Until that April night in Pearl.
David, carrying out the details of the captain’s punishment for his transgression on the bridge, was standing the gangway midwatch. He wore his dress whites and a guard belt carrying live cartridges, and he held a .22 rifle at parade rest, more or less. The officer of the deck was a man called Sammener, and he ran a loose watch, and he realized that no Japanese spies were going to blow up the Hanley while it lay in port, and so he didn’t much care whether David leaned on the rifle or held it on his shoulder or slouched in the most casual parade rest he had ever witnessed. Sammener simply didn’t care. Sammener was sleepy, and he detested midwatches, and the gunner’s mate standing watch with him was a deadly Midwestern bore who had nothing to say, so Sammener wrote a few letters to his wife, and watched David at the foot of the gangway stifling yawns and standing a very sloppy parade-rest watch. The captain was aboard and asleep, and so there was no fear he’d come back to the ship from liberty and raise a fuss.
“What time is it?” Sammener asked the gunner’s mate.
“Oh-two-hundred, sir,” the gunner’s mate replied.
“In English.”
“Two A.M., sir.”
“Thank you.” Sammener paused. “Listen, go get us some coffee, will you? I’ll be asleep here in a few minutes.”
“Yes, sir. Where should I get it, sir?”
“The radiomen should have a pot brewing.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get some for the gangway watch, too.” He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “You there! At the gangway! You want some coffee?”
“Yes, sir, I’d like some,” David answered.
“Fine. What’s your name again?”
“Regan, sir.”
“What are you, Regan? A radarman?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What are you doing on gangway watch?”
David grinned. “The captain’s idea, sir.”
“He’s full of them,” Sammener mumbled. “Go get the coffee, Mercer. Make it fast. I’m about to drop.”
The coffee came at 0215. Sammener sent the gunner’s mate down with a cup for David, and David shifted the rifle to his left hand and sipped at the hot cup of coffee. The coffee was good. He’d been very sleepy before the coffee came. It seemed as if he’d been standing mid-watches forever, and yet it had only been a few weeks, and still he never seemed to be wide awake any more. Night after night, he came to dread that hand on his shoulder waking him at a quarter to midnight, and then standing on the dock watching everyone returning from liberty, not getting back into the sack until 4 A.M., and then being awakened again at six to start the navy day. He never seemed to get enough sleep lately. He almost wished they were back in combat. The captain would never enforce such ridiculous punishment if the ship were in...
“Well, well, David, having a little cup of coffee?” the voice said.
David turned. “Oh, hello, George,” he whispered.
George Devereaux put his hands on his hips and studied David with his chipmunk grin, his eyebrows askew, his brown eyes glinting. David smiled back.
“Sir,” Devereaux said.
“Huh?”
“Sir,” Devereaux repeated, still grinning. “I believe I am an officer in the United States Navy, and as such I am entitled to the respect of an enlisted man, as exemplified by the use of the respectful title ‘sir.’” Devereaux paused, still grinning. “Respect, that’s what the captain said. Respect is the key word.”
“You’re absolutely right,” David answered, sipping at his coffee, and then smiling as he took the cup away from his mouth.
“I am absolutely right, sir,” Devereaux said.
“You are absolutely right, sir,” David affirmed, hitting the word hard, grinning.
“That’s better,” Devereaux said. He lost his balance for an instant and wobbled on the dock, catching at the handrail of the gangway for support and then straightening up to face David again. David suddenly smelled the whiskey fumes on his breath.
“Now get rid of that coffee cup,” Devereaux said.
“Sir?”
“Put down the coffee cup.”
“Yes, sir,” David said, grinning, wondering what kind of game Devereaux was playing, but grateful for anything that broke the monotony of the long watch. He put the cup down on the dock.
“Atten-shun!” Devereaux shouted.
David snapped to attention, smiling.
“What’s so funny, Regan?”
“Nothing, sir,” David said, still smiling.
“Take that smile off your face!”
“Yes, sir!” David answered, and immediately pulled a serious face, his mouth grim, his brows pulled down.
“That’s better,” Devereaux said, nodding. His hands reached out for David’s kerchief. “That’s a pretty sloppy knot, Regan.”
“Yes, sir!”
“And your shoes need shining.”
“Yes, sir!”
“And you need a haircut.”
“I haven’t been ashore, sir.”
“There’s a barber aboard, Regan.”
“I know, sir. But there didn’t seem any sense in getting a haircut when I’m restricted to the—”
“Are you questioning my judgment, Regan?”
David smiled again. “No, sir!”
“What’s so funny?” Devereaux said, and David suddenly realized he was smiling alone; Devereaux’s face was dead serious.
“Nothing, sir,” he said. The smile dropped from his mouth.
“I tell you your shoes are messy and you heed a haircut, and you think that’s funny, do you?”
“No, sir, I don’t,” David said.
“Very well,” Devereaux answered. “Get a haircut. Shine those shoes.”
“I will, sir.”
“Very well,” Devereaux said, and he started up the gangway. He saluted Sammener and said, “Well, well, look who’s standing the deck watch. Ole Jonah Sammener. What’s doing, Jonah? Got any girls aboard? Is there a wild party going on in the bosun’s locker?”
“You look as if you just came from one,” Sammener said dryly.
“What are you drinking, Jonah? Coffee? The whole watch is drinking coffee. A fine alert bunch of men we’ve got guarding our lives while we sleep the sleep of innocents.” He nodded, and seemed to remember David standing on the dock. He wheeled toward the gangway, went down it rapidly, and walked to where David was standing at its foot. David did not move.
“I believe it is customary to salute an officer when he approaches, Regan,” Devereaux said.
David snapped to attention, his left hand moving over to cross the muzzle of the rifle in salute. Devereaux touched the peak of his cap and snapped a salute in return. David remained at attention. Devereaux kept studying him. The chipmunk grin had vanished completely. There were only the hard brown eyes now, staring from beneath the crooked eyebrows.
“I thought I told you to get a haircut,” Devereaux said.
David, puzzled, did not answer.
“I’m talking to you, Regan! You still need a haircut.”
“Sir, I... I’m on watch, sir.”
“And a pretty sloppy watch, I might add.”
“Hey, George, come on aboard,” Sammener yelled from the quarterdeck. “You’re waking up the whole ship.”
“You just keep out of this, Jonah,” Devereaux said over his shoulder.
“Sir,” David whispered, “I think maybe—”
“Never mind what you think, Regan!” Devereaux snapped. “I’m not interested in what you think.”
“Sir, I only meant—”