The Circle by David Poyer Read Free Book Online Page B

Aluminum! Single-screw! I done my whole career on these. When they go, that’ll be time for me, too.” He turned away, leaving it unclear who had dismissed whom, and began shouting again.
    Dan followed Norden forward again, catching up with him amidships. The whaleboat loomed above them, cradled in steel arms. “He seems pretty much on top of things,” he said tentatively.
    â€œYeah, Bloch’s good. Most of his twenty-eight’s sea time, except for two years at Great Lakes pushing boots. Divorced. Lives aboard. Got a little marine surveying business he does part-time in port.”
    â€œThat about manning, and budget, that doesn’t sound so good.”
    â€œWell, don’t let us gloom and doom you too much. We aren’t the only ship in the fleet with problems these days. That reminds me, this is your first tour; you get to pick where you go. How come you aren’t on your way to Nam?”
    â€œWe, uh, you know, choose according to class rank. When they got to me, it was this or a tanker.”
    â€œWell, nice to know we’re a notch above somebody.”
    â€œHow about you? How come you’re not somebody’s aide, or—”
    â€œOr in some high-powered staff billet? My great-granddad started out on the deck plates. I wanted to, too. I just told the detailer, send me where anybody of my rank and age would go if his name was Smith.” Norden grinned boyishly and slapped his shoulder. “And they thought I was serious! Maybe next time I’ll wise up! Ready for lunch?”
    â€œSure,” said Dan, grinning, too. Somehow he couldn’t help it.
    Ryan ’s wardroom was smaller than an average living room. It looked worn but clean. The only furniture was a threadbare couch, bolted to the deck through worn gray carpet, and a table. On the bulkhead hung an oil of a stern-looking man with high collar and rear admiral’s stripes; in the background, a four-piper destroyer thrust its bow out of a malachite sea. A dozen men stood around the table, leaning on their chairs. They perked up as Norden introduced Lenson, reaching to shake his hand. “Mark Silver you know … This is Ralph Weaver, the comm-oh; Ken Trachsler, damage control; Aaron Reed, sonar; Barry Ohlmeyer, guns, our bull ensign and duty bachelor; Ed Talliaferro, chief engineer; Al Evlin, operations and senior watch officer; Tom Cummings, disbursing and acting supply. You’ll be relieving him as junior ensign, also known as George, also known as Shitty Little Jobs Officer. He’ll get with you later about turning over the mess accounts. Right, Chow Hound?”
    â€œSoon’s we put down our forks.”
    â€œI guess that does it except for Murphy and Johnson, and they’ll be down after they’re relieved.”
    â€œPleased to meet you all,” said Dan to the wardroom at large. Despite getting stuck with the mess treasury, a thankless job of nit-picking and bookkeeping, he felt warmed by their welcome.
    â€œYou married, Dan?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œKids?”
    â€œFirst due in February.”
    â€œGood grief.”
    â€œShe don’t expect you back by then, I hope.”
    â€œLike they say, you got to be there for laying the keel, but not for the launching.”
    He grinned wordlessly and let it wash over him.
    â€œHey ’Fredo! Captain coming down?”
    â€œHe say he come down.”
    The redheaded ensign, Dan had already lost his name, said, “We’ll give him five more minutes, then we’ll—”
    The forward door opened and Packer came in. The executive officer was behind him. Bryce was the only one in the room wearing a tie. Ohlmeyer ducked his head, glancing around in real or feigned embarrassment. The captain said nothing; either he hadn’t heard the remark or he ignored it. He pulled out the chair at the head of the table and nodded to the assembled officers.
    The table sat in a ripple movement, by