Read Online Pacific Interlude by Sloan Wilson - Free Book Online

reports.”
    Simpson got to his feet and stiffly walked out of the cabin. Syl read the damage reports, which were horrendous—hull strained by beaching, leaking gas out and water in. New bottom plates needed, a bulkhead to be reinforced, on and on the list went, adding up to a description of a wreck. Simpson had said, “I drew it up,” and Syl suddenly realized that though the ship was in rough shape, these reports were exaggerated. If Simpson was ambitious to get a command on his record, maybe he had composed all this to scare Captain Munger off, apparently with success.
    Syl next read the work orders, which called for some new plates but not a whole bottom job, and in general looked as though they were the result of a more optimistic inspection of the vessel. He was no engineer and decided that he would have to wait until the yard completed its work before deciding whether the ship was ready for sea. In effect his orders had been to take command of the ship as is, where is, and to get her back into operation as soon as possible. He signed the papers with a flourish. What the hell …
    He put the stack of papers on the desk and went to the wardroom, where he found Simpson talking to the engineer, Wydanski.
    â€œMr. Wydanski has more bad news for us,” Simpson said. “You should put it in the damage reports: he says our wiring is bad.”
    â€œNot all of it, skipper, just some of it’s a little worn and frayed. We can replace it easily enough if we can get the materials.”
    â€œIf some has gone, the rest will go before long,” Simpson said. “One thing we don’t need on a gas tanker is a lot of short circuits.”
    â€œMr. Simpson, I appreciate your caution, but don’t let’s get in the habit of exaggerating the ship’s weaknesses,” Syl said. “Things are bad enough without making them sound worse.”
    â€œYes sir. Now may I talk to you about Chief Cramer?”
    â€œWhat’s the problem?”
    â€œThere was a fight in the forecastle last night. He went in to break it up and ended up by knocking heads worse than any of them.”
    â€œWhat do you suggest?”
    â€œI’d restrict all hands who were fighting, including the chief, to thirty days aboard the ship.”
    â€œWhile we’re on the ways? In Australia?”
    â€œWe can’t allow fighting aboard, sir. You have to nip that kind of thing in the bud—”
    â€œMr. Simpson, we have to keep our crew sane. How many men were involved?”
    â€œFive.”
    â€œIf you lock up five men, including our chief boatswain’s mate, during the whole time we’re in Brisbane, what kind of cooperation do you think we’ll get from them when we sail?”
    â€œI don’t ask for cooperation, captain. All I need is discipline.”
    â€œMr. Simpson, have you ever commanded a ship?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDo you ever want a command of your own?”
    Simpson’s thin face flushed. “In God’s own time I hope that will come to me, sir. After more than twenty years of sea duty I think I am qualified—”
    â€œWhether you ever get a command will depend a lot on the fitness report I give you. Now I’m half your age and have had a hell of a lot less sea duty than you, but this is my third command and maybe you can learn a little something from me.”
    â€œExcuse me,” Wydanski said, “I have some work to do in the engine room,” and he quickly left.
    â€œSir, you shouldn’t dress me down in front of another officer,” Simpson said, his face still red.
    â€œYou’re right about that, but I didn’t start out to dress you down. If I ever do that, you’ll know it.”
    Simpson said nothing. He swallowed hard, making his Adam’s apple wobble in his thin neck. Suddenly Syl felt sorry for him and ashamed of himself.
    â€œMr. Simpson, you’re a damn good officer and I am glad to