Read Online Pacific Interlude by Sloan Wilson - Free Book Online Page A

have you aboard this ship. I think you’re something of a damn hero to stay here after she was hit. But all the men on a gas tanker, especially this one, are under a lot of strain. They must be touchy, just the way we are. Discipline is important, of course, but the end result is what counts. You and I can’t run this ship alone.”
    â€œNo sir. What do you want to do about Cramer and the others?”
    â€œI’ll talk to them. Sometimes just talking helps a lot.”
    â€œIf I may say so, sir, in my experience that has not been true. Action is all most men understand.”
    â€œHow did Captain Carlson handle this sort of thing?”
    â€œI don’t want to speak ill about the dead sir. If he let this ship get too lax, he paid the price.”
    â€œI see. Look, I don’t want a lax ship any more than you do, but I have my own way of doing things. The two ships I had survived a lot of voyages without the loss of one man. You and I can work together. Let’s try. Okay?”
    Feeling more than a little artificial, Syl held out his hand. Simpson shook it briefly. This is a bad scene, Syl thought, but the play must go on.
    Suddenly there was a loud roaring noise. Syl’s muscles tensed.
    â€œI guess they’ve started to steam out the tanks,” Simpson said. “I better go make sure they do it right.”
    Syl went to his cabin. The sound of the steam hoses would make a conversation with Cramer and the other men who had fought difficult, and if tempers were running high in the forecastle, delay might be all to the good. Syl lay down and closed his eyes. A lot of the time, he’d discovered, the best thing a commanding officer could do was nothing. He wished he had a book to read. If he didn’t get a bunch of books he’d go bonkers in the months ahead. There must be some place in Brisbane where a vessel could draw books—some kind of a ship’s library would have to be built even if he had to buy it. Somehow his mind went from that to the need for making sure a good medical chest was aboard and of course an adequate supply of charts and navigational books. Sitting down at his desk, he began to write a checklist.
    An hour later he was interrupted by Buller, who walked into his cabin without removing his white cowboy hat.
    â€œSkipper, things are going great!” he began, his enthusiasm sounding a new note aboard the Y-18 .
    â€œThanks for getting rid of the gas.”
    â€œI got a lot of Aussie cabbage cash which amounts to almost ten grand. I put it in a bank first thing this morning, before I could get into a poker game.”
    â€œCongratulations.”
    â€œNow there’s a hell of a lot we can do for the benefit of the crew with all that bread.”
    â€œRenting them a house is a good idea. Living conditions are almost impossible here now.”
    To punctuate that statement the steam hoses gave a louder roar. Syl closed the forward porthole, but Buller’s normal speaking voice was so loud that this was hardly necessary.
    â€œI’ve already found a house,” Buller said. “Hell, it’s only two hundred a month and we won’t be here much longer than that. Even after we stock it with food and booze, our bank account won’t hardly be scratched.”
    â€œWhat else do you have in mind?”
    â€œA washing machine.”
    â€œThat won’t cost much.”
    â€œI got something more in mind. Have you seen the forecastle?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œCome look at it with me anyway. I want to show you something.”
    Buller led the way across the deck which was now crisscrossed with steam hoses running down the open hatches to the six tanks. As they were surrounded by clouds of escaping steam, Syl was reminded of an illustration in an old copy of Dante’s Inferno . Opening the door to the forecastle, the two officers went in and closed it behind them to deaden the noise.
    The forecastle was a V-shaped