Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [69]
“What’s the matter with this Keith?”
“Nothing. He’s going to be a good officer. Needed a kick in the pants, and I gave it to him. I don’t know but what I’ll rewrite that before I shoot it in. He’s willing and has a good head.”
“Why did he need a kick in the pants?”
“Well, he mislaid a despatch. Not an important one, but on general principles-when he’s just getting started, you know-I thought he ought to be brought up short.”
Queeg pursed his lips, then smiled agreeably. “I suppose no despatch is unimportant, really.”
“Well, you’re right, there.”
“Did your communications officer catch the mistake-this Keefer?”
“Keefer does very well. Of course no system is foolproof. He’s a strange duck, by the way. Brilliant mind. A writer. Read about all the books in the world. Son of a gun’s been working on a novel in off hours-”
“Did you discipline Keith?”
“Put him in hack for three days.”
“How about Keefer?”
“I ought to make one thing as clear as I can,” said De Vriess in a firm, pleasant tone. “I regard both those men as excellent officer material. Keith may turn into an outstanding officer after some seasoning. As for Keefer, he has brains enough to do anything superlatively, but he’s older, and his interests are somewhat divided. You engage his loyalty and he’ll deliver the goods. Stands a fine OOD watch under way.”
“Nice to know. How are we on watch-standers?”
The far-off thumping of metal scrapers was augmented by a new sound directly overhead, a terrific clatter and clanking of another party of paint chippers. Queeg winced. De Vriess leaped up, pressed a buzzer, and roared into a brass speaking tube at the head of his bed, “Engstrand! Tell the damn deck force to stop trying to split my skull!” The two men looked at each other in wry amusement for a few deafening seconds, and the noise suddenly subsided.
“Lot of that going on,” observed Queeg.
“Every time we’re in port the deck boys turn to. Only way to stay ahead of the rust.”
“I wonder why? Scrape her down to flat bright metal and give her a good double coat, and that ought to be the end of it for a long while.”
“There isn’t any flat bright metal,” said De Vriess. “These decks have taken too much salt water. They’re pitted. The rust starts up from a pit and just spreads under the new paint like a skin disease. It’s not a bad thing. Chipping paint is good exercise. We’ve killed a hell of a lot of dead time for the crew chipping paint.”
“How does the ship handle?”
“Like any destroyer. All the power you need. She won’t turn on a dime like these new destroyer-escorts. But you can maneuver her.”
“Wind take her much, coming alongside?”
“Well, you have to watch the wind.”
“Good line-handling parties?”
“No kick there. Maryk has them trained up pretty fair.”
“I like fast line handling.”
“So do I. You’ve handled destroyers?”
“Well,” said Queeg, “I guess I’ve had a few million hours as OOD under way.”
“How about coming alongside and so forth?”
“Well, I’ve seen it done often enough. Given the orders and so forth.”
De Vriess regarded his successor narrowly. “Were you exec on this Bristol-class destroyer?”
“Well, just a month or so. Had almost every other department-it was the Falk-guns, hull, black gang, communications- I was just breaking in as exec when they yanked me over to a carrier-”
“Skipper give you the conn much?”
“Well, there wasn’t much chance. A few times.”
De Vriess offered Queeg a cigarette and lit one himself. “If you like,” he said carelessly, waving out the match, “we can take her out for a couple of runs before you take over. I can stand by while you shoot a few approaches, and getting away from alongside, and maybe some power turns and so forth-”
“Thanks, that won’t be necessary.”
De Vriess puffed twice on his cigarette in silence. “Well,” he said, “I’m at your service. How do you want to go about this?”
“Well, I’ll have to sight the registered publications and execute a transfer report,” said Queeg. “Guess maybe we can do that pretty soon, like today. And I’d appreciate having a look around-”
“Let’s do that this morning.”
“I suppose