The sound-powered telephone squealed from the bulkhead. He swore, strode over and ripped the receiver from its cradle: "Lea-sea-ru-wuf sahr!" he roared. He listened for a second, then: "sahr!" then again: "Yes sahr!" and finally: "Aye-aye sahr!" He turned and glared at me. "Get ready to die, Candy-ass, they're on their way."
He disappeared into the shelter, emerging moments later with a life jacket. He thrust it out at me: "Here, put it on." I struggled and finally got it on over the harness. It was inflatable, with a small carbon dioxide cylinder which would discharge if a rip cord was pulled.
"If someone's used it to cool their beer, you'll be shit outta luck," he growled.
We staggered toward the stern of the ship, grabbing anything we could to support ourselves. Stopping just aft of the anti-submarine mortar well, we hung desperately onto a large winch and huddled in its shelter.
The mortar well occupied most of the quarterdeck; it was about the size of a regulation swimming pool, and about eight feet deep. Six mortar barrels were mounted in a line on gimbals which kept the barrels pointing to the same place in the sky regardless of how the ship pitched or rolled. I watched the thrashing of the mortars with horrified fascination; it was only then that I fully understood how violently the ship was being tossed by the sea. Even with our armour plated steel sides, we were like a wooden toy. The deck was heaving so violently that I was sure we would be thrown into the ocean.
"Lotsa fun, eh?" Johnny roared above the wind.
I nodded and managed a grin.
"You're too stupid to be scared, Candy-ass. Just believe me on that one!"
There was a great sucking sound behind the winch and we were drenched with icy salt water. My parka instantly became fifty pounds heavier, and I could feel my testicles clawing their way to warmer territory.
"Fuck!" Johnny screeched. "Shit! Fuckin' cocksuckers!" He shook his fists at the ocean and sky, then turned to me writhing in fury, his face streaming with sea water. "It'll never happen! It's too rough to pick you up. The stupid fuckin' arseholes!"
"There it is now!" I screamed, pointing. The helicopter was coming in low, fighting the wind, bucking and pitching as wildly as the ship. It finally hovered above us, trying to match our speed, while Johnny hurled a constant stream of invective at it. The pilot slowly reeled the cable out, and I could see the hook trailing almost straight out behind it.
"Lookit that stupid fucker!" Johnny howled. "How's he gonna drop that thing here? It's flappin' around like a limp dick!
I just hung grimly onto the winch, trying to deal with the sudden certainty that there was no way I was going to let myself be hooked onto that thing; not in this wind, not in these waves, not in this cold, not onto that puny, floppy little cable. No bloody way!
Another wave smashed over the winch and enveloped us. For once Johnny didn't scream in rage; he was clutching the winch as desperately as I. "Forget it," he spluttered when we finally emerged. "This is suicide! You're not goin' nowhere! Let's get outta here!" He raised crossed arms to the helicopter to signal 'stop'. "Eat my dirty fuckin' shorts, you arsehole!" he howled.
The pilot waved at us, thumbs up; the cable was already being reeled in. As the helicopter started to gain speed and altitude, for the first time I heard the 'whup-whup-whup' of the rotors, and realized that the whole scene had played before me accompanied only by the scream of the wind, the crashing of waves and the howling curses of Johnny Running Wolf.
We fought our way forward to the quartermaster's shelter where Petty Officer Boon was waiting for us, glued to the Bofors gun. "What do you assholes think you're doing?" he screamed. His face was a pale, pasty green.
Don't you call us arseholes!" Johnny screamed back. "You lookin' for arseholes then you look on the other end of that phone line. They got the biggest arseholes in this whole chickenshit outfit sittin' right up there, and that's the fuckin' truth!"
"And what's that repulsive mess in there, Leading Seaman?" Boon stabbed a finger at the shelter door. "Richards is supposed to be on lifeguard duty with you, how'd he get like that? He stinks like a bloody shithouse!"
"Seasick! Sometimes even real sailors get seasick, Petty Officer!" Johnny turned and grabbed my arm: "Go take a hot shower or somethin'; you're no longer required up here." He unfastened the harness; I struggled out of it and fled.
I left the two of them facing each other, preparing to do battle again. I had already opened a watertight door leading inside when I heard a shout. I looked back to see Johnny waving at me. "Hey Sweetman!" he bellowed. "Don't forget to look behind you before you pick up the soap!"
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