Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [91]
“Sir, you told me right standard rudder. I’m holding at right standard rudder,” said the helmsman desperately.
“Kay, that’s right, I did tell you right standard rudder,” said Queeg, turning his head from side to side, looking first at the target, then at the departing destroyers. “Why the hell isn’t that target coming around after us? That’s what I want to know- All engines stop! Steady as you go!”
The Caine wallowed to a stop. The target drifted on the port beam, about five hundred yards away. The telephone talker poked his head into the wheelhouse. “Pardon me, Captain-” he said, in a scared voice. “It’s Chief Bellison, sir, from the fantail. He says we ain’t got the target no more. The towline’s broken.”
“How the hell does he know it’s broken?” Queeg snapped. “Tell him not to be so goddamn positive when he’s just making a goddamn surmise.”
Grubnecker moved his lips, as though rehearsing the message, then spoke into the phone strapped on his neck. “Chief, the captain says not to be so goddamn positive with your goddamn sammizes.”
“All engines ahead standard! Rudder amidships! We’ll see whether we’ve got the target or not.”
The Caine steamed two miles. The target dwindled to a bobbing dot on the waves, not moving at all. Utter silence hung in the wheelhouse. “Kay,” said the captain. “Now we know what we want to know. We haven’t got the target.” He looked at Keefer and shrugged humorously. “Well, Tom, if ComServPac gives us cables that part when we come right a few degrees that’s his lookout, hey? ... Willie, give me a despatch blank.”
He wrote, Defective towline parted southwest corner gunnery area Charlie. Target adrift, menace to navigation. Am returning to base. Suggest tug recover or destroy target at dawn tomorrow.
“Send it out on the harbor frequency,” he said.
As Willie took the despatch Maryk came running into the wheelhouse, his khaki shirt black with sweat. “Sir, the motor whaleboat is swung out and the target detail is standing by. It’ll take us about an hour to recover. If we close to about fifty yards-”
“Recover what?”
“The target, sir.” The first lieutenant seemed amazed at the question.
“Show Mr. Maryk the despatch, Willie,” said Queeg, grinning. The first lieutenant ran his eye over the scribbled sheet. Queeg went on, “As I see it, Mr. Maryk-maybe your insight is more profound than mine-my responsibility doesn’t include emergencies arising from defective gear. If ServPac gives me a towline that parts my duty is to let him know and then get back home and await the next operation, instead of fooling away the Navy’s time out here to no purpose- Mr. Keefer, kindly ask the navigator for a course back to Pearl.”
Maryk followed Keefer out to the port wing and tugged at his shirt sleeve. “Tom,” he whispered, “doesn’t he know that we went around in circles and cut the target loose?”
“Steve,” murmured the communications officer, shaking his head, “don’t ask me what goes on in his mind. We’re in trouble with this joker, Steve. I’m not fooling.”
The two officers went into the charthouse, where Gorton was calculating a sun line. Keefer said, “Skipper wants a course to Pearl, Burt.”
Gorton’s mouth fell open. “What! How about the target?”
Maryk told him Queeg’s reasoning on the subject and added, “Burt, if you want to keep him out of trouble, try to talk him into recovering it-”
“Listen, Steve, I ain’t talking the old man into anything he-”
Queeg’s scowling face poked into the charthouse. “Well, well? What’s the staff conference all about? I’m still waiting for a course to Pearl-”
“Captain, I’m sorry if I seem pigheaded, sir,” Maryk blurted, “but I still think we ought to try to recover that damn target. It’s worth thousands of dollars, sir. We can do it if-”
“How do you know we can do it? Has this ship ever recovered one?”
“No, sir, but-”
“Well, I haven’t got such a high opinion of Caine seamanship as