CHAPTER 5

Only a few days later, on April 2, Paul received his orders by registered mail. It was not an impressive appearing document. Mimeographed on pulpy paper with blanks filled in a heavy hand with green ink, it said:

From: Commandant, U.S. Coast Guard Headquarters, Washington, D.C.

To: Paul R. Schuman, Ensign, USCGR

Subject: Order to active duty.

1. You are herewith ordered to active duty.

2. You shall proceed immediately to the First District Office of the U.S. Coast Guard in Boston, Mass. for assignment to duty as executive officer of U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Arluk, and transportation to that vessel.

3. In view of the proximity of your home to the First District Office, no travel allowance is granted.

“Well, they must think pretty well of you if they make you executive officer of a ship without a day of training,” Erich said when Paul showed him the paper.

“I don’t know what it means,” Paul replied. “I think I’ll call Chris and see.”

“Proceed immediately means that you’ve got twenty-four hours,” Christiansen said when Paul read him his orders over the telephone. “You better come up to the apartment tonight at about seven. I’ll find out what I can about the Arluk and let you know.”

“Twenty-four hours!” Sylvia said. “What are we supposed to do when we only have twenty-four hours?” She looked very much alarmed, as though he might expect to spend that entire time spinning like a lathe with her in bed.

“I’ll have to pick up the uniforms I ordered,” he said. “Maybe we ought to run over and see dad and mother.”

It was not hard to do the things he felt he ought to do because he couldn’t think of much that he really wanted to do. The idea of driving off alone somewhere with Sylvia crossed his mind, but they had grown so mysteriously tense that without admitting it, they were afraid to be alone together. The worst thing in the world would be to have a fight just before parting and without knowing exactly why, they both felt one brewing.

Their tension increased when they drove to the military tailor and picked up the gear he had ordered.

“What on earth do you need a sword for?” Sylvia asked, as the clerk showed him this glittering object in a black scabbard with gold trim. “Does the Coast Guard expect you to fight submarines with that?”

“I think I’m just supposed to use it in dress parades,” he said. “Anyway, it’s on my required list.”

The truth was, he loved his new sword with its shining, delicately etched blade and gold handle, a sword which was part of a commissioned officer’s equipment, not just a costume piece or an antique. The fact that Sylvia regarded the sword as a joke annoyed him. When they got home, she asked him to show the sword to her family, and they insisted that he put on the elaborate belt with a big gold buckle which came with it. When he could not figure out how he could adjust the belt to prevent the scabbard from dragging on the floor when he wore it, everyone roared with laughter. Paul’s face turned red, and taking the sword off he put it in its tan leather carrying case.

“Paul, where’s your sense of humor?” Sylvia asked.

“Damn it, I don’t see anything very funny about this whole damn war, and I guess the sword is part of it,” he said. “All right, it’s ridiculous—let’s let it go at that.”

“That whole list of stuff they made you buy is ridiculous,” Sylvia said. “Are you really going to wear those dress whites with the epaulettes on a ship?”

“They gave me a list and I bought the stuff. So it’s funny. The whole war is one damn big comedy, at least to the spectators—”

“That’s not fair,” Sylvia said.

He knew she was right, but still he did not want her to laugh at him and his military regalia. Damn it, he was going to leave her soon, maybe forever, and he was going to have to try to be the executive officer of a ship, even if he was only a college boy and a summer yachtsman. He ached to be taken seriously by his wife, if by no one else. He wanted her to weep for him, not laugh.

But Sylvia often made jokes when she was nervous, and maybe she was afraid of trying to live up to too much drama. Even when she tried to be serious, she couldn’t manage it.

“I won’t make any more jokes about your sword,” she said. “When the war is over, it will make a nice souvenir. We’ll hang it over the mantelpiece, and you can tell our sons how you killed millions of Germans with it. I can just see you when you’re an old man, stabbing away at the air, showing your sons and grandsons how you did it.”

That day went slowly for Paul. Somehow they were afraid to make love and afraid not to and when they did, they found themselves trying to act out much more emotion than they felt. Then Sylvia started to talk about all the girls he would meet in every port. In her way she was obviously trying to be brave, and Paul was ashamed of feeling that he somehow had already left her. His mind was full of questions about the Arluk. What kind of ship was she, and where would she operate? And why, as Erich had pointed out, had he been made executive officer, the Coast Guard equivalent of first mate, without a day of training? Although he had scored well in the twelve-hour examination on navigation and seamanship, he was all too aware that he knew nothing about such details as gunnery, communications, and service procedures. Without thinking about it, he had assumed that he would be given some sort of training, either afloat or ashore. The thought that he was immediately to be given such a responsible position aboard a ship of whatever size was a little flattering but very scary. He wondered and half hoped that Chris would find that a mistake of some kind had been made.

Sylvia did not want to go with him to Chris’s apartment. She was uneasy there partly because the Coast Guard lieutenant’s manners seemed abrupt to her and partly because Katherine, Chris’s Swedish wife, nonchalantly nursed her baby in the livingroom even while guests were there. Without even bothering to keep a blanket draped completely over her huge bosom, Katie just sat there and chatted with the men while her baby sucked and fondled her breasts. Sylvia had never seen anything like this. She was angry at Paul when he said that he thought the sight of Katie nursing her child was beautiful and that he admired her for her lack of prudery. They had had a big fight about that, and about what was good taste and what wasn’t. After that Sylvia never wanted to go to Chris’s apartment again.

So precisely at seven o’clock Paul presented himself at Chris’s door alone. Looking a little strained, Chris gave Paul and Katie a drink of scotch. Then he said, “You better go into the bedroom, Katie. We’ve got top secret stuff to discuss.”

Katie withdrew, carrying her baby.

“I don’t know whether this is going to come as good news to you or bad news,” Chris said. “The Arluk is a brand new Boston beam trawler we’ve just taken over. She’s being fitted out for the Greenland Patrol.”

“Do they really want me to be executive officer without any training at all?”

Chris shrugged. “Once you’ve qualified for the stripe, you’re not supposed to need training. That’s crazy of course, but we just are getting more ships than we are qualified officers. The skipper will break you in.”

“Greenland,” Paul said. “I have no idea what that’s like except that it’s supposed to be cold.”

“You can say that again,” Chris said with a grin. “In the interior, it goes to a hundred and ten degrees below zero. You’re lucky. On the coast it’s rarely worse than fifty below.”

“I guess I better take my tropical whites.”

“Hell, in the summer it often gets to sixty or more above there, and you may not be there in the winter. They may bring the trawlers back to Boston before the worst weather really sets in.”

“That’s a comforting possibility.”

“I haven’t told you the worst part yet,” Chris said, refilling his glass. “These trawlers aren’t really Coast Guard cutters—they’re just fish boats. And the captains they’re getting for them are nothing like regular Coast Guard officers, because what they have to be is ice pilots, and we don’t have enough of them to put aboard small ships.”

“Who are they getting?” Paul asked.

“Gloucester fishermen, even some Norwegians, Danes, and Icelanders we’ve made into American citizens. Old explorers, sea hunters, anyone who’s been on an Arctic expedition, old Greenland hands—there are a few around who love the place, believe it or not—the idea is to grab anyone we can who can get a ship through Arctic ice, and who understands the weather conditions up there.”

“What’s so bad about that?”

“Some of these guys are wild men. We’re getting drunks, queers, and Captain Blighs who still want to flog a man they don’t like. Of course we’re weeding out the worst as soon as we can and there are a few really great officers in that crazy gang, but I have no idea what kind of a skipper you’re going to get. The Arluk hasn’t been assigned a commanding officer yet. She won’t be ready to sail for another month, and there’s nothing but a warrant boatswain and a skeleton crew aboard her. And now an ensign—you. You’ll be in charge until we find a skipper for her.”

“Are you serious?”

“Don’t worry—you’ll just be tied up in the yard. The personnel officer doesn’t pay much attention to me, but I’ll do my best to see that you at least get a skipper who can speak English.”

“That would help.”

There was a brief silence while they both drank.

“At least no one will be shooting at me in Greenland,” Paul said. “Compared to the assignments a lot of guys will be getting, Greenland may not be so bad.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Chris said. “There may be German submarines up there. During some times of the year, at least, those fjords, especially on the east coast, would be an ideal place for tankers and subs to rendezvous. Ever since the Germans took Norway and Denmark, they’ve had plenty of ice pilots who know that region like their own backyard. Greenland is Danish territory, you know—the Danes have been up there forever.”

“What else?” Paul asked drily.

“Plenty else! The Germans have long-range planes which can patrol the east coast of Greenland. And they’re always sending weather ships up there—they need to know Greenland weather just as much as we do, to make forecasts for the bombers in Europe. It’s only a matter of time before they try to establish weather bases in Greenland, just the way we have. It takes maybe five men to man a weather base, instead of at least thirty for a weather ship. I bet that we’re going to have a big job stamping out their weather bases.”

“Anything more?” Paul asked.

“Plenty more. You’ve got a lot of floating mines in Greenland, some maybe left by subs, and more that have been brought by the currents from Europe. And at least one big German battleship has come within sight of Cape Farewell, the southern tip of Greenland. Don’t get the idea that you’re going into some backwater, far away from any possibility of action. You’re going to have to keep your eyes peeled up there all the time.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Let me be honest with you,” Chris said. “Greenland is a fascinating place—I’ve been there. The worst part of your assignment is that you’ve got a trawler. Those ships can’t carry any real armament and they couldn’t get out of their own way in any kind of action. The only reason that we’re sending them up there is that they’re about all we’ve got, except for a few icebreakers, that can handle ice.”

“Well, I asked for a small ship.”

“You’ve got one—there are plenty of tugs bigger than those trawlers. And you’re going to have a nonregulation skipper of some kind, probably a good ice pilot, but those guys don’t often turn out to be what you’d call an officer and a gentleman. To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t blame you if you tried to have your orders changed. That can sometimes be done.”

“How?”

“Get the skipper of some other ship to ask the personnel officer for you. I have a friend who’s got a hundred-and-sixty-footer down in the Caribbean. She’s a real Coast Guard cutter and he’s a real Coast Guard officer. At least you won’t freeze to death down there. Want me to see what I can do?”

“No,” Paul said. “Thanks a lot, but I wouldn’t really feel right about that. Anyway, you’ve got me all curious about Greenland.”

“Good,” Chris said with a booming laugh. “I doubt if I could have swung it anyway, but I wanted to see if you’d go for it. I think you have the makings of a real Coastie. Katie, come out here and rustle up some chow. Let’s give the condemned man the best meal we can!”

“I have to get home,” Paul said. “Sylvia is waiting for me.”

“Well, you hurry right on along then,” Chris said. “And my advice to you is, get all the screwing in you can before you head north, because you won’t get much in Greenland unless you learn to catch an Eskimo, and that ain’t as easy as you’ve probably heard tell.”