Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [74]
“I want you to remember one thing,” Queeg went on. “Aboard my ship, excellent performance is standard. Standard performance is sub-standard. Sub-standard performance is not permitted to exist. Now, Rome wasn’t built in a day, and this ship has been sailing a hell of a long time without me, and as I say, I regard you as a splendid wardroom of officers. If there’s anything that I want changed in anybody’s department you’ll find out about it fast enough. Meantime you will go on with your duties as before, remembering, as I say, that on my ship excellent performance is standard.”
Keefer dropped the shred of the cigarette slowly into his coffee cup.
“Well, now that I’ve shot my face off,” said Queeg, “I’ll give anyone else who wants to the chance to do the same. ... Nobody? Okay. Then let’s have taut watches beginning as of now, if you feel that in any way you haven’t been standing taut watches. And let’s have a taut ship. And, as I say, remember about loyalty upward, and loyalty downward, and about excellent performance being standard. And, as I say, I regard you as a fine set of officers, and it’s a privilege to be in a wardroom with you, and-and let’s keep it that way. And that’s all I have to say. And I thank you, and”-he laughed once more, an informal laugh that dismissed any tinge of martial austerity in what he had said-“all ashore that’s going ashore.”
He rose, picking up his cigarettes. The officers stood. “Don’t get up, don’t get up,” he said. “Thank you all.” He went into his cabin.
The officers looked around at each other. After a moment’s stillness Gorton inquired, “Anybody got anything on his mind?”
“When is the gig shoving off for the beach?” said Keefer.
“At 1800,” said Gorton. “I’m glad you asked, because you’ll have the gangway then.”
“In a pig’s eye,” said Keefer genially. “I’ll be in the gig. I’ve got me a date with a college graduate from the OWI office. She knows words of two syllables. It promises to be a highly intellectual evening, after life on the Caine.”
“Well, in words of one syllable, you’re a dead duck,” said Gorton. “New watch-standing orders. Four officers aboard at all times in port. Me or the captain, and all three-repeat, all three-officers of the duty section. I believe your section has the duty?”
Keefer looked around and said, “Okay. Who’s standing by for good old Tommy?”
“I’ll take it, Tom,” said Maryk.
“Thanks, Steve. I’ll do the same-”
“Sorry, boys,” put in Gorton. “No stand-bys.”
Keefer gnawed at his lips, scowling. Barrow rose, polishing his fingernails on his gabardine lapel. “I can take a dictionary along in the gig, Tommy,” he said daintily, “and bone up on two-syllable words. Does she know how to say ‘Gladly’?” There was a bark of male laughter from all the officers.
“Oh, look, Burt,” pleaded Keefer. “It’s absolutely pointless. We’re standing a cold-iron watch. There’s nothing to do but log vegetables aboard. Hell’s bells, in Tulagi we didn’t keep four aboard, with the Tokyo Express running every night.”
“Tom, I have never heard anything more persuasive,” said Gorton. “Your arguments move me to tears. Now will you go in and straighten out the captain?”
Carmody yawned and put his head on his hands. He said sleepily, “I see where the great American novel gets another chapter written tonight.”
Keefer rose, uttered a short, blistering obscenity, and went to his room. He picked up the volume of Aurelius from his cluttered desk, and flung himself on his bunk. For ten minutes he read the soothing stoicisms of the Roman emperor. Then Gorton poked his