Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [89]
The Caine at that time was steaming placidly on a straight course, the target trailing in its wake a mile behind, and on the horizon to starboard a division of destroyers was deploying into position for the last firing run of the afternoon. Gorton approached the captain and asked him about Stilwell. Queeg laughed pleasantly and said, “Hell, of course let him stand his watch. I’ve got nothing against the boy, he seems like a clean-cut sailor. Anybody can make a mistake. Just tell him not to go doing things to the helm without orders.”
Stilwell came up to the bridge at a quarter to four dressed in brand-new dungarees and a newly bleached white hat. He was freshly shaved and his shoes were shined. He saluted the captain smartly. “Ah, good afternoon, good afternoon, Stilwell,” said Queeg with a smile. The gunner’s mate took the wheel, and studied the compass with painful concentration, trying to keep the ship from drifting even half a degree off course.
Over the TBS, the short-wave speaker in the wheelhouse, the squadron leader of the destroyers spoke up: “Gwendolyn, Gwendolyn, this is Tarzan. Ready to commence final run. Out.”
“Two-block Baker!” called the captain.
The signalman ran the red flag to the yardarm. Yellow flashes appeared all along the leading destroyer. Splashes shot up near the target as the boom of the five-inch guns came rolling over four miles of water. Again and again came the salvos, and then the second ship in line began firing.
Willie Keith was lolling on the fantail with his shirt off, enjoying the show and acquiring a sunburn. His lazy thoughts were of May Wynn, of walks through snow and rain along Broadway, of long languorous kisses in taxicabs-
“Ensign Keith, report to the bridge on the double!”
When a note of emotion managed to filter through the public-address system, as it did in this strident announcement, the effect was frightening. Willie jumped to his feet, put on his shirt, and scuttled up the main deck. A horrid sight confronted him on the bridge. The little moon-faced signalman, Urban, stood at cataleptic attention, his face frozen in lines of fear. His shirttail hung outside his pants. On one side of him stood the captain, glowering out to sea and rolling the balls. On the other side was Keefer, nervously twisting the lenses of his OOD binoculars.
“Ah, the morale officer,” said Queeg, turning sharply as Willie approached. “Mr. Keith, have you any explanation for the appearance of this sailor?”
“Sir-I-I didn’t know-” Willie turned on the signalman. “Didn’t you read my notice?” he said as fiercely as he could.
“Ye-yes, sir. I just forgot, sir. I’m sorry, sir-”
“Well, damn it,” said Willie, “the least you can do is tuck in your damned shirttail now!”
“Sir, the captain won’t let me,” bleated Urban.
Willie glanced at the captain. “Of course not,” said Queeg irritably. “First I wanted you to see what a lousy job you were doing, Ensign Keith, and-”
“Gwendolyn, Gwendolyn, this is Tarzan,” came from the wheelhouse. Queeg ran inside and seized the receiver.
“This is Gwendolyn. Go ahead.”
“Gwendolyn, cease present exercise and return to base. Well done. Out.”
“Roger, thank you, out,” said Queeg. He turned to the helmsman. “Right standard rudder.”
“Right standard rudder, sir,” said Stilwell, with a glance at the captain that showed all the white of his eyes. He spun the wheel hard.
The captain went out to the starboard wing. “Kay. Now, first of all, Keith, do you or don’t you have an explanation for this?”
“Sir, I was on the fantail, and-”
“I didn’t ask for an alibi! I’m talking about your failure to carry out my orders, and impress this ship’s crew with my desires regarding uniforms!”
The Caine, responding to the helm, swung around in a wide arc to