betting pool. They’re betting on which W gets thrown overboard first.”
Mitchell slammed his fist on the table hard enough to rattle the china. “God dammit! I won’t stand for this.” His voice quivered and he could feel the veins bulge in his neck. “Spread the word that if anything happens to either of those boys, I’ll rip this crew a new asshole. If these boys so much as stub a toe, this crew won’t see liberty for the duration of this war. I’ll put them all on bread and water!”
The captain’s face flushed and his voice rose above Mitchell’s. “I couldn’t agree more. A gift from God drops in our laps—a real chef, a man who takes pride in his work—not to mention Washington, who is perfectly capable steward. I’m not losing either of these boys because of ignorant bigotry. I pity the poor son of a bitch that tries to harm these boys. By God, I do.” He stared into each officer’s face, as if to insure they understood the seriousness of his threat. The silence became deafening.
Grady stepped into the room again, balancing a tray on which he carried a bottle of Jack Daniels, a bowl of ice cubes, and five tumblers. He placed the tray next to the cheese plate before stacking the dirty dishes. The subordinate officers stared at the captain as tension sizzled in the air.
“Where the hell did he find that?” Bitton muttered, his voice returning to normal. “Washington, tell Seaman Waters to report to me immediately.”
“Yes, suh.”
Two minutes later, Andrew hurried into the room and came to attention.
“Seaman Waters,” Bitton said. “Dinner was superb, except for one thing.”
“Yes, sir, I know. I should have served a variety of cheeses with dessert, but I couldn’t find any. If we moor at a French-Polynesian island, I’ll find some Brie, Camembert, and perhaps a fine bleu.”
Bitton was visibly flabbergasted, and Mitchell had to suppress a smile.
Bitton recovered himself. “I’m talking about the whiskey. Transporting liquor aboard a United States warship is a criminal offense. I’m responsible for everything that happens aboard the Pilgrim . We can both be court-martialed.”
“Sir, I didn’t know. I’ll throw it overboard.” Andrew leaned forward to grab the bottle.
“No!” the captain barked, freezing Andrew in midreach. “Now that it’s here, it’s Navy property, and we have an obligation to use it wisely.”
The junior officers visibly relaxed. Tedder slid his tongue over his lower lip.
“I appreciate a stiff drink after dinner as much as any man,” Bitton said. “But only at anchor and only when the engines are shut down. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where did you find a bottle of fine whiskey? God knows it’s worth its weight in gold.”
“Sir, there’s a thriving black market on the island. I traded fourteen cases of Hershey bars for one case of whiskey, and I got two cases of burgundy wine in exchange for ten cases of cigarettes. I would have served wine with dinner, but I couldn’t find where they stowed it. Would the captain care for wine with dinner at sea, or is that restricted to being served at anchor as well?”
A full minute passed before Bitton, visibly stunned, mumbled, “Restrict the serving of all alcohol to in-port dinners. There’s one other issue. I must say that if you were trying to make a good first impression, you overshot the mark by a nautical mile. Based on your performance tonight, Lieutenant Mitchell and I agree that you are, as of now, promoted to Seaman First Class and the permanent officers’ mess cook. Normally the XO would inform you of a promotion, but I wanted to be the first to congratulate you. Well done, sailor.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“That is all, Waters. Keep up the excellent work.”
Bitton pulled a pipe and tobacco pouch from his hip pocket. While he filled the pipe bowl, Mitchell withdrew a pack of Lucky Strikes from his breast pocket, took one, and threw the pack on the table for the
Mitchell slammed his fist on the table hard enough to rattle the china. “God dammit! I won’t stand for this.” His voice quivered and he could feel the veins bulge in his neck. “Spread the word that if anything happens to either of those boys, I’ll rip this crew a new asshole. If these boys so much as stub a toe, this crew won’t see liberty for the duration of this war. I’ll put them all on bread and water!”
The captain’s face flushed and his voice rose above Mitchell’s. “I couldn’t agree more. A gift from God drops in our laps—a real chef, a man who takes pride in his work—not to mention Washington, who is perfectly capable steward. I’m not losing either of these boys because of ignorant bigotry. I pity the poor son of a bitch that tries to harm these boys. By God, I do.” He stared into each officer’s face, as if to insure they understood the seriousness of his threat. The silence became deafening.
Grady stepped into the room again, balancing a tray on which he carried a bottle of Jack Daniels, a bowl of ice cubes, and five tumblers. He placed the tray next to the cheese plate before stacking the dirty dishes. The subordinate officers stared at the captain as tension sizzled in the air.
“Where the hell did he find that?” Bitton muttered, his voice returning to normal. “Washington, tell Seaman Waters to report to me immediately.”
“Yes, suh.”
Two minutes later, Andrew hurried into the room and came to attention.
“Seaman Waters,” Bitton said. “Dinner was superb, except for one thing.”
“Yes, sir, I know. I should have served a variety of cheeses with dessert, but I couldn’t find any. If we moor at a French-Polynesian island, I’ll find some Brie, Camembert, and perhaps a fine bleu.”
Bitton was visibly flabbergasted, and Mitchell had to suppress a smile.
Bitton recovered himself. “I’m talking about the whiskey. Transporting liquor aboard a United States warship is a criminal offense. I’m responsible for everything that happens aboard the Pilgrim . We can both be court-martialed.”
“Sir, I didn’t know. I’ll throw it overboard.” Andrew leaned forward to grab the bottle.
“No!” the captain barked, freezing Andrew in midreach. “Now that it’s here, it’s Navy property, and we have an obligation to use it wisely.”
The junior officers visibly relaxed. Tedder slid his tongue over his lower lip.
“I appreciate a stiff drink after dinner as much as any man,” Bitton said. “But only at anchor and only when the engines are shut down. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where did you find a bottle of fine whiskey? God knows it’s worth its weight in gold.”
“Sir, there’s a thriving black market on the island. I traded fourteen cases of Hershey bars for one case of whiskey, and I got two cases of burgundy wine in exchange for ten cases of cigarettes. I would have served wine with dinner, but I couldn’t find where they stowed it. Would the captain care for wine with dinner at sea, or is that restricted to being served at anchor as well?”
A full minute passed before Bitton, visibly stunned, mumbled, “Restrict the serving of all alcohol to in-port dinners. There’s one other issue. I must say that if you were trying to make a good first impression, you overshot the mark by a nautical mile. Based on your performance tonight, Lieutenant Mitchell and I agree that you are, as of now, promoted to Seaman First Class and the permanent officers’ mess cook. Normally the XO would inform you of a promotion, but I wanted to be the first to congratulate you. Well done, sailor.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“That is all, Waters. Keep up the excellent work.”
Bitton pulled a pipe and tobacco pouch from his hip pocket. While he filled the pipe bowl, Mitchell withdrew a pack of Lucky Strikes from his breast pocket, took one, and threw the pack on the table for the
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