Ice Brothers (37 page)

“Skipper, this is for you,” Nathan said, and tossed to Paul a packet of a dozen letters in pale blue envelopes that a postmaster had tied together with brown string.

Paul opened the first envelope in the packet, noting that it had been mailed about a month after he had left Boston. He was angry at himself for seeing at first glance that the slanting sentences were written in a childish scrawl and that many of the words were misspelled. He'd always known that Sylvia had never been much of a scholar, and it was obviously wrong to judge the intelligence of a pretty girl or anyone else by the way she wrote. The fact that he was bothered by her lack of literacy made him feel disloyal, but nonetheless more protective of her than ever.

“Paul my dearest darling,” she wrote, “Things are sure dull around here but I'm alright, and I don't want you to be consented about me. We bought the adorable house I told you about in my last letter, but the papers haven't been finnished yet, and we can't start fixing it up. Mother gave a big party for Mark here when he got his navy commission. Everyone we know came, including Bill, who looks very hansome in his airforce uniforme, but I didn't drink or dance hardly at all, and you would have been proud of me. I'm trying my best to be a very good wife. Your mother sent me a picture of you and you look even more hansome than Bill in your uniforme. I kiss your picture every night before I go to sleep and now you've got lipstick all over your face the way you relly did sometimes on the boat. Remember?

“I wish I could write better letters, but I never was any good at English. How come you don't write more? The trouble is, I bet you have all kinds of escuses and I don't have any, except nothing at all is happening here. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you and I love, love, love you.

Your loving wife,

Sylvia”

Paul opened the other letters, but they were mostly concerned with her efforts to redecorate the little house which her father had bought for her on a neighboring block. She enclosed several photographs, but they were all of the house, not of her. Paul felt curiously empty as he put his letters in a drawer under his bunk. He didn't even like the house, a fake dwarf colonial, complete with coach lanterns and white wagon wheels, and that made him feel more disloyal than ever …

By this time all hands had received their mail. In an attempt to find privacy for reading, the men had retreated to every corner of the ship. One was on the flying bridge, one was leaning against the gun on the bow, and one had even climbed to the crow's nest. Without the usual babble of conversation, the ship was curiously quiet.

Paul went to the forecastle for coffee. Nathan was sitting at the table there, his head bent over a cup. “The men are having a contest to see who gets the most mail,” he said. “So far Blake is ahead. His mother sent him more than a hundred letters. She writes him every day.”

“I wonder how he can read them all,” Paul replied. “How did you make out?”

As soon as he spoke he regretted the question … Nathan's reticence and manner whenever men referred to their wives had caused him to conclude that Nathan's marriage was troubled, or that his wife had left him. Now a muscle in Nathan's right cheek twitched as he forced a smile.

“Okay,” he said, “among other things, I got greetings from my draft board. My deferment as a necessary civilian technician has been withdrawn. And a garageman whose bill I forgot says he's going to attach my car. Fortunately I sold it. Do you think I should be moral enough to pay him anyway?”

“Fuck him,” Paul said with a ferocity which surprised him. “Fuck all the guys who are fucking all the girls at home. Did you see the operations officer?”

“Yeah. He's going to order the stuff I need for radar detection, but I doubt whether we get it in time. I also met a guy from base radio who might help us scrounge the stuff. He's crazy for souvenirs of the frozen north. Do you suppose we could talk the guys into trading some of the crap they've collected?”

“They'll trade it for beer, and we can get that for them.”

“I don't know what the guy can get for us or how much he wants.”

“Promise him anything. If you have to, tell him we can take him to a real Eskie settlement. I understand that there's one just across the fjord. If you tell him all that stuff that Mowrey gave us about ping-ping, he'll probably give you the whole base. Just get what you need before we have to deliver.”

“I'll sure try. Paul, the commander at GreenPat wants to see you as soon as possible. I gather that the decision about a new C.O. is in the balance. I tried to tip it your way. He wants to see the fitness reports. I told him that Mowrey had made them out.”

“I'll go right up there now,” Paul said. “Did he tell you how soon he wants us to sail?”

“As soon as possible, I gather.”

Nathan went on to tell the news about the discovery of the machine-gunned boat from the
Nanmak
, and that Hansen with part of the crew was still missing.

“They say there's a chance that Hansen still might be alive somewhere in the ice floe,” he concluded. “If that's true, we ought to rush.”

Paul finished his coffee silently.

“Look,” he said suddenly, “I don't want to sail until you get the stuff you need. Hurrying up there and getting sunk isn't going to help Hansen. If he has survived this long, he's holed up somewhere where he can last a long time.”

“If he has enough food.”

“Hell, the Eskies catch fish and kill enough seals to grow fat out there. They know how to keep warm. If Hansen didn't get killed, he'll make it. I bet he wouldn't want us to go up there as much a sitting duck as he was. Do you know what I'm going to do?”

“What?”

“One way or another, I'm going to get more guns. I can't get long range stuff, but in the darkness and the ice, there's a chance we could get right on top of the Kraut. I bet I can scrounge some machine guns from the army, some mortars and at least some hand grenades. And every man aboard should have an automatic rifle.”

“I'm with you.”

“I'll go see GreenPat now. Maybe we can draw some of the stuff legally. Not everybody in headquarters can really want to make us a sitting duck.”

Commander Sanders was even more cordial to Paul than he had been to Nathan. After shaking hands he offered him coffee and a cigarette.

“I understand that you've been doing a fine job aboard the
Arluk,
” he began. “It's only recently that I've understood that for some time, Captain Mowrey has not, let us say, been at his best.”

“What have you heard, sir?”

“I've got a medical report from the base hospital, and the captain of that destroyer you were trying to rescue reported that Captain Mowrey was in bad shape when he came aboard. That complaint went through Washington and has just come back to me.”

“The old guy was having a bad time, but as he said to me, he never put a ship on the rocks.”

“He knew his business. But right now he's in bad shape. They're going to patch him up here as best they can before flying him back to a hospital in the States.”

Paul experienced the same conflict of emotions which Mowrey always had caused, both relief and a curious sense of loss. “I hope they can fix him up,” he said.

“I'm sure they will. But now the
Arluk
needs a new commanding officer.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Green said that Mr. Mowrey has made fitness reports.”

“Yes, sir.” Paul took the reports on both Nathan and himself from his pocket and handed them over. He had dated them a week ago.

“Captain Mowrey must have known he was too ill to keep on before he fell. It was good of him to make these out in advance.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quickly Sanders scanned the reports. “He certainly thinks highly of you two. Captain Mowrey is not always such a great admirer of junior officers.”

“We all got along together pretty well, sir.”

“Do you want command of the
Arluk?
Do you think you can handle it?”

“Under certain circumstances, sir,” Paul heard himself say.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Sir, if we're supposed to go to the east coast, I think we should get radar, a radar detection device at least. I know Mr. Green has talked to you about that. I also think we should get more guns. I think that losing one trawler there should be enough.”

“I agree, but are you aware of the technical difficulties involved in installing more guns? Those trawlers have too much top weight as it is, and their decks can't take bigger guns.”

“I understand that, sir. But we could at least mount machine guns and some mortars. I want hand grenades and automatic rifles for all the men.”

“Are you planning on fighting an infantry war out there in the ice floe?”

“Sir, there's at least a small chance that we could fight at close quarters.”

“Why would the Germans allow that? Some of their icebreakers have six-inch guns, maybe a few eight-inchers.”

“Sir, it's possible that we could just blunder on top of each other in poor visibility.”

“We think that some of those German icebreakers may have radar.”

“Yes, sir, but the
Nanmak
's radar was always on the fritz. Should we assume that theirs always works? And beyond that, radar is hard to read in the ice floe if the target doesn't move. We might jump from behind a berg, it's at least a one-percent chance. Hell, I might even surrender to her. Since they sank the
Nanmak
, they're probably overconfident. If they came right up alongside, we could keep them away from their guns with machine-gun fire, ram them or even board them. We might take them by surprise—”

“I wouldn't count on that too much.”

“No, sir. But if we're supposed to follow in the wake of the
Nanmak
, sir, I've got to be able to give my men some hope, some strategy that could at least give us one chance out of a thousand.”

“I understand that. You understand our over-all strategy on this, don't you? It was just bad luck that the
Nanmak
never got a chance to radio for planes the way the
Northern Light
did.”

“Bad luck and bad visibility, sir. I guess we can expect plenty of both.”

“You understand that all ships have a list of authorized armament that has been worked out by naval architects. It's hard to get permission to change that. And the Coast Guard of course doesn't have the kind of arms you mention here.”

“We could draw them from the army. They must be prepared for ground attack.”

“I dare say,” Sanders replied with a sigh. “All I can do is forward your request to Headquarters. I'll recommend it and mark it urgent.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now, do you want command of the
Arluk?
”

“Yes, sir.”

“You think that with only about six months of active duty, you can handle it?”

“Captain Mowrey was a great teacher.”

“I bet that's the first time he's ever been called that,” Sanders said drily. “At any rate, he certainly gave you high marks and I trust his judgment. So I'll make you temporary commanding officer of the
Arluk
, and we'll see how it works out. I'll have a yeoman type up your orders immediately.” Sanders stood up with unselfconscious formality and put out his hand. “Congratulations, Captain Schuman. You are very young for a command, even in wartime.”

“Thank you, sir.” Paul had the errant notion that he should add, “Thanks a million.” Instead he smiled and said, “If you're asking me to play David against Goliath, I hope you'll at least give me a slingshot.”

“You've made your point, Captain. Now if you'll wait in the outer office, I'll have your orders ready in a few minutes. I suggest you take command formally as soon as possible. It's never wise to leave a ship long without a captain.”

“Yes, sir.”

Paul had turned to go when Sanders said, “Just a minute. Do you want Mr. Green as your executive officer, or do you want me to try to get someone more experienced?”

“I want Mr. Green.”

“I'll have his orders made out. You can deliver them to him. I have a new ensign I can send you for communications and supply. It will be his first sea duty, but you know how things are.”

“Yes, sir,” Paul said, and added with a smile, “There aren't many of us old ice pilots around.”

CHAPTER 27

With the orders making him a ship's captain (temporary) in his pocket, Paul went to the officers' club. He wanted one ceremonial drink, a silent, sentimental toast to Mowrey, perhaps. Beyond that, he hoped to make some money at poker. Probably Headquarters would not grant him guns, but even in Greenland money could buy almost anything.

While Paul was sipping his celebratory scotch, a young navy lieutenant glanced at him closely. “How's the Hooligan navy?” he asked with a smile.

“Tired from trying to get you guys off the rocks.”

“You didn't accomplish much. They're giving up on that tin can.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Paul said, wondering whether Mowrey's wild plan might have worked if it had been tried.

“And I'm sorry as hell to hear about the
Nanmak,
” the lieutenant said. “I always thought that all that talk about the Krauts' machine-gunning lifeboats was propaganda, but this time it happened. I talked to a guy from the ship that found the boat.”

“How many men were in it?”

“About fifteen bodies, I think. He said about half the crew. Some were decapitated and some damn near cut in half by heavy machine guns. They must have caught them in a cross fire.”

“The executive officer?”

“Yeah. Look, I wouldn't make a joke about a thing like this, but he didn't have any face left. Do you know how they identified his body? He'd had a medical problem …”