Pacific Interlude Read Free

plane, she had been beached before being towed here to Brisbane, Simpson said, and the hull had been badly strained. The engine had not had a major overhaul since leaving the States two years ago and her only armament was two fifty-caliber machineguns. A minor but discomfiting detail was the fact that this ship could not even offer her captain a private cabin. For officers there were only two double cabins, one for the engineer and ensign, the other for the executive officer and captain. Both were Spartan little cubicles which contained two bunks separated by a desk and a chair.
    â€œWell, it’s not much but it’s home,” Syl said, sitting down at his desk when the tour was finally over. Simpson sat perched on the edge of his bunk.
    â€œWhen would you like me to call the crew to quarters so you can read your orders taking command?” he asked.
    â€œLet’s wait until the other officers come back aboard.”
    â€œAll right, sir, but there are some very pressing problems I must tell you about. There are a lot of big decisions to be made.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œThe army is giving us a lot of pressure to get this ship into operation as soon as possible, but they can’t begin cutting and welding until we empty and steam the tanks.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you pump her out at sea before she was hauled?”
    â€œThe cargo pump is broken down and we’re waiting for spare parts. They hauled her quick because she was leaking so bad.”
    â€œWe could get deck pumps or syphon the stuff out here in the yard.”
    â€œYes sir, but nobody knows what to do with it. We have about fifty thousand gallons of av gas aboard, all that was left when the cargo pump broke down. It’s been contaminated by water and sand. They plan to put it into tank trucks and dump it somewhere out in the desert, but so far they haven’t been able to round up any tank trucks.”
    â€œIt looks like we’ll have to do some yelling and ass-kicking.”
    â€œI’ve tried, but nobody pays much attention to me, and there’s a more immediate problem.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œThe skeleton crew they left with me, five men, have been selling the gas, sir, on the black market. The stuff is floating above the water and sand and when they dip it out from the top with buckets, it drives cars all right. It’s dangerous, the way they slop the stuff around, and of course it’s illegal, but we haven’t been able to draw pay here, and there’s no way to stop them, short of staying on watch myself around the clock.”
    â€œDon’t the new ensign and the engineer help?”
    â€œI think you ought to talk to them yourself, sir. I can’t get any cooperation out of them on this.”
    â€œI’ll see them as soon as they come aboard. I understand that you were here when this ship was hit, Mr. Simpson. Haven’t you been given survivors’ leave?”
    â€œYes sir, but I refused it. I think my place is here.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI know the ship. She’s a cranky little thing and it’s hard to replace a whole crew at once.”
    â€œNot many men would feel that much responsibility. I’m grateful to you.”
    â€œI just figure that God must have put me here for a reason, sir.”
    â€œI guess …”
    There was nothing wrong with piety of course, but Simpson’s sanctimonious air irritated Syl. There was already much about this man that he did not like. From his age and modest rank Syl guessed that he was a mustang, probably a chief petty officer who never would have been given a commission in time of peace. Such men knew a lot, but they often resented young reserve officers and caused trouble. During his days as an ensign, Syl had been intimidated by the righteous indignation of mustangs, but he had learned that many of them knew little but the parts of the ship in which they had specialized when they were