Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [80]
Gorton slammed down the cup and saucer on the arm of the chair. Coffee splashed to the deck. “Mister Keefer, we are not discussing anything but tonight’s watch,” he said, “and be careful of your tone in addressing me.”
“Hold on, Burt. Take an even strain. No offense meant. Did the old man eat you out?”
“You’re damned right he did. Do you secure your brains when you’re not writing your goddamn novel? The first night a new skipper is aboard, can’t you be a little careful?”
“Sorry. I did think of it, but I got to talking to Steve and forgot to watch the clock-”
“Well, that’s only half of it. What the hell is Keith doing over on the Moulton?”
Keefer’s face crinkled in disgust. “Oh, Burt. That’s too much. Since when is the duty section not allowed to cross the gangplank to the ship alongside?”
“Since always. Read the standing orders again. Why didn’t he check out with me?”
“He looked in on you. You were asleep.”
“Well, he should have waked me up.”
“Burt, anybody waking you up with such a fool request before tonight would have gotten a copy of Snappy Stories in his puss.”
“Well, tonight’s another night. We’re back on standing orders, and no kidding-”
“Okay, okay, that’s simple enough. Just so we know about it-”
“Meantime,” said Gorton, looking down into his empty cup, “you’re restricted to the ship for twenty-four hours.”
“What!” flared Keefer. “Says who?”
“Says me, God damn it,” snapped the executive officer. “Good enough?”
“Not by a long shot. If you think you can suddenly pull regs on me that have been dead-filed for two years, and start slapping me with penalties-”
“Shut up!” said Gorton.
“I have a date tomorrow night. It’s the one I broke tonight, and I’m not breaking it again. If you don’t like it tell the skipper I defied you, and recommend a general court-martial-”
“You stupid bastard, do you think I’m the one who’s restricting you? Get this through your thick Reserve head, the heat is on. I’ll be the guy everybody will hate. That’s okay. I’m the exec of this ship, and I’ll carry out my orders, do you hear?”
A radioman poked his pale face into the wardroom. “Pardon me, Mr. Keefer, do you know where I can find Mr. Keith? He doesn’t seem to be anywhere-”
“What’s up?”
“Priority, action Caine.”
Keefer took the despatch sheet. “Okay, Snuffy.” The radioman withdrew. Gorton said, “Who’s the originator?”
“ServPac.”
The exec’s sullen face lit up. “ServPac? Priority? Could be a stateside convoy run. Break it, for crying out loud.”
Keefer started decoding; he had deciphered about fifteen words when he stopped, muttered a curse, and resumed the work with all eagerness gone.
“Well, what’s the dope?” said the exec.
“Convoy run, all right,” said Keefer listlessly. “But you’re a little matter of 180 degrees off in direction.”
“Oh, no,” groaned Gorton. “No.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Keefer. “The Caine is going to Pago Pago.”
CHAPTER 13
The Best Goddamned Target-towing Ship
Next day Willie went to his post on the bridge as junior officer of the deck shortly after sunrise. It was a lovely morning, bright and fragrant. The harbor was blue, and the surrounding hills of Oahu a soft yellow-green, flecked here and there by the fat shadows of puffy clouds which drifted over the north mountains, evaporating on the fair-weather side of the island without shedding rain. Willie was full of fresh eggs and coffee. The lively zest that comes over a ship’s company upon getting under way-no matter where bound-infected him. Pago Pago was far behind the combat zone, almost as safe as Hawaii, but at least it lay southwestward, and it was Somerset Maugham country. Romantic adventure seemed to be opening before him at last. Perhaps there would be encounters with submarines, he thought, and he could begin to redeem himself for his months of piano playing in Pearl Harbor.
Captain Queeg came up to the bridge, brisk and smiling, with a pleasant greeting for each sailor and officer. Willie recognized the narrow