, his gun across his knees, fast asleep. This really shocked him. He had learned at Furnald Hall that the penalty for sleeping on watch in wartime was the firing squad. “Hey you,” he yelled, “wake up.” The guard was oblivious. Willie poked him with a toe, then shook him fiercely. The guard yawned and stood, shouldering his rifle. “Do you know,” barked Willie, “what the penalty is for sleeping on watch?”
“Who was sleeping?” said the guard, with sincere outrage. “I was sending Morse code mentally.”
Willie wanted to put this felon on report, but he hated to be responsible for his court-martial. “Well, whatever you were doing, stay on your feet and don’t do it again.”
“I was on my feet,” said the guard angrily. “Just crouching to keep warm.”
Willie left in disgust to inspect the guard at the stern. He passed the quarterdeck and found Mackenzie supine on a pile of life jackets. “Hell’s fire,” he shouted. “Get up, Mackenzie! Engstrand, can’t you keep this man standing up?”
“Sir, I’m sick,” moaned Mackenzie, sitting up. “I had a rough liberty.”
“He is in bad shape, sir,” said Engstrand, with a slight smile.
“Well, get someone else to stand the watch, then.”
“Hell, sir, the whole crew is in terrible shape,” replied Engstrand.
“Get up, Mackenzie!” roared Willie. Mackenzie pulled himself up on his feet, with ghastly moans.
“Okay, stay that way.” Willie strode aft. The guard on the fantail was asleep on the deck, curled in a ball like a dog. “Jesus, what a ship,” Willie muttered, and gave the guard a tremendous kick in the ribs. The guard jumped up, seized his rifle, and came to attention. Then he peered at Willie incredulously.
“Holy cats,” he muttered, “I thought sure you was Mr. Maryk.”
“I’m Mr. Keith,” said Willie, “and what’s your name?”
“Fuller.”
“Well, Fuller, if I ever find you off your feet again on watch you get a general court-martial, do you hear?”
“Sure,” said Fuller affably. “Say, are you from the Academy like Mr. Carmody?”
“No.” Willie returned to the quarterdeck. Mackenzie was asleep on the life jackets again, and Engstrand was sitting on a hatch, smoking a cigar. He rose hastily when he saw Willie.
“Sorry, sir. Just taking a blow.”
“Oh, God,” exclaimed Willie. He was exhausted, enraged, and sick at the stomach. “And you a first-class petty officer. Three cheers for the good ship Caine. Look, Engstrand, you can sit, lie, or drop dead, for all I care, but keep this horizontal bastard on his feet for the rest of the watch, or I swear I’ll put you on report.”
“Get up, Mackenzie, » said Engstrand, in a dry crisp tone. The sailor sprang off the life jackets, walked to the rail, and leaned against it, staring sullenly. Willie went to the desk and opened the Watch Officers’ Guide with trembling hands, waiting for Mackenzie’s next move. But the sailor stood in the same place for ten minutes, and seemed to find no difficulty at all in standing. At last he spoke up.
“All right