The Passage (26 page)

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Authors: David Poyer

BOOK: The Passage
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“I need some advice. That's why I came in.”
“Advice? Let's not say I did that. I can point out some choices, though.”
“Okay.”
“One: You go out the door, then turn around and come back in here with it officially. Turn the diary over to me, get a receipt, and file Article One twenty-five charges against your commanding officer.”
For some reason, Dan remembered his interview with Jack Byrne just then. “What's Article One twenty-five?” he asked cautiously.
“Sodomy.”
“Whew.”
“Yeah. Make yourself popular, plus, if he's found guilty, all he's got to do is call you a jealous lover and down you go with him. Choice number two: Lose this hot potato over the side next time you get under way. Punch a hole through the middle of it, get a shackle from the boatswain's mates, make sure it never sees the light of day again.”
“Any other choices?”
“You can make an anonymous complaint.”
“What happens then?”
“The Naval Investigative Service investigates anonymous complaints of homosexuality. They'll come in like a ton of bricks if it's the CO, an alleged participant.”
“What's your feeling on that?”
“I don't want to put anybody down,” said Arguilles. “But they're
not bound by rules of evidence on homosexuality investigations. They get one pansy, they lean on him for names. And I mean, they lean hard. There's gonna be enough mud flying around to splatter everybody aboard. You start a witch-hunt, you're gonna lose some of your best people.”
“None of those sounds like good choices, sir.”
“I hate faggot cases,” said Arguilles. “Avoid 'em whenever I can. The first case I ever handled—‘the Night Crawler.' Guy used to crawl into guys' racks after taps and blow them. Never alluded to it in daylight. He said he did it for years and nobody ever turned him in. Finally he went down on this nigger boilerman and the guy just about killed him with a piece of wire rope. You think your CO's really a fag?”
“I don't know.”
“Does anybody else think so? Or are you a voice in the wilderness?”
“I've heard remarks.”
“Is it affecting good order and discipline?”
“It might be starting to, sir. That's really why I'm here.” He looked at a colored print on the wall: sailing ships in battle, powder smoke billowing above shattered spars. “If I didn't, I might not think it was any of my business.”
“
Is
it your business? Order and discipline are the captain's and XO's responsibility.”
“They're everybody's responsibility.”
“Yeah, but who appointed it specifically yours? Oh, I get it.” Arguilles peered at him. “Same as with the
Ryan
thing, huh? You appointed yourself.”
Dan said, irritated, “Call it whatever you want. What should I do about it?”
Arguilles leaned back and locked his hands behind his head. “Well, there'll be an investigation of the suicide. Diehl is wrapped around the axle now on this bad-check ring over at the marine barracks; it might take him a few days, but he'll be over. Is this diary evidence leading to suspicion that the captain or others named or unnamed contributed to that suicide? I'm not sure. The thing is, from the legal point of view, anything in it is either hearsay or unsubstantiated—if not fiction. The kid's not around to answer for it. Does he name anybody else aboard the ship?”
“No.”
“No other partners?”
“He mentions a couple, but no names. The only one he names is the captain—and actually he doesn't use his name either, just calls him ‘the captain.' Most of his uh … activity seems to center around a bar in Charleston. That's our home port.”
“Uh-huh. You realize he might have made this up? Whatever he says he did with your skipper? Like you or me daydreaming about going to bed with Farrah Fawcett, okay? A sex fantasy, power fantasy. He might even have put it in on purpose, to protect himself if anybody else ever got hold of the diary. See what I mean? I've seen that before in cases like this. First thing defense counsel is going to bring up.”
“I don't think—”
“What?”
“Nothing,” said Dan. He'd started to say, “I don't think Sanderling would do that,” but he knew now he'd never known the first thing about Sanderling. Maybe he didn't know any of his shipmates, or any human being, not deep down, as they really were. It was a bitter knowledge. He reached out for the diary, weighed it for a moment, then slipped it back into his pocket.
“I ask you one question?” said Arguilles. “In confidence.”
“Sure.”
“Are
you
gay?”
“No!”
“Take it easy … . I know, soon as you start talking about them, that's like the next question, isn't it? But there's something else eating you, isn't there? Other than this Sanderling thing. You got something against 'em?”
Dan sat hunched over, giving it a few seconds' thought. He
didn't
like homosexuals … didn't like the idea; it made him feel ill to think about doing the things Sanderling had described … but sometimes it got to be too much, the jokes, the sniggers that were common currency aboard ship, the relentless official indoctrination about their undependability, their vulnerability to blackmail, their danger to discipline. Then he remembered Byrne, what he'd told him about the torpedoman on the
Threadfin.
So maybe it was true that they could be dangerous aboard ship. But Sanderling hadn't seemed dangerous, just immature and screwed up. He honestly didn't know how to answer the lawyer's question. So he just muttered, “I don't know, not particularly.”
“Then why fall on your sword over it?”
“I just want to do what's right.”
Arguilles blew out like a surfacing dolphin as he hoisted himself to his feet. “Ohh
kay
. You just wanna do what's
right
… . Well, Lieutenant, do us all a favor. You let us know when you figure out what that is.”
 
 
THE sun outside was incredible—like a tanning salon. By the time he got back down to the pier, his khakis were soaked.
Leighty was standing on the quarterdeck in whites. He looked through Dan as if he knew everything he'd said to Arguilles. He returned Dan's salute, then motioned him into the shade of the helo hangar.
“Dan, where have you been? The FTG team's here; we're starting the arrival conference in ten minutes. Where were you?”
“Sorry, sir. I was over turning in Sanderling's gear at Base Legal—and asking them some questions about how to proceed.”
“What did they say?”
“Uh, there'll probably be somebody from the local NIS detachment coming down to check it out.”
Blinking in the sun, he tried to see Leighty clearly. For a moment, he had the feeling, the illusion probably, that if he could see him clearly, he'd understand somehow what to do.
Thomas Leighty wasn't much bigger than a boy. His face was small and his forearms, exposed in the starched short-sleeved trop whites, were almost like an adolescent's. He stood straight, balancing himself on the balls of his feet as if about to lunge for a ball. The way he cupped his left elbow in his hand might be effeminate, or might not. The captain's uniform was spotless, ribbons new and precisely aligned. A hint of silver glinted at the temples under the gold-crusted visor. His eyes crinkled at the edges, narrowed against the sun.
He imagined himself saying, “Sir, did you go to bed with Sanderling?” Or maybe, “Sir, was there anything between you and Sanderling?” What would Leighty say?
“Sir, did you notice anything strange about Sanderling?”
“Strange?”
“You saw a lot of him, I understand he was working on your entertainment system.”
The captain blinked, but it could have been the glare. “He didn't seem very happy, but he didn't talk about it to me. I wanted to ask you, how's our fire-control system doing? Has our civilian made any progress?”
Dan started explaining it to him. Midway through the 1MC interrupted: “All officers and chiefs assemble in the wardroom.”
 
 
THE table was cleared and bare except for pencils and lined notepads. Four men in blue coveralls sat at the foot, and another was passing out a document, one copy to each officer and chief.
“Attention on deck.”
Everyone stood as Leighty took his seat at the head of the table, then sat with a scraping of chairs. “Can we have that ventilator turned off?” the captain said to Vysotsky. “All right, let's begin.”
The man who stood had lieutenant's bars on his coveralls, a blue breast patch with FTG embroidered in gold, and above that the gold ship-and-crossed-sabers insignia of a surface warfare officer. “Good afternoon, everybody. I'm Wes Woollie, Lieutenant USN, and I'll be
Barrett's
training liaison officer, the TLO. I represent the Commander, Fleet Training Group. I'll monitor and grade your progress and provide liaison between the ship and the commodore. My mission is to make sure you get trained right, and that anything that hinders that is dealt with fast. I'll ride the ship for the major training evolutions and then for the ‘final exam.'
“Captain, I've arranged calls for you on the Commodore, FTG, on COMNAVBASE, and on CO, SIMA. The car will be here at fourteen thirty.”
Leighty nodded and Woollie went on, addressing the room now. “Guys, I know most of you have been to Gitmo before, and those who haven't have heard the stories. There's no point telling you what is or isn't so, because starting tomorrow you'll see for yourself. Our mission is to train you, and in order to do that, we impose some stress. A guy once called us ‘boot camp for the ship.' Very true.
“We like to say there are only two ways to do things: the wrong way and the Gitmo way. What we give you's the latest gouge; it's how Sixth Fleet or COMIDEASTFORCE or wherever you're deploying will demand you do business. But we're open to criticism. Any disagreements, forward them to me through Captain Leighty and we'll get them solved so we can move forward.”
Woollie introduced the chiefs, Schwartzchild, Bentley, Narita, and Ferguson. “The senior instructor—we call him ‘senior rider'—is DCCS Schwartzchild. He'll act as TLO in my absence and will report to you, Captain, when all instructors are aboard each morning. He will also notify you if any unsafe or unready condition precludes commencing a training event. Today, they'll be giving first-day briefs and looking over your lectures. I understand we have a main space fire walk-through, CIWS upload training, and they'll be going over your closure logs and some other documentation. Tomorrow, we'll all get under way. Reveille at oh-four hundred, under way at oh-six hundred.
“A couple of things to note about the base. Are you giving liberty tonight, Captain?”
“Yes. I thought, Let them get ashore for one night, see what it's like—”
“Yeah, let 'em see they aren't missing anything.” Woollie smiled with them. “I did want to say something about the security status here. Emphasize to your men not to stumble around in the dark or go for hikes. You always want to know exactly where you are
around Gitmo, sea or land. The Cubans took a sailboat crew prisoner and kept them for a year as spies. You don't want to screw with them.”
“You get a lot of refugees?” Dan asked him.
“Not so many by land, since Castro planted the Cactus Curtain. We still get people who swim across. That's no joke, swimming Guantánamo Bay. We figure half of them make it. The rest, they drown or get eaten. There're a lot of sharks.”
“What exactly is the readiness status?” Vysotsky asked.
Woollie swung to face him. “It's Condition Bravo. We use ships' guns to back up the marines along the perimeter. We'd like to have one of your five-inch batteries at standby and have you monitor the fire control coordination net twenty-four hours a day.”
“What's the threat?” Leighty asked. “Why's the readiness been upped?”
“I'm not sure I can answer that to your satisfaction, sir. There've been indicators of increased activity in the Cuban armed forces; that's all I can say. It happens occasionally and we respond. It may not mean anything, but we'd rather play it safe.”
“I understand. Can you handle that, Mr. Lenson?”
“Yes, sir.” Dan made a note.
Woollie went into the schedule. The four-week cycle would start with basic damage control and engineering exercises, battery alignments, tracking drills and close-in live firing exercises, then move on week after week into more complex antiair, antisubmarine, and engineering drills. It would end with a battle problem, a flooding, battle damage, and mass conflagration drill, and an engineering operational readiness examination, all conducted simultaneously for a final score. Then he asked for questions. Giordano had a few about port services. The exec asked about pier security, mail, and recreation, and Quintanilla wanted to know about the radio guard.

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