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John Craig van der Ploeg looked at his feet. “Sorry.”
“Now what the hell do I do?” Canidy asked of no one in particular. “We don’t have time to get someone else from the Sandbox, if there is even someone else usable there….”
There was a long moment of silence.
Then John Craig van der Ploeg said, his tone upbeat, “If I may make a suggestion?”
Canidy glared at him.
“I think you may have caused me enough difficulty so far,” Canidy said. “But if you’re willing to stick your neck out again….”
“I am willing to do what I can, sir,” John Craig van der Ploeg said, somewhat indignantly. “It’s why I agreed to follow Corvo and Scamporino here in the first place. If I could swim to where it is you’re going, I would.”
Canidy looked him in the eyes.
“Okay, you have my apology. For now. What’s your bright idea?”
“Tubes,” John Craig van der Ploeg offered brightly.
“‘Tubes’?” Canidy repeated.
Then he thought, He means that radio operator? The surfer…
“The surfer?” Canidy said.
John Craig van der Ploeg nodded enthusiastically.
“Tubes is my commo partner. When we practiced our messages, we got tired of the usual numbing stuff. You know?”
Canidy shook his head. “No. I don’t know.”
“You know, all the limbering-up exercises,” he explained, and demonstrated by wiggling his fingers, then rotating his wrist. “And then there’s the pronunciation practice…Alfa—di-DAH; Bravo—DAH-di-di-dit; Charley—DAH-di-DAH-dit…”
The look on Canidy’s face was utter disbelief.
This is getting more surreal by the moment, he thought.
I may be getting off the hook by not taking this kid.
“…and then the practice words, like ones with short sounds, TEE ATE EAT TEA MEAT…and the long ones, CUTE BAKER CHARLIE…”
“Okay! Okay!” Canidy said. “I get it.”
Canidy glanced at Darmstadter, who had his hands firmly stuffed in his pant pockets and was finding intense interest in the toes of his shoes. He also was biting on his lower lip.
Canidy made a face of frustration, then looked back at John Craig van der Ploeg.
“There’s a point to this tale?” Canidy said. “You realize you’re holding up a complete submarine crew and its mission.”
“Yes, sir—I mean, sorry. We just wanted to work our hand keys, because I had the Morse code down pretty good from my time in Boy Scouts. My touch typing on the typewriter, too—”
“‘In Boy Scouts,’” Canidy parroted drily.
He smiled and puffed out his chest. “Yessir. We were both in Scouts but not in the same troop. Or the same time. Not even in the same state. But, see? That’s the point—”
“What’s the point?” Canidy said and made a Get on with it motion with his hand.
Canidy, in his peripheral vision, thought he could see Darmstadter, his face flushed and eyes diverted, quivering.
