“Hey, Captain,” Simonds answered jovially. “We’ve got enough for bridge if you brought a deck with you. But I want the engineer for my partner.”
“No cards, thanks, XO. Just heard you were back here and thought I’d stop in myself. I haven’t been back recently,” he said lamely.
“That’s right, Captain,” the engineer agreed. “I’ll bet that TLD hanging on your shin doesn’t know how to react to radiation. We ought to have bells and whistles any moment now.”
“Bullshit,” Steel snorted. “I’ve been around here more than that.” It was pleasant to be somewhere on Manchester where they didn’t ask him when he was leaving, “What’s going on back here that needs such important people?”
“I just came back to search out a little noise Chief Moroney picked up a while ago, and found the men that make this boat go were playing some games of their own,” the XO answered. “Actually, Captain, they’re fine-tuning her like a race car. We’re going to be the fastest boat in the fleet, except I told them they’re going to have to make the last adjustments like they were mice.”
“I’m told that silence is golden, sir,” the MPA said. “This really wasn’t routine maintenance, I know we’re running silent. We just had a valve that needed a little adjusting, and the XO comes in here like we were playing with a jackhammer.”
Simonds inserted his thumbs in the top of his pants and lifted them higher on his belly. “I had to give a sonar lesson to these pups, Captain. Told them they’d be swimming home otherwise.” His hoarse laugh filled the space. “Really, it was nothing much. Just something they wanted to check before you called for all the horses — if you have to.” He looked more closely at Steel. “Say, Captain, everything is so damn quiet now, you look like you could use a few hours in the sack. Believe me, we’ve got everything nailed down. She’s as ready for action as she ever will be.”
“All right, all right. Everyone seems to think I’m on my last legs. I’ll head for my bunk,” Steel answered with exasperation. He wheeled about and headed for the forward hatch.
“Captain,” Simonds called as he stepped through, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I….” But his words were lost as the captain closed the hatch behind him.
After Steel had closed the curtain in his stateroom, he snapped on the light over the mirror and peered closely at his face. What the hell were they all talking about? There was nothing he could see that should worry them. His eyes looked fine to him. What the hell. He’d try to grab an hour or two. Sleep never hurt anyone.
Ben Steel closed his eyes and was asleep instantly. He never shifted position nor heard a thing until the radioman, Wirtz, woke him almost three hours later. “Good morning, Captain. Everyone’s sure glad you had a chance to grab a few hours. Bet it did you a world of good.”
The young man was right. Lack of sleep could hypnotize you after a while. He did feel like a new man. He also was sure this would be Manchester’s day.
Chapter Ten
A soft breeze drifted across the shaded, open patio, muffling the conversation of nearby diners. It was barely enough to cool the sheen of perspiration on Myra Newell’s neck, but it did waft the smoke from her cigarette across the glass-topped table. She noticed her luncheon partner’s nose contract at the sharp aroma. “I’m sorry. No one likes secondhand smoke. I’ll put it out.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m one of those reformed smokers who needs a whiff every so often to remind me just how much I enjoyed past sins.” Connie Steel leaned her head forward and sniffed in an exaggerated manner, as if another trace of smoke might drift her way. Myra had been more than polite in asking if the cigarette were all right, then making every effort to keep her smoke away from their table. “Now if Ben were here,” Connie continued, “he wouldn’t say anything, but he’d look at you as if you’d just done something very gross.”
“Wayne’s no different. Mr. Pure — nothing stronger than a beer on a hot day. That’s why I don’t smoke when he’s ashore anymore. I can hear it now — ’It may not kill you, but you can be damn sure it’s never going to do you any good.’ Before Pasadena left, his latest suggestion was to take everything I spend on cigarettes and put it in a coffee tin until I had enough to buy an exercise bike. He believes that would double my money because I’d be giving up impure habits and buying good health.”
“But I’m sure he means well. He probably picked that cute line up from Ben.”
Myra smiled, a knowing, long-suffering expression on her face, and ground the butt out in the ashtray. “He does mean well, and he’s sure the world would be a better place if we were all just as perfect as Wayne Newell.”
“Come on. You’re being rough on him. I’ll bet you miss him as much as he misses you right now.”
“No, I miss him even more. He tends to forget everything when he gets back aboard that submarine. But for us, life really is so much better when he’s around, or at least he tells us that it is,” she concluded softly. Then, more resolutely, “For all my bitching about little things, my world changes for the better whenever he comes through the door.” She reached absentmindedly for a cigarette until she noticed Connie watching with interest. “Not on your life — I’m not the one who’s going to get you started again.” The pack went back in her purse. “What you need is a teenage boy whose world revolves around his gonads, and you’d know what I’m talking about now. Wayne understands Charlie — and I don’t. Even old Jack Tar! That mutt mopes around the house like he’s lost his best friend until my husband takes up residence again.” She smiled a sad little smile. “I guess I do miss him. I’d even give up smoking.” Her eyes brightened. “Maybe I will when he settles down for some shore duty.”
“Is that what he wants to do?”
Myra Newell pouted. “What Wayne really wants next is to be the most junior commanding officer of a submarine squadron.” Her voice deepened in an effort to imitate her husband. “That is the path to an early star.”
Connie nodded and fluffed her blond hair as another breeze danced across the patio. The restaurant where they were having lunch was new to her. It was a small place Myra had discovered when she was showing her brother and his family around the island. It was up the coast from Makaha near Kaena Point and sat on the top of a bluff looking westward. Myra had said the food was as pleasant as the isolation, and she was correct The tables on the patio were well spaced, so that your conversation didn’t become a part of someone else’s; none of the other customers looked familiar, and the tropical drinks were twice as good because they were served in large glass bowls rather than the touristy pineapples and coconuts. And the charbroiled fish wasn’t covered with fruit or nuts — it was gritted as it was supposed to be.
“Ben would love this place. Of course, he’d insist on a martini because anything with fruit juice in it is intended to hide the taste of good booze. Have you ever brought Wayne?”
“Once. And he enjoyed the food. He still doesn’t understand why people have to drink liquor first when they know it’s going to ruin the taste of their food.”
“I remember when he used to take a drink or two. That wasn’t so long ago.”
“Try three or more,” Myra said, laughing for the first time. “But you’re giving away your age if you think it was recently. Wayne was always a serious guy, even when we were at Berkeley, although I admit he could be susceptible at times. His problem was that once he started, he never stopped. I think the last time he ever drank was just after he reported aboard Stonewall Jackson. That’s when you and I met. Remember the night he was ready to defend the honor of the Navy against half a dozen Marines, and Mark Bennett saved his neck? Wayne still can remember Mark’s exact words — ’Any man who decides to mix it up with our Marines probably doesn’t have the judgment to make decisions on a boomer.’ And that was the end of a less-than-honorable drinking career.”