Stand BY-Y-Y to Start Engines

by Daniel V Gallery

  "Maybe he thought he knew how to run his railroad better than you do. Sometimes these big executives are funny that way. But what has all this got to do with you getting shanghaied out of Columbus? I didn't know you had to be friendly with the railroad to serve on that station."

  "You don't, really, sir. But the Captain knew all about my troubles with them and I think he began to get worried about it."

  "What kind of a song and dance are you giving me? Why should the Captain be worried about your troubles with the railroad?"

  "Well, sir," said Willy, "I don't think he was worried too much about the railroad. It was more about the FBI."

  "Oh-h-h. Well, I can see why he would worry more about the FBI... How the hell do they come into it?"

  "They began snooping around town asking questions."

  "They always do," said Curly. "That's their job. What has that got to do with it?"

  "The Captain just didn't want me around if they began asking questions on the Air Station."

  "Judging from what I've been able to pry out of you so far," observed Curly, "it wouldn't have done them a damn bit of good to grill you about anything. Come on, Mr. Wigglesworth. What's this all about anyway?"

  "I think it was probably about the Twentieth Century Limited, sir."

  "Oh-h-h. The Twentieth Century Limited... now we're getting some real clues... What the hell about it?"

  "It put on the brakes one night when it was making seventy miles an hour and flattened all the wheels. Cost the railroad a lot more for new wheels than it would of cost to pay me."

  Curly's eyebrows shot up and he hastily revised some of his opinions of the little man he was talking to. "What did you do?" he demanded. "Pull the emergency brakes on the Limited?"

  "No, indeed, sir. I wouldn't think of doing such a thing."

  "Well, who did, then?"

  "The engineer," said Willy.

  "Why?"

  "Well, I really don't know why he did it, sir," said Willy, "but he claimed he saw another train coming right at him on the same track."

  "Yeah," breathed Curly, "I can see why he would do it, if he thought that. But why did he think so?"

  "I wouldn't know, sir. They tell me there were no other trains anywhere near that night."

  "And where were you at this time, Mr. Wigglesworth?" asked Curly.

  "I was out getting in some cross-country night flying time."

  "Where," demanded Curly.

  "Well, sir," said Willy, "it wasn't far from Columbus. I was following the Pennsylvania tracks heading east when the Limited came barreling out of a tunnel heading west."

  "Hah!" said Curly, beginning to smell a smell. "What altitude were you flying at?"

  "Not very high, sir. Only about ten feet above the tracks."

  Curly's eyes popped and his jaw dropped. "Gawd Almighty! Ten feet! I don't suppose you had your big landing light turned on, did you?"

  "Matter of fact, I did, sir. It was real dark that night, not even any stars, and I had to turn it on to see where I was going. When I noticed the Limited bearing down on me I turned it off and zoomed up out of his way."

  "Well, I'll be dipped in lukewarm gook," said Curly. "I can see why your skipper wanted to get you the hell offa' that station and send you far away."

  "Yes, sir," said Willy.

  "Uh... Mr. Wigglesworth," said Curly; "I hope no large corporations on the West Coast owe you any money, do they?"

  "Nossir."

  "And ... if at any time you don't like the way I'm running this squadron and have any suggestions to make, please bring them directly to my attention. And please be a bit patient. Don't take any drastic action till I've had time to consider them."

  "Aye aye, sir," said Ensign Wigglesworth respectfully.

  Later that morning Curly met his exec, and said, "Joe, there's more to that young Wigglesworth than meets the eye."

  "Could easily be," said Joe. "He doesn't look like much."

  "Don't be deceived by outward appearances," said Curly. "The lad has good stuff in him. Matter of fact, if you're not careful he may get it all over you. He has firm ideas about some things... and he knows how to carry them out."

  "Glad to hear that, Cap'n," said Joe. "I'll keep an eye on him."

  "You'd better," said Curly cryptically.

  During flight operations that morning there was a minor snafu that almost put one of Curly's planes in the drink. It was the guppy plane, which carries a big radar dish and can "see" much farther than the radars on the ship's mast, which go only a little beyond the horizon. This is a 2-seater propeller-driven plane with a radarman in the after cockpit.

  On this particular morning Joe Bluberry, the radarman, made a boo-boo and gave the pilot a bum steer on the course back to the ship at the end of the exercise. The pilot, Lieutenant Potter, had flown the wrong way for half an hour before he caught the mistake, much to Joe Bluberry's embarrassment. When they got back aboard they were pretty low on gas.

  As they taxied out of the arresting gear and Potter cut the switch, Joe popped out of the after compartment and scrambled up on the wing alongside the cockpit before the prop stopped turning. "I'm sorry, Mr. Potter," he said. "It was all my fault."

  "Okay, kid," said Mr. Potter. "It's a good thing I sometimes check up on the idle rumors that come out of that after cockpit. Otherwise you and I would be paddling around in a rubber raft by now."

  "Yessir," said Joe, who worshiped the very air Lieutenant Potter flew through, "It won't happen again, sir."

  At dinnertime that evening Joe was standing in the chow line and had almost reached the serving table at the galley when a pal came by and said, "Hey, Joe, didja hear about Lieutenant Potter?"

  "No," said Joe, "what about him?"

  "He got knocked cold in a basketball game on the hangar deck about an hour ago. I thought he busted his skull wide open when he hit it on that steel deck."

  Joe stepped out. of the line.

  "Where ya goin'?" asked his pal.

  "Down to sick bay to see the Lieutenant."

  "Oh. He came out of it okay," said his pal. "He wouldn't go to sick bay and he seemed to be all right when he shoved off for the officers' country."

  Joe picked up his tray and started to take his previous place in the line.

  A tough-looking first-class PO who had been right behind him in line sounded off: "Where the hell do you think you're goin', sailor? G'wan back to the end of the line where you belong. What's the idea of trying to muscle in at the head of the line that way?"

  "I just stepped out for a second," protested Joe. "You know very well I was right ahead of you for the last ten minutes. Lemme back in my place again." Joe tried to push his way in.

  The first-class resisted, a scuffle resulted, and Joe hauled off and busted the first-class smack in the nose.

  Other hungry sailors in the line pulled the battlers apart as the Chief Master-at-Arms swooped down on the fracas.

  "Knock it off," snarled the Chief, "what the hell's comin' off here? Break it up."

  Order was quickly restored. Joe was informed he was on the report for hitting a petty officer, and was sent back to the end of the long chow line muttering obscene comments about the injustice of life on this earth, particularly on board the USS Guadalcanal.

  Next day the squadron exec sent for Willy Wigglesworth and said, "Mr. Wigglesworth, I've got a job for you."

  "Yessir," said Willy.

  "I'm going to make you personnel officer of this squadron."

  "Aye aye, sir," said Willy.

  "We've got a fine bunch of men in this outfit," said the exec. "But they have personal problems on which they need help and advice. Like taking training courses for advancement in rate, converting their insurance policies, extending enlistments, and getting emergency leave for troubles at home. They seldom get in trouble aboard ship, but when they do, we need someone to advise them about their legal rights and so forth. I want you to help me out on this business. It will take a big load off my back
if you can take care of those sort of things."

  "Aye aye, sir," said Willy.

  "Your first job is to see what you can do for one of our plane captains by the name of Bluberry. He's on the report for fighting, and he's usually a very peaceful kid. See what it's all about. And see if you can't take care of it so it won't go into his record."

  Willy went right to work on Joe Bluberry's case. "What's this I hear about you being in trouble?" he asked when Joe reported to him.

  "Yeah. That's right, sir," said Joe.

  "Tell me about it," said Willy, trying to assume a judicial manner.

  "I busted a first-class PO in the nose," said Joe.

  "Well, now," said Willy, "you shouldn't go around busting first-class petty officers in the nose, although sometimes it's hard not to... Tell me how it happened."

  So Joe related the incident in the chow line.

  "Maybe I can talk to this guy's division officer," said Willy. "If you're willing to apologize, maybe we can get them to drop the charges."

  "Not a chance, sir," said Joe; "he's a mean so-and-so, always ear-banging with the officers. He'd never drop this report, and I've always hated his guts anyway."

  "How come?" asked Willy.

  "He took my job as movie operator away from me. That job got me twenty bucks a month extra pay and he did me out of it."

  "I know how you feel," said Willy. "I used to run the movies on the Essex when I was a flat-hat before going to Officers' Candidate School. Nice work if you can get it. I had to do some wangling myself to get it on the Essex. How did this guy finagle you out of the job?"

  "There used to be a lot of echoes in the hangar deck before we went to the Navy Yard and it was very hard to keep the volume control adjusted right. You had to fiddle with it all the time. This guy told the Commander it was my fault, and that he knew how to run the machine better than I did. Then we went to the Navy Yard, they put in those echo curtains, and now anybody could run that machine. But the exec gave this guy the job, and now he thinks the guy is a genius."

  Willy pondered on this problem for a minute, and then said, "Bluberry, I'm not sure what we can do about that report against you. At least not right away. But I know how to get that guy fired from the movie operator job, and maybe you'll get it back. In fact," he added, "if things work out like I think they will the Commander might get so mad at that guy he will want to punch him in the nose, too."

  "How can we do that?" asked Joe eagerly.

  "I think the movie machine on this ship is the same as the one we had on the Essex," said Willy. "It had two volume controls. One next to the peephole where the operator looks out and one behind his back."

  "That's right," said Joe; "you set the one behind your back where you want it before the show starts and then you monkey with the other one to adjust the volume during the show."

  "Okay. We got it made, then," said Willy. "After the show starts you change the volume control behind his back. You turn it up or down, and he corrects it with the one next to his peephole. Then after a minute or so, you diddle with it again. You just keep turning the volume up and down and pretty soon the audience wants to lynch him. That's how I got the job on the Essex."

  "Yeah," said Joe, "that's fine. Except that those volume controls are inside the booth and that place is too small for anybody to bide in."

  "You do it from outside the booth," said Willy. "That's the beauty of it. He's the only one in the booth, so they blame it all on him. There are a lot of ventilating holes in the back of the booth. You get up on one of those big beams running under the flight deck behind the booth; reach in through one of the holes near the volume control."

  "You can't reach the volume knob from outside," said Joe; "your arm isn't long enough."

  "I had the same problem on the Essex," said Willy. "What you do is, you get a short piece of whip antenna and stick a piece of gum on the end of it. Then you stick it in through a vent-hole, shove the gum against the volume control knob, and twist it. One minute you can blast them right out of their seats on the hangar deck and the next minute they can't hear a thing."

  "By golly, you're right. You could do it that way," said Joe.

  "Just one more thing," said Willy. "If you really want to fix that guy up right, there's one more thing you can do."

  "What's that?" asked Joe eagerly.

  "The movie booth has got a sprinkler head in it and a thermostat near the back. After you have loused up the show enough, just stick a cigarette under the thermostat. When the sprinkler lets go, it will drown him out and bust up the show and you might get your job back."

  "Gee, thanks, Mr. Wigglesworth," said Joe. "I'll do it tonight."

  The movie program that night was one that was long remembered by the 3000 officers and men of the Guadalcanal. The hangar deck was jammed for a hit film that night. Up front near the screen were several rows of wardroom chairs for the officers, with a special section in the center for the Captain, Admiral, and senior officers. Behind them were the chiefs and then row after row-of mess benches brought up from the deck below, benches designed to seat six but each accommodating ten tonight. There were not nearly enough benches, so sailors were standing six deep all around the sides and back of the center hangar bay. The great I-beams that run athwartships under the flight deck were festooned with sailors sitting on the flanges with their feet hanging down. Everyone was jammed in like sardines and no one could have left early that night even if he had wanted to.

  Soon after the picture began the sound track petered out and became almost inaudible until the stamping, whistling, and ribald yelling stirred the operator into readjusting the volume. Then after a brief interval the loudspeakers erupted in a blast that almost blew the flight deck off. This was repeated a number of times, and prompted the Captain to inform the Executive Officer somewhat crisply that in a crew of several thousand men he ought to be able to find somebody who knew how to operate a movie machine. The Exec assured the Captain he would look into the matter first thing in the morning.

  So far so good. Ensign Wigglesworth's plan to get Joe Bluberry's job back for him was working to perfection. The part designed to get him off the hook for busting the operator in the nose had not come to a head yet.

  Standing on a beam behind the projection booth, Joe Bluberry and a couple of his pals were having the time of their lives playing with the volume control. After about twenty minutes, Joe lit a cigarette and said to his pals. "Watch this now. I'm going to stick this under that thermostat in there, drown that wise s.o.b. out with the sprinkler and bust up the show."

  One of his pals, who knew a little more about the hangar deck sprinkler system than Joe did, looked at him in amazement for a moment with his eyes popping out. "Yeah-h-h-h," he said, "you'll bust up the show all right! I wouldn't do it if I were you... So long, pal. I'm gettin' out of here." (Note: Whether Ensign Wigglesworth knew as much about the Guadalcanal's sprinkler system as Joe's pal did, present deponent knoweth not.)

  Joe stuck the lighted cigarette on the end of his whip antenna and carefully maneuvered it under the thermostat.

  (It should be noted, at this point in our story, that when fire breaks out on the hangar deck of a big carrier you can't afford to fool around with it. You have to clobber the blaze quickly with plenty of water. "Sprinkler" system is really a misnomer for the fire-fighting equipment. "Flooding" system would be more accurate.)

  When Joe maneuvered that cigarette under the thermostat, the Good Guys were in hot pursuit of the Bad Guys on the screen, to the noisy delight of the assembled sailors. Seconds later, after the cigarette had boosted the temperature enough, the thermostat closed an electric contact and a carefully predetermined chain of events began. It was like the cascade of events in the great power blackout in New York. Electric current shot through the circuit and actuated not just the solenoid in the movie booth but also a dozen others which tripped relays which started small motors which opened valves and spewed tons of salt water all over the center bay of the h
angar deck. Disaster struck the crew of the Guadalcanal that night suddenly and without warning; and pandemonium broke loose.

  It is a historical fact that there has never been a panic on board a U.S. naval vessel. True, there was some confusion on the Maine when she blew up in Havana; the crew of the Oklahoma were a bit upset when she capsized at Pearl Harbor; and things got a little out of hand when the Franklin was blazing from stem to stern and her own rockets were making a shambles of the hangar deck. Precise military drill procedure was not followed at all times while these things were happening. But there was no panic.

  Nor was there any on the Guadalcanal the Night of the Deluge. There was a certain amount of yelling and shoving. The usual custom of letting officers leave the movie area first while the crew stands fast was not observed that night. The stricken area was evacuated by all hands with great speed. A certain number of wardroom chairs and mess benches got smashed up and had to be thrown overboard next day. Some heads were cracked and a number of ribs got broken.