Ice Brothers (45 page)

“Wrap this around your shoulders,” he said to Blake, shoving the parka at him. When he was sure the boy had a firm hold of it, he allowed himself to slide down the rigging to the deck. The wind was piercing his uniform and long underwear. He ran to the bridge.

“Get me another parka please,” he said to Nathan.

“Yes sir.” Nathan disappeared without a word.

“Guns, do you have any more ideas on how I should run this ship?”

“No sir, but he could still freeze up there inside of the next three hours.”

“Give him another half hour and then send him below. Get somebody to stand the rest of his watch on the gun deck.”

“Yes sir.”

“And pass the word that my orders hold. Anyone found asleep on watch will go to the crow's nest.”

Paul went to his cabin. He was allowing himself a rare drink of brandy when Nathan appeared with another parka. “Your parka,
sir.
”

“You want a drink, Nathan?”

“No thank you, sir.”

“You still think I should let people go to sleep on watch without punishment?”

“I don't know, sir. As you say, I'm just good with radar and radio. I'm not much of an administrator.”

“But somebody has to handle the men—” Paul realized that he was asking for approval, but he didn't get it. Nathan just shrugged, turned and left.

There was no sound but the rising shriek of the wind. Paul lay down on his bunk and tried to review the whole episode. Shit, first I tried to be as tough as old Mowrey, and then I overcompensated with the big brother act. Nathan says to forget Mowrey and be myself, but who wants to have a college boy for a captain? I have to invent myself as I go along.…

Two days later the wind veered to the north and continued to blow hard. Paul had hoped that a north wind would free the ship, but the ice around them remained as solid as concrete. The men began to speculate about the possibility of being frozen in for the winter. Cookie said that by April they'd be down to canned beans and codfish, a prospect which oddly seemed to delight him. “Then you bastards will appreciate the food I've been cooking,” he said.

Paul always had imagined that weeks stuck in the ice would be unbearably boring, but the frustrations of the crew kept him busier than ever. Sparks accused a seaman named Wollinger of stealing money from a wallet he kept hidden under his mattress, and what was worse, of taking the photograph of his nude wife, which he also had kept secreted there in its cardboard folder. Wollinger acted completely innocent. His wallet was full of bills, but no one could prove that they had come from Sparks, and no trace of the photograph could be found. Although he hated the idea of crime without punishment aboard his ship, Paul was unable to think of any way to handle this. Apparently Sparks or his friends took care of the matter, for soon Wollinger complained that all his money had been stolen. No one could prove anything and Paul had to content himself with indignant lectures about thievery aboard a small ship.

A week after this incident, while the north wind continued to shriek through the rigging, Boats lodged a more serious complaint. It was nine o'clock in the evening when the red-haired chief petty officer knocked on the door of Paul's cabin. Taking his cap off as he came in, he said, “Sir, I want to put Guns and Blake on report.”

“What for?”

“They're queer, sir. I caught them at it.”

“Oh, God!” Paul rubbed his face with his hand. “Exactly what happened?”

“I went down to the hold to check the depth charges, to see if they'd shifted any. Blake was going down on Guns. They were so busy they didn't even see me.”

“And you want to bring formal charges?”

“That's only right, sir, isn't it? We can't have the men going queer on us.”

“Let me think about it. I'll see you in a few minutes, Boats.”

Paul allowed himself a shot of brandy. Then he telephoned the wardroom and asked Nathan to come to his cabin. After hours of working with his radios, Nathan had just gone to sleep and looked haggard.

“Nathan, we got a case of sodomy,” Paul began. After telling him Boats's story, Paul said, “You seem to be the great champion of the crew around here. What would you do?”

“If you bring formal charges, you'll get a dishonorable discharge for those guys and maybe twenty years in Portsmouth.”

“Is it really my choice?”

“You'll lose a damn good gunner's mate and a fairly good seaman.”

“But I didn't write the book. Does it really leave me any choice?”

“You want to bring charges?”

“By now Boats will have told everyone about this. Can I do nothing?”

“It seems funny.”

“Damned if I see that,” Paul said.

“Well, you don't do anything when Guns does it with a dead bear, but when the poor s.o.b. is caught with a human, he goes to prison for twenty years.”

“The book doesn't mention bears.”

“I suppose it mentions bestiality or some such. What happens if you just do nothing?”

“I suppose the whole goddamn crew could end up queer instead of fighting the war.”

“Hell, you know that wouldn't happen. Nothing would happen, nothing different from what's already happening.”

“Something could happen. Boats could press his charges when he gets ashore. Christ, he could write Mowrey about it—they were always pretty close.”

“And what the hell would old Mowrey do about it? Hell, he's probably dead by this time or locked in a back ward of some stateside hospital.”

“You know, the old bastard could surprise us. He could come back.”

“Paul, you're obsessed with the guy. You've got to forget him. Take it from me—he's much too far gone to come back—ever.”

“Okay. What would you do with this mess?”

“I'd try to talk Boats into forgetting it.”

“Would that be your idea of justice? If Boats stumbled on an act of sodomy, the book says he should report it.”

“Hell, this is just part of Boats's feud with Guns. Did he have witnesses?”

“Down in the hold? I doubt it. He didn't mention any.”

“Hell, if the thing came to court, it would be the word of two against one. All Guns and Blake have to do is swear innocence and maybe bring countercharges. They could say that Boats had been after Blake.”

“You do have an ingenious mind.”

“If you tell Boats what might happen, he might drop the charges.”

“Stay here with me, we'll talk to him.”

Paul telephoned the forecastle and in a few minutes Boats appeared. He had put on a clean shirt and had combed his hair.

“Boats, you've brought some very serious charges here,” Paul began. “If they stuck, Guns and Blake could get a d.d. and twenty years.”

“I didn't write the law, sir.”

“Do you have witnesses to what you say you saw?” Nathan asked.

“No sir, not down there in the hold.”

“It's pretty dark down there, isn't it?” Nathan asked.

“Yes, but I could see enough, sir.”

“Well, just exactly what did you see?”

“They were doing it.”

“How?”

“You know. Blake was kneeling in front of Guns and Guns was making noises.”

“What kind of noises?”

“You know.”

“As a matter of fact, I don't know,” Nathan said. “What kind of noises?”

“Sort of moans like.”

“What would you do,” Nathan asked, “if you got these people into court and Guns said he had dropped a crate of rifles on his foot. What if he said that Blake had knelt to see if his toe was broken and he was moaning with pain?”

“Did they say that?” Boats asked with a laugh.

“Not yet, but they might,” Nathan said. “It would be the word of two against one. And Guns would bring out the fact that you two have been feuding for a long time. He could make your charge out to be an act of spite and bring countercharges. Blake might even claim that you'd been propositioning him, trying to break up his friendship with Guns.”

“He wouldn't dare say that—sir, I'm telling you them two men are queer. The whole crew knows it.”

“Have you been talking about it?”

“Not only me.”

“If you have been talking about it and can't prove your charges, you could be up for slander.”

“Why are you taking the side of these damn queers?” Boats demanded.

“I'm not taking anybody's side,” Paul said, breaking a silence that had seemed long. “If you put Guns in jail, this ship loses a good gunner's mate. If he puts you in jail, we lose a good boatswain's mate. The ship can't win if you bring charges.”

“And if we don't do nothing, those queers will be laughing at all of us.”

“Somehow I doubt if Guns and Blake are fundamentally amused by this,” Nathan said.

“Let's leave it this way,” Paul concluded. “If you ever have witnesses to a queer act, bring charges and I'll back you. I don't like them any more than you do. But this time I can't do much except advise you that you may be heading into real trouble if you press charges without being able to back them up.”

“Yes sir … well, I guess we better let it go this time. Next time I'll have witnesses and we can nail them for sure.”

He left hurriedly, and there was a short silence in the cabin.

“Do you suppose we ought to give Guns and Blake some sort of warning?” Paul asked.

“The whole crew will be talking about nothing else. How much warning do they need?”

“I don't know. It seems like I should do something. If we're not careful, the whole crew will get so goosey they can't man the guns.”

“Skipper, from what I read, from the beginning of time men confined on ships have done it with each other when there was nothing else.”

“Not all of them, not even most, I bet. Not most
Americans.
”

“No, not most. But some Portuguese fishing vessels still carry one homosexual to service all hands on long voyages, and Columbus's men were apparently very kind to each other.”

“Are you in favor of all this?”

“I'm in favor of putting as few men in jail as possible and getting on with fighting the damn war. How long do you think we'll be stuck here?”

During the next three days the gale from the north continued to howl. In the middle of the third night there was a terrifying booming sound in the distance that brought all hands on deck. The ship trembled and suddenly the ice pack split, leaving a broad river with jagged edges leading toward the sea. Swimming through the clouds, the moon made the ice almost as bright as day. Hurrying to escape before the icepack again closed around them, Paul followed the lead at top speed. Within three hours they felt the roll of the broad Atlantic under them and for once it was welcome.

“Here we go!” Paul heard Guns shout to the deck gang. “Next stop, Ang-my-ass-lick. All aboard for the ping-ping express!”

CHAPTER 32

To get completely clear of the ice, Paul kept to a northeasterly course until the
Arluk
was fifty miles off the coast of Greenland. The northerly gale which had freed them from the pack hit the trawler on the port bow, causing her to pitch and roll simultaneously. Heavy-laden with the big gun on deck and her hold full of depth charges, the little ship rose sluggishly to meet the great gray-bearded seas which, row on row, marched against her. White water often broke over her bow and seethed over her well deck, sloshing over the top of her rails.

This time only about a third of the crew was seasick. Although Nathan still had to hurry to the lee rail of the bridge frequently, he gave up his bucket, which did not seem to him to be fitting equipment for the executive officer. Paul was relieved to find that for the first time in a rough sea he felt no nausea and even was tempted to try one of Mowrey's cigars, an idea he reluctantly discarded when he felt just a touch of dizziness.

Soon after the ship began to roll heavily, Paul began to worry about the depth charges in the hold. Calling Boats to the bridge, he said, “You better check the cargo. I don't want those depth charges rolling around down there.”

Ever since his accusation of Guns and Blake had been disregarded, Boats had been surly, and now he said, “Sir, when I stow cargo, it don't roll around.”

“I'm sure that's true, chief, but it won't do any harm to check.”

“Captain Mowrey always trusted me,” Boats said under his breath, but he went below. The ship gave a particularly vicious roll and Blake, who was at the helm, vomited, spraying the base of the engineroom telegraph.

“I'm sorry, sir,” Blake said.

“Don't worry about it,” Paul said. Even the smell didn't upset him too much. “Quartermaster, get Blake a bucket.”

Soon Boats returned to the pilothouse. Saluting with a touch of exaggerated respect, he said, “I have inspected the cargo and have found it totally secure, sir.”

“Very well,” Paul said, casually returning the salute. “Get a seaman with a mop to clean up this deck before we all go sliding around.” To himself he sounded like Mowrey at his sweet best.

“Aye, aye, sir,” Boats said. “Begging your pardon, sir, but at boot camp we regulars are taught that there are no mops aboard a ship—only swabs, sir. Could my education be wrong, sir?”

There was a moment of silence before Paul gave Boats an extremely sweet smile and said sweetly, “In respect to nautical vocabulary, Boats, you are right and I am wrong. We reserve officers sometimes are not up to the nice points of the nautical language. On the other hand, I as a reserve officer have mastered such fundamentals as celestial navigation and ship handling without any formal training, without costing the government one cent for my education. I've also taught myself something about how to handle men and the elements of nautical etiquette. It's wrong for me to call a swab a mop and more wrong for a chief petty officer to correct the word usage of his commanding officer in front of other men. For this act of discourtesy and insubordination you are hereby given a formal warning. Quartermaster, enter that in the log. Any repetition of this offense, Boats, will get you ten days of restriction, beginning when we next hit port. Now get a man with a swab to clean up this mess. Am I speaking a proper language you understand?”