Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [90]
“Kay,” said Queeg, “you will submit a written report, Mr. Keith, explaining this failure.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Now then, Mr. Keefer,” said the captain, wheeling on the officer of the deck, who was watching the target. “Have you any explanation for the fact that the first man to violate my uniform orders is in your department?”
“Sir, there are limits to what a department head can do while he has the deck-”
“Well, there are no limits,” shrilled Queeg, “to the duties of the officer of the deck! He is responsible for every goddamned thing that happens aboard ship during his watch, every goddamned thing!”
The ship was swinging in a circular path. The target and towline were well forward of the beam. The helmsman was staring at the target, his mouth gaping. The turning diameter of the Caine was a thousand yards, and the towline was twice that long; it was therefore obvious to Stilwell that at the present rate the ship was going to cut far inside the target, and pass over its own towline. Ordinarily he would have called this fact to the captain’s attention; but today he would have bitten his tongue out before speaking. He held the helm at right standard rudder.
“Kay, Mr. Keefer,” Queeg was saying, “you will submit a written report explaining (a) why this man’s shirt was out when he is in your department and (b) why this man’s shirttail was out when you had the deck. Is that clear?” (The target was now drifting across the bow.)
“Aye aye, sir.”
Chiefs Budge and Bellison were sitting on a ventilator on the forecastle, enjoying a smoke in the salt breeze. Bellison suddenly dug a bony elbow into the water tender’s fat ribs. “Budge, am I seeing straight? Are we cutting back across the towline?”
Chief Budge stared out at the target, then looked wildly at the bridge, then catapulted his heavy body to the life lines, and peered over the side at the water. “Christ, yes. What’s the matter with the old man?”
Bellison said, “Should I yell?”
“It’s too late. We can’t stop any more-”
“Jesus, the screws, Budge-suppose that tow cable wraps around the screws-”
The chiefs held their breath and clung to the life lines, fearfully watching the bobbing target, far on the port beam. The Caine majestically steamed over its own tow cable. There was a slight jar, no more, and the old ship continued on its way. Nothing, apparently, happened to the target.
“The two chiefs turned to each other. Bellison uncorked a flood of horrible profanity, which, translated, meant, “This is extremely unusual.” They stared at the sea and the ship’s curving wake for a long while, half stunned. “Budge,” said Bellison at last in a low, shaken tone, “I’m an unholy son of a bitch. This ship has gone around a full circle, and is starting around again!”
Budge, his stomach resting heavily on the life line, nodded in wonder. On the sea the ship’s wake was a complete circle of smooth green water flecked with bubbles, a mile across. The Caine was plowing into the same track again, still heeled over by the rudder. “What the Christ are we steaming in circles for?” said Bellison.
“Maybe the old man’s slipped his trolley-”
“Maybe the rudder’s jammed. Maybe the cable’s cut. Let’s see what the hell goes on-” They ran off the forecastle.
Meanwhile, on the bridge, Captain Queeg was winding up the shirttail emergency, after a long general harangue on the subject. “Kay, Signalman Third Class Urban. You may now adjust your uniform.” The little signalman frantically stuffed his shirt into his trousers and snapped to rigid quivering attention again. “There,” said Queeg. “Don’t you think you look better? More like a sailor in the United States Navy?”
“Yes, sir,” choked Urban.
The Caine had now steamed partly around the circle for the second time, and once more the target lay ahead. Queeg walked away from the palpitating sailor, with a curt “Dismissed.” He saw the target, started with surprise, and threw a savage glance at Keefer and Keith. “What the hell is that target doing up there?” he