Эд Макбейн - Mothers and Daughters

The next morning, after quarters for muster, he told David what the captain had said, and David instantly suggested that they forget all about finishing the story.

“No,” Devereaux told him. “You go on with the rewrite. Leave the story in my mailbox, and I’ll type up any suggestions I have and leave them for you in the radar shack. We’re going to finish that story, David!”

Two days after the Hanley came out of dry dock, she was ordered to take part in a battle problem involving an American cruiser and five other American destroyers. Considering the fact that the Hanley had been in a great many real battles, it was no surprise that the men looked upon the exercise as something of a lark. There was, in fact, something of a holiday air aboard the ship that day as she maneuvered off Pearl in simulated combat.

David, at his battle station on the bridge, was not immune to the general feeling of gaiety. It was nice to be involved in combat where no one could get hurt. He snapped his radar bearings to the exec, sifted the lookout reports, translated messages from fire control, and generally enjoyed the balmy weather and the mild breeze blowing off the open water. As always, he wore sound-powered phones on his head, the mouthpiece of the set strapped around his neck. And, as always, the left earpiece was in place over his left ear so that he could hear any messages that came over the phones, but his right ear was uncovered so that he could hear any commands given on the bridge. The radar shack was in TBS contact with a squadron of Wildcats flying in support of the group, and George Devereaux was the communications officer directing the squadron and reporting its position to the bridge. Three borrowed Army B-24s were approaching the ships, simulating Japanese bombers, and Devereaux had given the Wildcats their interception vectors and was reporting their progress at regularly spaced intervals. In the meantime, the ships were engaged in some fairly complicated defensive maneuvers against a mythical surface-attack force, and radarmen were constantly calling up ranges and bearings to the bridge, the maneuver constructed so that each ship in the group took accurate position from a previously designated guide ship. The skipper kept pacing the bridge and listening to the signalmen as they reported the flags that appeared on the cruiser, the flags telling the rest of the force which turns they were supposed to execute. As soon as the turn was executed, the radar beamed in on the guide destroyer and called up the range and bearing, and the skipper gave orders to correct or maintain direction or speed as the radar indicated. And all the while, Devereaux kept calling up the progress of the fighter planes, waiting for that moment of contact with the approaching B-24s, that moment when he would hear the fighter pilots shout “Tallyho! Tallyho!”

The moment came unexpectedly and somewhat confusedly.

The skipper turned to David, wanting the position of the guide destroyer, and started to say, “Regan, get me a range and bearing on Sugarfoot.”

All he got out was “Regan, get me a ra—” because at that moment the phone on David’s left ear burst into sound.

“Bridge, Combat,” Devereaux said. “Tallyho! Tallyho! Three bogeys, zero-four-two, range one-oh-five, angels two.”

David, assaulted by the sound from the radar shack in his left ear, catching the captain’s words in his uncovered right ear, did a very normal and natural thing, which was immediately misinterpreted by the captain. He held out his hand like a traffic cop and waved it at the captain, shushing him as he listened carefully to the urgent message coming over the phone. The captain clamped his mouth shut and stared at David. David turned to him, caught in the excitement of the imaginary battle.

“Wildcats report enemy contact, sir,” he said. “Three bogeys at zero-four-two, range one—”

“Get off the bridge, Regan,” the captain said.

David bunked. “Sir?”

“I said get off the bridge! Now!”

“Sir?” David repeated.

“Did you hear me talking to you a moment ago?”

“Yes, sir, but—”

“But what?”

“Sir, Mr. Devereaux—”

“Mr. Devereaux what? ”

“Sir,” David said, “the Wildcats, sir. They spotted...” and he fell silent, recognizing at once that it was futile to argue with an officer, especially when he was a full commander who happened to be captain of the ship. He took off the earphones, unstrapped the mouthpiece, and looked at the captain. “Re... re... request permission to leave the bridge, sir,” he said.

“Permission granted,” the captain snapped.

“Who... who do you want to... to take the phones, sir?”

“You may give them to the executive officer, Regan.”

“Yes, sir,” David said. He handed the phones to Mr. Peterson. Peterson took them without a word. David turned to the captain again. “Sir? Sir, where should I go?”

“Cruiser flying Turn-One-Answer, sir,” one of the signalmen shouted.

The captain shoved David aside and turned toward the helmsman. “Right fifteen degrees rudder,” he said.

“Right fifteen degrees rudder, sir.”

The captain turned to the engine-order telegraph operator. “All engines ahead standard,” he said.

“All engines ahead standard, sir.”

“Coming around to zero-three-five, sir.”

“Meet her.”

“All engines answer ahead standard, sir.”

“Very well.”

“Steady on zero-three-five, sir.”

“Very well,” the captain said. “Mr. Peterson, range and bearing on Sugarfoot. Tell Combat to send up another talker.”

“Sir,” David said, “should I—?”

“Get the hell off the bridge!” the captain bellowed, and David nodded and went down the ladder quietly.

As soon as they got back to Pearl, the captain called Devereaux into his wardroom. He told Devereaux all about David’s misbehavior and explained that the Hanley had been anticipating a command from the cruiser and that a range and bearing on the guide ship had been essential at that moment, and that had the Hanley failed to execute the turn command promptly and properly and be in position on schedule, he, the captain of the Hanley , would have appeared singularly foolish and incompetent in the eyes of the admiral who was aboard the cruiser. In view of this, he was making mention of Devereaux’s behavior on his next fitness report, and would Devereaux please tell Regan the captain wanted to see him in the wardroom immediately?

David came into the wardroom and stood before the long mess-table. The captain sat at the far end, scowling. The captain informed David that his commands and his requests took precedence over any other commands, requests, or reports aboard this vessel and David had better understand this at once. In order to help his understanding, the captain was restricting David to the ship for a month and he was asking the senior communications officer to make certain that David stood only midwatches when the ship was under way. In port, in addition to standing his usual voice radio-watch, David would relieve whatever seaman was standing the gangway midwatch. He would resume the duties of his usual battle station under surveillance and would promptly be relieved of such responsible duties the next time any such laxity was evident. And, the captain told David, he was lucky his behavior hadn’t resulted in a captain’s mast, which, as David knew, would have gone into his service record. David thanked the captain for his kindness and left the wardroom.

And the very next day, a gunnery officer discovered the missing .45.

The gun locker was directly across the passageway from the pharmacy amidships. No one would have thought of taking an inventory of small arms if the ship had been out there fighting real battles. But fresh from dry dock as she was, time on everybody’s hands, the senior gunnery officer decided it was time to do a little premature spring cleaning. So he assigned an ensign and two gunner’s mates to put the gun locker in order, and that was when the ensign discovered the number of actual guns did not tally with the number of guns listed on his clip board. Actually, Arbuster, a gunner’s mate second class, discovered the discrepancy long before the ensign did, but he casually and patriotically decided not to mention it. The ensign, on the other hand, was somewhat eagerly bucking for his lieutenant’s bar, and he reported the missing gun to the senior gunnery officer, who in turn reported it to the executive officer, who in turn reported it to the captain.