Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [58]
“Why?”
Willie jumped a little at the voice. Captain de Vriess was leaning over the bulwark beside him, watching the operation.
“Well, sir, it looked pretty sharp to me, that’s all.”
“That was the lousiest launching I’ve ever seen,” said De Vriess. “Hey, Steve, what in the Christ took you forty-five minutes?”
Maryk smiled up at him. “Hello, Captain. Why, I didn’t think the boys did too bad, for a four-month layoff. Look, sir, none of the other ships have even started to launch.”
“Who cares about those snafu buckets? We streamed at Noumea in thirty-eight.”
“Sir, that was after four days’ practice-”
“Well, I want it done in thirty tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
The dirty, sweating, ragged sailors stood around, hands resting on their belts, looking singularly self-satisfied under the captain’s criticism.
“Sir, it was my fault,” spoke up the boatswain’s mate. He began an alibi which sounded to Willie like this: “The port bandersnatch got fouled in the starboard rath when we tried to galumph the cutting cable so as not to trip the snozzle again. I had to unshackle the doppelganger and bend on two snarks instead so we could launch in a hurry.”
“Well,” said De Vriess, “couldn’t you have vorpaled the silabub or taken a turn on the chortlewort? That way the jaxo would be clear of the varse and you could forget about the dudelsak. It would have done the same thing.”
“Yes, sir,” said Bellison. “That might work okay. I’ll try it tomorrow.”
Willie’s heart sank. He was certain that if he sailed a hundred years on the Caine he would understand such abracadabra no better than he did at that moment. “Sir,” he said to the captain, “is there a standard time for launching the gear?”
“Book calls for one hour,” said De Vriess. “The standard on this ship is thirty minutes. I’ve never been able to make these stumblebums do it. Maybe your friend Queeg will have better luck.”
“That’s a curious use of the word ‘standard,’ sir,” ventured Willie.
De Vriess gave him a satiric look. “Well, that’s Navy jargon for you- All right,” he called down, “you of the minesweep detail. All things considered it wasn’t too terrible a job.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the sailors, grinning at each other:
The other minesweepers got their gear launched and an afternoon of practice maneuvers began. Willie was dizzied by the turns and twists and changing formations. He tried hard to follow what was happening. Once he went to the bridge and asked Carmody, the junior officer of the deck, to explain the proceedings. Carmody answered with extended gibberish about Baker Runs, George Runs, and Zebra Runs. Willie gathered at last by using his eyes that the ships were pretending to be in a mine field and simulating various emergencies and disasters. A lugubrious business, he thought. The sun was low and the clouds were reddening when word came over the p.a., “Cease present exercises. Recover sweep gear.” Willie at once returned to the after deckhouse, partly to learn what he could about hauling in paravanes, but mainly to enjoy the cursing of the sailors. He had never heard anything like it. There was a fine dithyrambic sweep to Caine obscenity in hot moments.
He wasn’t disappointed. The minesweep detail worked in a fever, racing against time to get the two paravanes aboard. They kept a constant watch on the two black balls hanging on the yardarms of the other ships; the drop of a ball would mean that a paravane had been recovered. In fifteen minutes the Caine dropped its ball on the port yardarm; and they had the starboard paravane in sight before the Moulton hauled down a ball. Lieutenant Maryk worked with the sailors, stripped to the waist, pouring sweat. “Come on,” he shouted, “Twenty-eight minutes so far! Best yet! Let’s get that damned egg aboard.” But at the last moment there was a calamity. The sailor Fuller, who was pulling the little red float out of the water, juggled it and dropped it. The float bobbed away in the ship’s wake, free.
The other sailors gathered around Fuller and discharged such a flood of inspired