China Sea (30 page)

The next and just as unsettling question was what his own status was. He'd been head of the MTT but, aside from a verbal order from Sasko, had nothing to confirm that he was in command. That hadn't bothered him overmuch. Not at first.

The question was, What did they expect him to do now, with a ship steadily declining in readiness and a crew that ranged from disgruntled to barely this side of mutinous? With a body in chill stores and two murder suspects locked down?

Outside the blackness arrived, the night laying itself over them heavy and dense and yet somehow comforting as a lead X-ray apron. He stared out into it and groped in the darkness, but his outstretched fingers found nothing but a tenuous fog.

*   *   *

THE next morning he was shaving when someone tapped on his door. He half-turned from the mirror, lathered with a Santa Claus beard. “What is it?”

“It's me, Captain.”

It was Juskoviac. “What you got, Greg?” Dan asked, turning back to the mirror and lifting his chin to get underneath.

He saw then, in the mirror, that several enlisted men stood behind the exec. He laid down the razor slowly and dried his hands on the towel.

“The crew's presenting a petition, sir.”

“A petition,” Dan repeated. He looked at them in the mirror, then picked up his razor again. “I'm shaving right now. Give me a few minutes; then meet me on the bridge.”

Later, in the fresh khakis Usmani had laid out, Dan stood on the port wing as the cool breeze ruffled his hair. The sky was overcast again, and they'd come far enough north it was time to think about a jacket.
Gaddis
barely stirred through slate gray four-foot seas. Dan had called Mellows up from the chiefs' quarters. The burly master-at-arms stood a few feet aft, arms crossed. Dan watched the men emerge from the signal shack and come forward. One took his hat off; the others didn't. Dan noticed the exec wasn't with them now.

“What's this about a petition?” he said, ignoring the sheet of paper one held out. “I don't want to see that. I want to hear what you've got to say.”

“Sir, we want to know what the fuck's going on,” said a man Lenson recognized as a machinist's mate third, family in Texas. “We're not getting paid and we're not doing anything out here. We want to know the ship's schedule, find out when we're going home.”

“All right. What else?”

Sullen stares directed at their boots. Clearing of throats. Dan said, raising his voice, “You're up here. Let's get it out on the table.”

“We ain't had any liberty since we left the Med,” said another sailor. “You got the guys cut C.V. locked up in the fan room, Captain. It's either Pistol or Shi-hime. So just to let you know what some people is saying, they say the next time we see land, we're goin' ashore.”

Dan said coldly, again, “What else?”

Silence and more glances. “That's about it, Captain,” one said. “Just we don't understand what we're doing out here. There ain't even any smokes.”

He considered just telling them to go below, cutting them off without an explanation, but that did not seem fair. He'd always found leveling with the American enlisted man paid better than trying to snow or bully him or buy him off. So he pushed down his anger and said, “First off: Whoever gave you the idea you could come up here with a petition is wrong. We don't have a right of petition in the U.S. military. But I will tell you, the early wrap-up on Oceanic Prospect caught everybody flat-footed. I sent a message requesting that we go into port in Subic. We can get resupplied there, get some of our casreps fixed, and jack up the pork chops on our pay problems. They came back that we have no orders from Seventh Fleet to do that, that they have a lot going on with Desert Shield and all, and for us to stand by and we'll be given a date to go in.”

They didn't respond, at least not verbally. Somebody shifted in back. The others stared at Dan expectantly.

“Now, this ‘petition.' That's not how you present a grievance in the Navy. In fact, it's close to what military law calls ‘conspiracy.' I know some things have seemed not so shit hot lately. But this is still a U.S. Navy warship. We still have the UCMJ and you still have a chain of command. Any complaints or suggestions, take them up with your division chiefs or division officers. If what you hear from them doesn't satisfy you, then I'll see any man who has a beef, one-on-one.”

A murmur. “What was that?” said Dan sharply.

“You said we got a chain of command. But you don't got any orders, and Mr. Juskoviac does.”

Mellows dropped his lounging attitude and moved forward threateningly. “You shut your fucking mouth, Carr.”

Dan said, “Wait a minute, Marsh. What do you mean, ‘Mr. Juskoviac does'?”

“That's what he said. He said he at least got orders saying he's the XO. You don't have anything says you're in charge.”

“That's enough. You people are on the edge of some serious trouble—”

“The chief's right,” Dan told them. “You can all go below now.” The ones in back started to drift. “No—wait a minute.”

He straightened, keeping the anger reined, but letting it show. “For your information, I do have orders. They are verbal, but they are just as effective as paper orders, until those paper orders arrive. So don't allow yourselves or your shipmates any illusions I am not in full command of this ship. Another thing. The next man who circulates a petition will be charged under Article Eighty-one and Article Ninety-four. If you don't know what those articles mean, you'll find the Manual for Courts-Martial in the ship's office. They are the articles in the Uniform Code of Military Justice for conspiracy, mutiny, and sedition.

“Any other questions?”

He held them fixed, but not one returned his look. They stood completely silent. He said, hearing the edge in his voice and also something that, to his surprise, sounded close to contempt: “Dismissed.”

*   *   *

“YOU wanted to see me?”

Dan observed himself as if from a distance. He had to get a grip; this anger took him by surprise sometimes. It was the lack of sleep and the continual stress.

He said to Greg Juskoviac, “Yeah, let's take a little stroll.”

A fresh wind out of Asia swept the fantail. Dan waited till they were aft of the quad forty tub. The lookout glanced around, then stood quickly from a folding chair set with its front legs on the gunwale strake. Dan took three quick strides to him, jerked the light metal chair up off the deck, held it over the lifeline, then pitched it out and down. It splashed into the whirling foam
Gaddis
dragged behind her. Still visible beneath the water, it glinted for a moment through the bubble-streaked sea, then faded away into the deep green. The lookout gaped, then jerked his binoculars up and turned away hastily, taking refuge behind the black barrels.

“You OK?” Juskoviac said, his voice a blend of alarm and concern.

“No, I'm not OK! What the hell are you telling people? I just had a bunch of white-hats tell me you told them you had orders and I didn't.”

Juskoviac licked his lips. “I didn't say that exactly.”

“What exactly
did
you say, Greg? I'd very much like to know, because right now I'm thinking of relieving you of your duties.”

“They came to me for advice. A lot of these guys, they were jerked in here en route someplace else. They're gap fillers. They want to know when they're going to get back to their commands.”

“Don't stop now. Keep explaining.”

“So one of them said why were you CO anyway, we were the same rank.… I said something about the MTT and you being senior. Then they asked about my orders, whether I had orders to the ship. I said sure, of course I do. I didn't say anything about command orders. They aren't command orders.”

“They sure as shit aren't.”

Juskoviac seemed about to say something else. Dan waited, sure he knew what it was. That his own weren't command orders, either; that at best he was head of the training team on a Pakistani frigate named PNS
Tughril.
If he said it, Dan was ready to rip Juskoviac's head off and throw it overboard after the chair. But finally the exec said just, “Yessir.”

“OK, so these boys consult with you about their grievances. Great; that's XO territory. But the next thing I know they're in my stateroom, presenting a goddamn petition, for God's sake. And where the hell are you? Leading them! Do you have the faintest, slightest idea that is not your role? Do you have any conception of that?”

Juskoviac said in a sulky tone, “Well, I've been trying to take care of this Vorenkamp thing. You wanted me to write up the investigation.”

Dan closed his eyes. It was hopeless explaining or remonstrating. The man did not have it in him. How had he made it to lieutenant commander? The average competent petty officer third had more leadership ability.

“Listen carefully now, Greg, OK? Words of one syllable. I am not happy with your work. Either in this matter or anything else I have asked you to do since I took over this ship. I've tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. I've tried everything I know to motivate you, to explain how to accomplish your duties, and it hasn't worked. I am now terminating my efforts. I considered, on the way down here from the bridge, relieving you and putting Jim Armey in as XO. But I need him in the engine room, and I can't afford to let you fuck things up down there. I'd swap you and Chick, but the same goes for the guns. In fact, I can't think of anyplace in the ship for you except maybe the scullery, and that would bring too much discredit on the rest of the wardroom. So I'm going to leave you, officially, with the title of XO. But you are out of the loop from now on command-wise, and the day we touch port you are off this ship.”

Dan expected Juskoviac to lash out, at the very least verbally, even to punch him. That was why he'd come back to the fantail, where they could have it out without an audience. It would have been a relief, a release. But all the exec did was get a hurt, sad look. “If you weren't happy, you could have told me,” he said.

Dan felt himself start to lose it. He stared around wildly and caught the aft lookout glancing at them out of the corner of his eyes and murmuring into the phones. He brought his hands down with an effort. “That's all I have to say. Anybody else comes to you with their problems, send him to Chief Mellows. He's the guy I have to depend on around here. Unfortunately. Do we understand each other?”

Juskoviac said, “And you still want me to do the investigation report, right?”

Dan gave up. He started forward. He glanced back, to see the slim figure standing silhouetted against the sky, against the wake; he couldn't see Juskoviac's face, but he could see his hands, held close against his thighs.

Then Dan heard running steps behind him. He whirled, bringing his fists up, but Juskoviac stopped a few feet away. The exec was panting, and Dan saw with stunned fascination how he'd transformed, in that brief period of time, into Juskoviac, Flip Side. For the first time, he wondered if there might be something more going on with the man than being an incompetent no-load; if his Jekyll and Hyde act might have a depth no one had suspected.

“You're not getting away with this,” the exec said in a low, tensile voice like a steel strand drawn tight and plucked. His hand shot out to grip the lifeline as
Gaddis
rolled. “You're not going to get away with screwing me again, and all these guys.”

“I never meant to screw you, Greg. I don't have anything against you personally—”

“Oh, shut up!” Juskoviac screamed it out, and despite himself Dan took a step back. Glancing up, he saw faces appear above them, peering down over the bent and twisted frames of the helo deck life nets. “I've listened to your gung-ho, Blue and Gold
bullshit
since you pulled your stiletto out of Dick Ottero. ‘For the good of the ship.' ‘To get us out of the yard early, so we can go to Desert Shield.' It's a load of fucking crap, you don't give a shit about anything but your fucking promotion, and it doesn't fool me or the men anymore. That's the reason they're presenting petitions. That's why they're setting fires. And it's only going to get worse. When they decide they've had enough, I'll be on their side. You've overstepped your authority. No; you don't
have
any authority. You think you're some kind of self-anointed king.”

Dan fought for control, aware of those listening above, but also, with one corner of his mind, realizing the situation was moving toward court-martial territory. If it did, witnesses to a scene like this would be invaluable. “Are you threatening me, Greg?”

“Oh, I don't need to threaten you, Dan,” Juskoviac said, and the queer knowing little smile he said it with was more unnerving than his words. “
I
don't need to do a damn thing. You're blowing this one all by your lonesome. All
I
have to do is stand by to pick up the pieces after it goes off.”

“I won't allow you to take her over, if that's what you're thinking,” Dan told him, but even in his own ears his voice sounded blustering, defensive, and weak. He knew he was right. But something in Juskoviac's malevolent certainty had penetrated his confidence like a crossbow bolt through a faulty breastplate.

A murmur and then a scatter of laughter came from above him. He did not look up. He stood rooted as the exec, still with that secret smile, came toward him, brushed by, close enough to touch, then undogged an exterior door and disappeared inside the skin of the ship.

18

THE next afternoon a minuscule darkness took shape on the horizon, a speck in the immensity of sea and sky. Dan broke out the package of charts Suriadiredja's staff had turned over at the briefing in Singapore.