Sloan Wilson - Ice Brothers

From: Commandant, U.S. Coast Guard Headquarters, Washington, D.C.

To: Paul R. Schuman, Ensign, USCGR

Subject: Order to active duty.

1. You are herewith ordered to active duty.

2. You shall proceed immediately to the First District Office of the U.S. Coast Guard in Boston, Mass. for assignment to duty as executive officer of U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Arluk , and transportation to that vessel.

3. In view of the proximity of your home to the First District Office, no travel allowance is granted.

“Well, they must think pretty well of you if they make you executive officer of a ship without a day of training,” Erich said when Paul showed him the paper.

“I don’t know what it means,” Paul replied. “I think I’ll call Chris and see.”

“Proceed immediately means that you’ve got twenty-four hours,” Christiansen said when Paul read him his orders over the telephone. “You better come up to the apartment tonight at about seven. I’ll find out what I can about the Arluk and let you know.”

“Twenty-four hours!” Sylvia said. “What are we supposed to do when we only have twenty-four hours?” She looked very much alarmed, as though he might expect to spend that entire time spinning like a lathe with her in bed.

“I’ll have to pick up the uniforms I ordered,” he said. “Maybe we ought to run over and see dad and mother.”

It was not hard to do the things he felt he ought to do because he couldn’t think of much that he really wanted to do. The idea of driving off alone somewhere with Sylvia crossed his mind, but they had grown so mysteriously tense that without admitting it, they were afraid to be alone together. The worst thing in the world would be to have a fight just before parting and without knowing exactly why, they both felt one brewing.

Their tension increased when they drove to the military tailor and picked up the gear he had ordered.

“What on earth do you need a sword for?” Sylvia asked, as the clerk showed him this glittering object in a black scabbard with gold trim. “Does the Coast Guard expect you to fight submarines with that?”

“I think I’m just supposed to use it in dress parades,” he said. “Anyway, it’s on my required list.”

The truth was, he loved his new sword with its shining, delicately etched blade and gold handle, a sword which was part of a commissioned officer’s equipment, not just a costume piece or an antique. The fact that Sylvia regarded the sword as a joke annoyed him. When they got home, she asked him to show the sword to her family, and they insisted that he put on the elaborate belt with a big gold buckle which came with it. When he could not figure out how he could adjust the belt to prevent the scabbard from dragging on the floor when he wore it, everyone roared with laughter. Paul’s face turned red, and taking the sword off he put it in its tan leather carrying case.

“Paul, where’s your sense of humor?” Sylvia asked.

“Damn it, I don’t see anything very funny about this whole damn war, and I guess the sword is part of it,” he said. “All right, it’s ridiculous — let’s let it go at that.”

“That whole list of stuff they made you buy is ridiculous,” Sylvia said. “Are you really going to wear those dress whites with the epaulettes on a ship?”

“They gave me a list and I bought the stuff. So it’s funny. The whole war is one damn big comedy, at least to the spectators—”

“That’s not fair,” Sylvia said.

He knew she was right, but still he did not want her to laugh at him and his military regalia. Damn it, he was going to leave her soon, maybe forever, and he was going to have to try to be the executive officer of a ship, even if he was only a college boy and a summer yachtsman. He ached to be taken seriously by his wife, if by no one else. He wanted her to weep for him, not laugh.

But Sylvia often made jokes when she was nervous, and maybe she was afraid of trying to live up to too much drama. Even when she tried to be serious, she couldn’t manage it.

“I won’t make any more jokes about your sword,” she said. “When the war is over, it will make a nice souvenir. We’ll hang it over the mantelpiece, and you can tell our sons how you killed millions of Germans with it. I can just see you when you’re an old man, stabbing away at the air, showing your sons and grandsons how you did it.”

That day went slowly for Paul. Somehow they were afraid to make love and afraid not to and when they did, they found themselves trying to act out much more emotion than they felt. Then Sylvia started to talk about all the girls he would meet in every port. In her way she was obviously trying to be brave, and Paul was ashamed of feeling that he somehow had already left her. His mind was full of questions about the Arluk . What kind of ship was she, and where would she operate? And why, as Erich had pointed out, had he been made executive officer, the Coast Guard equivalent of first mate, without a day of training? Although he had scored well in the twelve-hour examination on navigation and seamanship, he was all too aware that he knew nothing about such details as gunnery, communications, and service procedures. Without thinking about it, he had assumed that he would be given some sort of training, either afloat or ashore. The thought that he was immediately to be given such a responsible position aboard a ship of whatever size was a little flattering but very scary. He wondered and half hoped that Chris would find that a mistake of some kind had been made.

Sylvia did not want to go with him to Chris’s apartment. She was uneasy there partly because the Coast Guard lieutenant’s manners seemed abrupt to her and partly because Katherine, Chris’s Swedish wife, nonchalantly nursed her baby in the livingroom even while guests were there. Without even bothering to keep a blanket draped completely over her huge bosom, Katie just sat there and chatted with the men while her baby sucked and fondled her breasts. Sylvia had never seen anything like this. She was angry at Paul when he said that he thought the sight of Katie nursing her child was beautiful and that he admired her for her lack of prudery. They had had a big fight about that, and about what was good taste and what wasn’t. After that Sylvia never wanted to go to Chris’s apartment again.

So precisely at seven o’clock Paul presented himself at Chris’s door alone. Looking a little strained, Chris gave Paul and Katie a drink of scotch. Then he said, “You better go into the bedroom, Katie. We’ve got top secret stuff to discuss.”

Katie withdrew, carrying her baby.

“I don’t know whether this is going to come as good news to you or bad news,” Chris said. “The Arluk is a brand new Boston beam trawler we’ve just taken over. She’s being fitted out for the Greenland Patrol.”

“Do they really want me to be executive officer without any training at all?”

Chris shrugged. “Once you’ve qualified for the stripe, you’re not supposed to need training. That’s crazy of course, but we just are getting more ships than we are qualified officers. The skipper will break you in.”

“Greenland,” Paul said. “I have no idea what that’s like except that it’s supposed to be cold.”

“You can say that again,” Chris said with a grin. “In the interior, it goes to a hundred and ten degrees below zero. You’re lucky. On the coast it’s rarely worse than fifty below.”

“I guess I better take my tropical whites.”

“Hell, in the summer it often gets to sixty or more above there, and you may not be there in the winter. They may bring the trawlers back to Boston before the worst weather really sets in.”

“That’s a comforting possibility.”