Sloan Wilson - Ice Brothers

There was another long pause.

“If you don’t do what I tell you, you won’t be safe,” he said mildly, and flashed them his sharklike, but curiously charming smile. No one dared to smile back. Mowrey looked at the sky and then his eyes focused on the new steel gun deck. The workers there hastily retreated.

“Now let me tell you a little about Greenland,” Mowrey continued pleasantly. “It’s not the terrible place you’ve heard — I’d rather be in Greenland than anywhere in the world. It’s God’s country and it’s a man’s country. Though you don’t think it, a sailor can have one hell of a good time there, better than anything you can find here.”

He paused again.

“But the Arctic is also the most dangerous place for ships in the world, even when the Germans aren’t there, which they are — don’t make any mistake about that. The Arctic is a great place for sailors who know exactly what they’re doing, and a great place for everyone else to die.”

This time he paused only a moment before adding, “Now I don’t want to die and I don’t think you do, not yet anyway. Even old as I am, the thought of dying makes me mad. That’s the real reason why they call me ‘Mad Mowrey.’ And because the thought of dying makes me mad, inefficiency makes me mad, ignorance makes me mad and a lack of discipline makes me mad. A filthy ship makes me mad, it makes me madder than hell.”

As he said this, his face suddenly turned truly ferocious. His blunt jaw jutted out and his ice-blue eyes seemed to shoot fire.

“If I took this ship to the Arctic the way she and her crew are now,” he continued, “she wouldn’t last a month, even if the Germans didn’t find her. I don’t think you young fellows want to die any more than I do, so don’t complain when I whip you into shape. You may think that the Greenland Patrol is the worst thing you can get and that you’ll just be transferred if you foul up, but there are worse things I can send you to, like small shore installations in Greenland where even the Eskimos won’t go. I’m warning you that I’m looking for an example and I’ve got just such a shore installation all picked out. The district personnel officer has promised to cooperate with me. If you want a transfer, you’ll get it fast. On the other hand, if you cooperate with me, we can make this into a happy ship and a safe one.”

His expression turned pleasant again as he continued. “I want to get up to Greenland as fast as possible. We’re needed up there — some of those colonies of Eskimos and Danes haven’t had supplies all winter. More than that, the first ships up there this spring will get the best assignments. The last will get weather patrol, steaming in a circle in the middle of Davis Straits for thirty days at a time, drawing the subs with steady radio signals. If you want that, delay me.”

The men looked scared. They shifted their feet uneasily.

“There’s no way I can whip this ship and this crew into shape fast by being a nice guy,” Mowrey said quietly, but his face was now stern. “Hate me all you like, but remember that I’m saving your lives. All leaves and liberty are hereby cancelled aboard this ship until further notice. If you work with me, you’ll get one, maybe two nights ashore before we sail, if you don’t, you’ll get none. It’s time for learning your jobs, not liberty. That goes for the officers as well as the men, everyone except me. I’m the only one who already knows his business.”

There was one last long pause during which he stared stonily at the men before he finally hissed, “Dismissed!”

Silently the men shuffled toward the forecastle.

“Come with me,” Mowrey said to Paul and led the way to the pilothouse. For a moment he stood by the wheel staring at the new gun deck and the gun pedestals. The yard workers reappeared and began to weld ready boxes for ammunition into place. After watching them a moment, Mowrey strolled out on the new steel deck with Paul following and examined the pedestals.

“Is this welding job finished?” he asked a burly workman.

“Yes, sir.”

Moving with astonishing speed, Mowrey placed his back against a rail and delivered a vicious kick to the midsection of one of the gun mounts. It came loose and toppled over with a loud clatter.

“I don’t want no gun mounts I can kick off,” he said mildly.

“Yes, sir. That one hadn’t really been inspected yet.”

Without reply Mowrey walked back to the pilothouse with Paul following meekly. Standing moodily by the wheel again, Mowrey took a cigar from his breast pocket and lit it. There was another long minute of silence.

“Mr. Schuman, you’re a college boy, not a ship’s officer,” he said suddenly in his curiously pleasant voice.

“Yes, sir.”

“I looked at your papers, but I forget. Did you go to Yale or Harvard?”

“Boston University, sir.”

“They’re all the same to me. You look like a Yale.”

Paul said nothing. He was not tempted to laugh.

“So what I get for officers here is a Yale, a Sheenie and a fisherman who’s never been farther north than Georgia Banks and who’s too old to learn.”

Still Paul said nothing.

“After we sail, I can run this ship alone night and day for maybe a month, but I’m not as young as I used to be, and sooner or later I’ll tire. By that time you better be able to stand a watch and handle the men.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t count on Mr. Farmer. There’s two kinds of sailors: one goes on local knowledge, and the other goes on the knowledge of how to run a ship anywhere. Fishermen go on local knowledge. Get them out of their own territory, and they ain’t much better than lubbers. And no fishermen ever knew how to handle men on a long voyage.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And we can’t count on Greenberg. I don’t know how he ever got in the service in the first place.”

“His name is Green, I believe, sir. He has no experience at sea but he seems very intelligent to me.”

“You ever hear of a Sheenie sailor?”

“Well, none that I can name at the moment. I’m sure there have been many.”

“I never seen a Sheenie sailor, except for yeomen and supply officers. Tell Greenberg he’s our supply officer, along with communications, and when I give him a list of things I want, I want all of it fast, even if he has to steal it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now Yale, I want you to remember one thing. I’ve got no hope for Greenberg and no hope for Mr. Farmer, but you I just might be able to shape up. Six months from now I have to send in a fitness report on you. If you’ve shaped up, I’ll make it good enough so you just might get a command of your own inside of a year — in time of war, things move fast. But if you fuck up, I’ve got a job already picked out for you. You’ll be in command of a Quonset hut so far north that they won’t even think of looking for you until the war’s been over for a year, if they remember you then.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you can start by getting this ship cleaned up. If the men have to dry clothes and bedding, they can rig lines ashore.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“And clean up that stack where the name of the ship is. Arluk means hunter — get somebody to paint on a picture of an Eskimo throwing a harpoon. And over the name of the ship I want the Coast Guard motto. Do you know what that is?”

“ Semper Paratus , always prepared,” Paul said with a smile.

“Well, it ain’t semiparatus mañana , like it looks this ship should have painted up there now. Put up the Coast Guard motto and under that put my personal motto in red letters: DON’T FOUL UP HERE.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

“Now, git! ”