The Caine Mutiny (26 page)

“I see.” Queeg compressed his mouth, staring at the balls, and was silent for a while. “Mr. Gorton, can you explain why this vital piece of information was not given to me at the time, when it would have decisively influenced my command decision?”

Gorton gaped at the captain.

“Maybe you think I’m pulling a fast one on you, Mr. Gorton. Maybe you think I was supposed to read your mind for any relevant information. Maybe you don’t think that the primary duty of a second-in-command is to give his superior informed advice when asked.”

“Sir-sir, if you recall, I recommended that you allow Mr. Maryk to recover-”

“Did you tell me
why
you recommended that, hey?”

“No, sir-”

“Well, why didn’t you?”

“Sir, I assumed that when you said-”

“You assumed. You assumed! Burt, you can’t assume a
goddamn thing
in the Navy. Not a goddamn thing. That’s why I have to submit a written report to ComServPac, because you
assumed
.” Queeg struck the desk with his fist, and glowered silently at the wall for perhaps a minute.

“I readily grant you,” he said, “that it called for a little intelligence on your part to understand your duty in this matter and give me all the dope. But it was definitely your responsibility. Hereafter, of course, if you want to be treated as if you don’t have the professional background which I respect in you, why, that can easily be arranged.”

Queeg sat, nodding to himself, for a long while. Gorton stood dumfounded, his heart pounding.

“Kay,” said the captain at last. “It’s probably not the first butch you’ve ever pulled, Burt, and it may not be your last, but I damn well hope it’s the last you pull as my executive officer. I like you personally, but I write fitness reports on the basis of professional performance only. “That’s all, Burt.”

CHAPTER 14

Queeg on the Carpet

Willie Keith came into Keefer’s room shortly after the captain left for his interview with ComServPac. The ensign’s hair was rumpled, his boyish face full of strain. “Say, Tom, excuse me,” he said. “How about this written report on Urban’s shirttail? What the devil are you going to say?”

Keefer yawned and smiled. “What the hell are you worrying about? Write anything. What does it matter? Whose eyes are going to see it? Take a look at what I wrote. It’s on the desk there under those sneakers.”

Willie pulled out the typewritten sheet and read:

Subject: Urban, Signalman 3/C-Violation of Uniform Regulations by.

1. On 21 October 1943 subject man was out of uniform due to inadequate supervision.

2. Undersigned officer, as OOD, and also as department head of subject man, was responsible for adequate supervision of subject man. Due to insufficient attention to duty this was not done.

3. The failure to adequately supervise subject man is regretted.

4. Steps have been taken to ensure that such incidents do not recur.

THOMAS KEEFER

Willie shook his head in rueful admiration. “Jesus, that’s perfect. How long did it take you to do it? I’ve been sweating over mine since reveille.”

“Are you kidding?” said the communications officer. “I wrote that as fast as I could type it. Probably a minute and a half. You just have to develop an ear for Navy prose, Willie. For instance, note that split infinitive in paragraph three. If you want a letter to sound official, split an infinitive. Use the word ‘subject’ very often. Repeat phrases as much as possible. See my beautiful reiteration of the phrase ‘subject man.’ Why, it’s got the hypnotic insistence of a bass note in a Bach fugue.”

“I wish I could copy yours verbatim. But I guess he’d catch on-”

“Hell, I’ll bat one out for you.”

“Would you?” Willie brightened. “I don’t know, I thought I could write, but composing an official report on Urban’s shirttail has me licked.”

“Which is exactly the idea,” said Keefer. “By making you write a report about a silly thing, he makes you sweat-and that’s all he’s after, to make you sweat. A written report by its nature should be about something important. It’s a terrific effort to write an official document about a shirttail without sounding impudent or idiotic-”

“That’s just it,” broke in Willie eagerly. “All my drafts sound as though I’m kidding the skipper, or insulting him-”

“Of course our little circle-steaming friend ran afoul of me, because I’m a gifted writer. I actually enjoy writing Navy letters. It’s like a concert pianist improvising on
Chopsticks
. Don’t let it get you, Willie. Queeg is a refreshing change from De Vriess, whose bullying technique was sarcasm, about as subtle as a rhinoceros charge. Queeg hasn’t got the personal force of De Vriess, who could look anybody in the eye. So he adopts technique 4-X. This consists of retreating into his official identity, like a priest inside a mumbo-jumbo idol, and making you address him through that scary image. Standard Navy. That’s the whole idea of these reports. So get used to them, because there’ll be plenty of them, and-”

“Pardon me, when will you write that second improvisation, on
Chopsticks
? He’ll be back soon.”

Keefer grinned. “Right away. Bring me Gorton’s portable.”

Captain Grace, chewing on the stem of an enormous black pipe which emitted a column of blue smoke and occasional sparks from the bowl, accepted the envelope offered by the captain of the
Caine
and motioned him to a yellow wooden chair beside his desk. Queeg, natty as his bulbous figure permitted in gabardine khakis, sat with his fingers laced tightly together in his lap.

Grace rasped the envelope open with a wicked-looking Japanese paper cutter, and spread the report before him on the desk. He put on heavy black-rimmed glasses, and read the document. Then he deliberately removed his glasses, and shoved the report aside with the hairy back of his hand. He inhaled on his pipe, and puffed up a volcanic cloud from the hissing bowl. “Unsatisfactory,” he said, looking straight at Queeg.

The commander’s lower lip trembled. “May I ask why, sir?”

“Because it says nothing I didn’t know before, and explains nothing I wanted explained.”

Queeg unconsciously began to roll imaginary balls between the fingers of both hands.

“I gather,” Grace went on, “that you divide the blame among your exec, your first lieutenant, your chief boatswain’s mate, and your predecessor, Captain de Vriess.”

“Sir, I accept full responsibility for everything,” Queeg said hastily. “I’m well aware that the mistakes of subordinates are no excuse for an officer but simply reflect on his ability to lead. And as for my predecessor, why, sir, I am cognizant that the ship spent a very long time in the forward area and I have no complaints about the ship, but facts are facts, and the state of training is definitely not up to snuff, but I have taken steps which will quickly remedy the situation, and so-”

“Why didn’t you recover the target, Commander?”

“Sir, as I state in my report the chief boatswain’s mate seemed to have no clear idea how to go about it and my officers were equally vague and uncertain, and failed to give me precise information, and a captain has to lean on his subordinates to some extent, it’s inevitable. And I judged that it was more important for the
Caine
to report back to base for such further duty as might be assigned instead of wasting God knows how much time in futile complicated maneuvering. If this decision was erroneous it is regretted, but that was my decision.”

“Hell, man, there’s nothing complicated about recovering a target,” Grace said irritably. “You can do it in half an hour. DMS’s out here have done it a dozen times. Those damn things cost money. God knows where that target is now. The tug we sent out can’t find it.”

“I’m not commanding that tug, sir,” Queeg said with a sly little smile at his hands.

Grace screwed up his eyes and peered at Queeg as though he were in a very poor light. He rapped the ash out of his pipe against a horny palm into a heavy glass ashtray. “See here, Commander,” he said in a pleasanter tone than he had hitherto used, “I understand how you feel about your first command. You’re anxious to make no mistakes-it’s only natural. I was that way myself. But I made mistakes, and paid for them, and gradually grew into a fairly competent officer. Let’s be frank with each other, Commander Queeg, for the sake of your ship and, if I may say so, your future career. Forget that this is an official interview. From here on in everything is off the record.”

Queeg’s head was sinking down between his shoulders, and he regarded Grace warily from under his eyebrows.

“Between you and me,” Grace said, “you didn’t try to recover that target because you just didn’t know what to do in the situation. Isn’t that the truth?”

Queeg took a long, long, leisurely puff at his cigarette.

“If that’s the case, man,” said Grace in a fatherly way, “for Christ’s sake say so and let’s both put this incident behind us. On that basis I can understand it and forget it. It was a mistake, a mistake due to anxiety and inexperience. But there’s no man in the Navy who’s never made a mistake-”

Queeg shook his head decisively, reached forward, and crushed out his cigarette. “No, Captain, I assure you I appreciate what you say, but I am not so stupid as to lie to a superior officer, and I assure you my first version of what happened is correct and I do not believe I have made any mistake as yet in commanding the
Caine
nor do I intend to, and, as I say, finding the caliber of my officers and crew to be what it is, I am simply going to get seven times as tough as usual and bear down seven times as hard until the ship is up to snuff which I promise you will be soon.”

“Very well, Commander Queeg.” Grace rose, and when Queeg started to get up he said, “Stay where you are, stay where you are.” He went to a shelf on the wall, took down a round purple tin of expensive English tobacco, and refilled his pipe. When he was lighting the pipe with a thick wooden match he inquisitively regarded the
Caine
captain, who was rolling nonexistent balls again.

“Commander Queeg,” he said suddenly, “about the-puff puff-defective towline-puff puff-that broke. How much of a turn were you making?”

Queeg’s head tilted sidewise; he darted a look full of suspicion at the captain. “I was using standard rudder, of course, sir. I have never exceeded standard rudder with the target, as my logs will show-”

“That’s not what I mean.” Grace returned to his seat, and leaned forward, waving the smoking pipe at Queeg. “How far did you turn? Twenty degrees? Sixty degrees? Were you reversing course 180 degrees-or what?”

The
Caine
skipper gripped the arms of the chair with bony knuckles, saying, “I’d have to check in my logs, sir, but I don’t see what bearing it has on the matter how much of a turn it was, so long as-”

“Did you come around in a complete circle, Commander Queeg, and cut your own towline?”

Queeg’s jaw dropped. He closed and opened his mouth a couple of times and at last said in a low, furious tone, stammering a little, “Captain Grace, with all submission, sir, I must tell you that I resent that question, and regard it as a personal insult.”

Grace’s stern expression wavered. He looked away from Queeg. “No insult intended, Commander. Some questions are more unpleasant to ask than to answer- Did that happen or didn’t it?”

“If it did, sir, I think I ought to have recommended my own general court-martial.”

Grace stared hard at Queeg. “I must tell you, Commander, that you have troublemakers aboard your ship. We received such a rumor here this morning. I seldom take cognizance of such scuttlebutt. However, the admiral heard it, and in view of several other actions of yours which have seriously troubled him, why, he ordered me to put the question to you. However, I suppose I can take your word as a naval officer that it didn’t happen-”

“May I know, sir,” Queeg said in a faltering tone, “in what respect the admiral finds fault with me?”

“Well, hang it man, first time under way you run up on the mud-of course, that can happen to anybody-but then you try to duck a grounding report and when you
do
send one in upon request, why, it’s just a phony gun-deck job. And then what do you call that despatch to us yesterday? ‘Dear me, I’ve lost a target, please, ComServPac, what shall I do?’ Admiral blew up like a land mine.
Not
because you lost the target-because you couldn’t make a decision that was so obvious a seaman second class could have made it! If the function of command isn’t to make decisions and take responsibility, what is it?”

Queeg’s upper lip raised, showing his teeth in a mechanical half-smile. “By your leave, sir, I made my estimate of the situation and my decision. Then, considering the expense of the target which you have just mentioned and all, I made another decision, which was that the matter ought to be referred to higher authority. As for the grounding report I did not try to duck it, sir, I did not wish to trouble higher authority with a despatch about a trivial matter. It seems to me that I am being reproved here in one case for bothering higher authority, and in the other case for not bothering higher authority. I respectfully submit, sir, that the admiral ought to make up his mind as to which policy he prefers.” There was a glimmer of triumph in the down-hung face.

The operations officer ran his fingers through his gray hair. “Commander,” he said, after an extremely long pause, “do you really see no difference between those two situations?”

“Obviously they were different. But in
principle
they were the same. It was a question of consulting higher authority. But as I say, sir, I accept full responsibility for whatever happened, even if it means a general court-martial-”

“Nobody’s talking about a general court-martial.” Grace shook his head with a pained, exasperated expression. He stood, with a motion to Queeg to keep his seat, and paced the little office several times, whirling spirals in the layers of smoke that hung in the air. He came back to the desk and rested one haunch on the corner. “See here, Commander Queeg. I’m going to ask you a couple of straight off-the-record questions. I promise you your answers will go no farther than this room unless you wish. In return, I would greatly value a couple of forthright answers.” He looked into Queeg’s eyes in a friendly yet searching way.

The
Caine
skipper smiled, but his eyes remained opaque and expressionless. “Sir, I’ve tried to be as forthright as possible in this interview, and I certainly wilt not stop being forthright at this point-”

“Okay. Number one. Do you think your ship, in its present state of training, and with the caliber of subordinates you have, is capable of carrying out combat assignments?”

“Well, sir, as to a definite yes-and-no commitment on that nobody can predict the future and I can only say that with the limited resources at my command I will to the utmost of my ability strive to carry out any orders I may receive, combat or otherwise, and-as I say-”