Tuff Ship

By Jack Fringe

The ageing Navy-destroyer, HMAS Mulga, is skippered by the egotistical and highly incompetent Captain Doherty, where anything that can go wrong does go wrong.
In this rollicking satirical adventure set during the 1970s, as the crew circumnavigates Australia, author Jack Fringe gleefully skewers the pomp and politics of the Australian Navy. When a cat named Sneaky stows away onboard, it sets off a hilarious chain reaction of ever-escalating disasters, from an illicit affair with a local mayor's wife to an international incident involving drug smuggling. All the while, long-suffering crew members like quick-witted Cook Dinger Bell and kind-hearted Steward Mario Naldani do their best to stay afloat amidst the chaos.
Brimming with colourful characters, irreverent humour, and a keen eye for the absurdities of naval bureaucracy, 'TUFF SHIP' is a wild ride from start to finish, alternating between laugh-out-loud humour and surprisingly touching moments, with a motley crew of underdogs you can't help but root for. Except for the deranged Chief Coxswain - was he pushed overboard or not?
'TUFF SHIP' navigates through absurdity, dark humour and tragedy, questioning the price of ambition and the value of loyalty. Dive into the turbulent 1970s with a tale so audacious, it might just be true—at least, for those who've weathered the storm.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jack Fringe
• Release date: Apr 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9780645679342

Book preview

Characters

‘Dinger’ Bell- Wardroom cook 

Buffer- ChiefPettyOfficerFreddyPunny

CaptainMalcolmDoherty/Captain - CommandingOfficer, HMASMulga

ChiefCoxswain ‘Piggy’ Pigget

ChiefStokerAlwynRing - ChiefStoker

GiuseppiNaldani- Father of Mario, owner Giuseppe'sPizza

HarrySharman - Midshipman, FatherFleetCommander, AdmiralSharman

JakeHobsfield - CommandingOfficerHMASKendra

LennieButterfield- SecondOfficer, LawyerWRANSReservist

Minister of Defence/Daddy - Father in law to CaptainDoherty. Father to Patrice.

MarioNaldani - AbleSeamanSteward - Captain’sSteward, son of MrGiuseppiNaldani

NavigatingOfficer/Navigator/Nav- WillPaing

PatriceDoherty - wife of CaptainDoherty

PettyOfficerCook 1 - ‘Willy’ Sydney to Fremantle

PettyOfficerCook 2 ‘Slug’ - JoinsMulga in Fremantle

Schools- Lieutenant, TrainingOfficer

TubbyMcMahon - AbleSeaman, oldest sailor on Mulga

Two-pack - AbleSeamanCook, Chief’sMessman

MrHarrison-Andrews - MediaMogul

MrTamti- Minister of Defence, PapuaNewGuinea

TimHarrison-Andrews- Midshipman

XO/ExecutiveOfficer - CommanderDouglas

HMASMulga - An ageing destroyer, now a training ship - sImilar to a GuidedMissileDestroyer.

HMASKendra - Similar to an old boom defence vessel/oceanographic research.

1

Family

From his Elizabeth Bay home overlooking the Garden Island Dockyard in Sydney , Captain Malcolm Doherty and the Minister of Defence (who just happened to be his father-in-law), reflected on the problems of the world, the government, and the Australian Navy .

The pungent smell from their Cuban cigars filled the room as the Minister watched his son-in-law fidgeting—a usual occurrence when he wanted something. He suspected Malcolm was about to hound him, once again, about his career.

He was right.

Daddy…what happens after my time at sea? I can’t do another desk job. I need a future. You know, we should all have goals.

The Minister still grimaced at the title ‘Daddy’ and, for strategic reasons, never corrected his son-in-law. He listened to him rant about the Navy and their evil ways, a conversation he had tired of. And every time, the Minister’s solution to his rantings was to send him away, usually on a six or twelve-month training course. Or despatch him to some part of the world where he could be an attaché to someone who didn’t need one or even let him write another report for the United Nations. He thought this posting to sea would, at least, keep his son-in-law happy. For a while anyway.

Daddy, I need to be respected and envied—nobody wants to be a retired has-been. I must shore up my career before my sea time finishes.

Oh, Malcolm, that’s a long way off. You’re the respected Captain of HMAS Mulga. You’re doing well. The key is to keep playing your cards right and then we’ll see what we can arrange.

"I know that, Daddy, but at the moment I am left wondering what is my raisin d'être for being?"

The Minister would not correct him on his mistake in the French language. One never corrects a wealthy man. Even a stupid one.

Whilst the HMAS Mulga looked like a warship, it wasn’t really. The ship was downgraded to a training vessel, and most of the guns were impotent, but still, for appearances they remained as deadly decorations. The ship had never seen conflict in its lifetime and Navy’s senior brass didn’t want Captain Doherty to change that. Prior to his joining the ship, they neutered the only remaining firepower–the 5-inch gun on the bow. The computer systems that once controlled the missiles and guns had been gutted for years—their only reminder of the glory days were the multi-coloured lights that blinked at random. To an untrained eye, the Mulga was a powerful warship. To those in the know, it had the firepower of a merchant vessel. The only working guns were small pistols kept in the armoury, but they were safe enough. Or so they thought. Had Navy considered that any gun can do damage, they may have reconsidered that thought.

As a training ship, HMAS Mulga embarked Navy midshipmen for a few months at a time. Being the lowest rank in the officer structure, they had to show the highest enthusiasm, regardless of what they learned and from whom. The midshipmen found Captain Doherty's explanations rather odd—especially when he kept referring to the ship as a missile-laden warship. But he was a captain, and they paid attention.

Whereas the state of the guns was caused by old age, the same reason could not be offered for some of the ineffective officers and senior sailors. Previous mistakes or incompetence led to them being deemed unsuitable. Simply, they could not be trusted on missile-laden ships. The HMAS Mulga was a perfect posting for them as they could do little wrong, as long as they had a strong captain. When Captain Doherty joined the ship, the Navy replaced the borderline Navigating Officer and Chief Stoker with highly competent individuals. This ensured the Captain had expertise when needed. The Mulga would always be in safe hands.

Until the first week at sea, anyway.

2

High and Dry

Captain Doherty stood on the starboard bridge wing of the HMAS Mulga , watching the night sea. He smelled the fresh sea air as the chilly breeze added goosebumps to his goosebumps. Looking forward and aft, he observed the huge warship under his command. He entered the bridge and sat in his ‘captain’s chair’, a chair designed for leaders. He looked at the ocean. His ocean. His ship. All eyes were on him. Mulga , packed with electronics and weighing over four thousand tons with two hundred highly trained specialists, required a leader who could make quick life-and-death decisions. His duty was to keep this fighting machine powered up and ready for action. The first four days into their four-month circumnavigation of Australia had gone well. But this day required real leadership. The warship was stuck on a reef.

The previous evening, Captain Doherty threw A Good Night’s Sleep into the rubbish bin—whilst the book had helped thousands of insomniacs, it hadn’t helped this insomniac.

The chapter on sleeping with one’s head pointing to the east made perfect sense—it had to do with balance, nature and ancient Feng Shui. But they were heading south. In desperate need of sleep, he did what came naturally to him—he fixed it.

At 23:00, he went to the bridge in his pyjamas, and ordered the Officer of the Watch to change course to 090 degrees. So instead of heading south, they would head east.

May I ask why, Sir? the young Officer of the Watch inquired.

It’s an operational experiment. Call the Navigating Officer and he can fix the course changes on his chart. After six hours’ sailing east, return to our original course, heading south.

As the Captain left the bridge, the Officer of the Watch rolled his eyes at the Second Officer of the Watch, who then rolled his eyes at the Midshipman close by. The Midshipman rolled his eyes at the Able Seaman on the helm who had nobody lower in rank to roll his eyes to. So he translated the rolling eye movements into a spoken language.

The man’s a fucking idiot.

The Midshipman composed himself and tried not to laugh, hoping nobody else heard the Able Seaman’s comment.

Within a short time, the HMAS Mulga’s course changed to 090 degrees. Captain Doherty drifted off to sleep.

It was dark; the seas were smooth, and the stars were out in full. At approximately 03:00, the redundant sonar gave a few odd squawks. They were sailing at a slow cruising speed. It was a big ocean. The sonar was never used, and they laughed at its feeble attempt at life. To be sure, they checked the echo sounder. Like a gut punch, it indicated shallower waters. The ship was off course. A reef was imminent. The bridge went silent, but their thinking did not. It had to be a false alarm. They were in the middle of the ocean. Panic took over.

The Officer of the Watch ordered both engines full astern, much to the annoyance of the sleepy Stokers in the engine room. Deafening roars from the angry engines woke most of the crew, with the team on the bridge hoping and praying the water beneath the vessel would not get any shallower.

The Navigating Officer raced to the bridge wearing his non-navy issued striped pyjamas. He used every available means to determine their position. Fortunately, when the Captain changed the course, and as the ocean was calm, the Navigator set the speed at ten knots. He was thankful the Officer of the Watch had not altered course after hearing the echo sounder, as they were in a ‘clusterfuck’ (his words) of nautical hazards. This area was not meant for big ships. They had to wait and pray Mulga would stop under its own steam. The ‘wait’ was filled with suspense and apprehension, as they were acutely aware of the potential risks of running aground. It takes time for thousands of tons of steel to stop. In a disaster, that time could be described as an eternity.

The young Officer of the Watch—a lieutenant—would remember eternity for the rest of his life. It was his responsibility.

The charts indicated they may clear the reef, but only just.

Please stop, please stop. We’re slowing, yes, we’ll make it. Yes, yes, we’ll make it.

The ship seemed to stop…Yes, yes, yes…Fuck.

The ship’s hull groaned along the sea bottom until it stopped silently with a couple of squeaks. HMAS Mulga was dead in the water. Its captain, however, was dead to the world, unaware his phone was ringing. The frantic Officer of the Watch ordered a midshipman to leave the bridge and wake the Captain. Later, the young lad would share the story of having to drag the Captain out of his bunk to wake him. The words ‘we’ve run aground’ would distress any captain—including Captain Doherty, whose first thoughts were of his future, followed by his future and then his future.

He raced from his cabin, up the internal ladder, through the rear door and onto the bridge. The bridge was in darkness, with emergency lights flickering. Still half asleep with no wits about him, his eyes confirmed the horror. His ship was stuck and silent. He wasn’t.

Still in the world of hypnopompia, that time between the dream world and the waking world, he attempted to reinforce the seriousness of the situation.

We’re sitting ducks. If the enemy were out there, we’d be dead by now.

The Officer of the Watch had already called the ship to ‘emergency stations,’ albeit a little too late. Both engines had been cut.

The sounds of sailors running up and down ladders and orders echoing through the spaces changed the tranquil slumber into organised chaos. The ship’s watertight integrity was at its peak, with every door and hatch now bolted shut. Emergency parties checked compartments and bilges for any signs of damage or flooding. The atmosphere was alive with tension as the ship lay silent. Darkness engulfed the HMAS Mulga. A short time later, the ageing emergency lights staggered into action.

What the bloody, bloody fuck is happening to my ship? the Captain ranted.

Nobody on the bridge dared say that it all started with someone ordering the ship on a course due east. The only consolation to the grounding was that the ship was resting on a sandy part of the reef and not coral or rocks. Captain Doherty wanted out of this situation immediately.

Full astern both engines, he roared.

He was stopped by the Navigating Officer, Lieutenant Will Paing, who told him that if the ship wasn't damaged already, they could cause untold damage to the propellors, rudder and hull as the tide was still going out. Reluctantly, the Captain agreed to wait for high tide but not before reprimanding him for wearing non-issue pyjamas.

He sat in his captain’s chair, eyes on the sea, a mind in turmoil. He drifted back fifteen years when, as second in command of a patrol boat, he ran the vessel aground—after giving a wrong order. Fortunately, his captain had to take the blame, and he was saved from any embarrassment by his father-in-law’s intervention. But now he was the Captain of his own ship and if anything went wrong, he'd be blamed. That would not happen. He had to save himself…and the ship.

Captain Doherty had been dealt a sickening blow. He sat in his chair reflecting on his father-in-law’s forever words—‘Don’t fuck this up, Malcolm’. He’d called in a few favours to convince the Navy he could command a ship. Others had lost their careers for less—he would never let that happen. He resembled a chain smoker in a panic, except he didn’t smoke.

Don’t fuck this up, Malcolm.

The bridge crew watched his every twitch, scratch, crossed leg, uncrossed leg, nose pick and eye rub. The grounding had forced him to look inward. That moment of self-realisation hit him hard and fast. He looked to history for answers.

What would Admiral Horatio Nelson have done? Admiral Michiel de Ruyter? Admiral Tirpitz? Admiral Nimitz?

Yes, that moment of truth had arrived. And like an explosion of fairy dust from the heavens, his chrysalis shattered and a new Doherty species developed. His rebirth signalled his future.

No, this is not the end. This is a new beginning—the time is right—I will be an 'admiral', he thought.

The bridge crew, looking for leadership, looked away in embarrassment as their Captain thrust his two fists into the air and shouted.

Yes, that's it.

Everyone assumed he had thought of a new way to get the destroyer off the reef. But he just sat in his chair smiling at the ocean. Lost in another world that nobody dared enter.

The Captain had a way with words and when he started a sentence with it seems the real meaning was it is. He was fortunate that the officers on the bridge were keen to save their careers and when he mentioned, It seems like an uncharted reef, they readily agreed. The Navigating Officer pointed out to the Captain that they were on a charted reef. The officers on watch had not been paying attention to the ship’s course. Neither was the helmsman who, whilst still holding onto the wheel, drifted to sleep and little by little the ship nudged off course. Within a brief space of time, that little by little grew into a major change in direction.

The Captain needed information on the watertight integrity of the vessel and called for the Engineering Officer, who failed to turn up. Engineering’s second in charge, Chief Stoker Alwyn Ring, raced to the bridge.

No damage below, Sir, was welcome news from the Chief Stoker.

Where is the Engineering Officer, Chief?

He’s as pissed as a parrot, Sir. He’s been drinking all night. Better to leave him be.

Captain Doherty and the Chief Stoker had known each other for many years. The Chief had only recently joined the ship, having been crash-posted by the Navy—well aware that he was one of the few able to work with this Captain. When the Captain had hinted that the grounding had been a mechanical fault, the Chief Stoker got the message. Thirty minutes later, the news from the Chief Stoker would save the Captain from a detailed investigation. A troublesome part of the steering was found and a replacement part ‘just happened’ to be in the ship's stores. He’d be able to make emergency repairs.

Signal traffic between the ship and Fleet Headquarters was frantic. Before Mulga’s divers had even entered the water, Captain Doherty assured the Fleet Commander that all was under control and that there was no damage. In response, the Fleet Commander ordered a rescue ship and naval aircraft to monitor the Mulga, wary that Captain Doherty might make nothing out of something.

As the tide rose, the ship lifted off the bottom. Divers checked the hull and, with no noticeable damage, the ship sailed to Sydney for a more detailed inspection. Having the Chief Stoker write a report on an equipment failure was much easier than the Captain trying to manoeuvre out of responsibility and dragging his officers through a court martial for incompetence.

The helmsman was charged with dereliction of duty and received a three hundred dollar fine, extra work and two weeks’ stoppage of leave. Nobody dared question anything further. Captain Doherty was a protected species.

The Executive Officer, Commander Douglas, made his way to the bridge.

All good below decks, Sir. Crew are a little unsettled, but thankful you got us off the reef.

Captain Doherty sat in his captain’s chair stroking his invisible beard. He’d been mulling over a few thoughts since his vision of being an admiral.

All good, XO. We’re fortunate to have the Chief Stoker onboard. He fixed that steering gear. Imagine if it was a rocky reef—the last thing I’d want is to have my officers court-martialled.

As second in command, the XO tried not to imagine or to show contempt for his captain.

You know, XO, I have been thinking long and hard about our forthcoming journey. Instead of our four-month deployment being a regular jolly around Australia, we have the challenge to put the HMAS Mulga on the map. I don’t enjoy sneaking back into Sydney after a minor grounding incident—it’s not good—I’d much prefer to enter Sydney victorious. I want to make us the Pride of the Fleet—yes, little by little we will bring back those traditions that have made navies of the world great. When we finally get back to sea, I want us not only to be the Pride of the Fleet, but the envy of the fleet. I know we can do it.

The XO pained to roll his eyes at the Captain’s new thinking, but settled for a forced smile.

An interesting idea, Sir. Not sure how we could bring back a lot of those old traditions, though. Many of those antiquated rules died a natural death as sailors gained more freedom and control of their lives. A lot of those old traditions were cruel and unjust, and the evolution of more humane practices created a better relationship between officers and sailors. I think most navies were forced to change.

Well, that’s one way of looking at it, but you need to read up on traditions before you make such odd remarks. Admiral Nelson would never have tolerated random thinking like that.

Yes, Sir, but with your guidance we could bring back a few of the more agreeable ones.

Rum, bum and the lash, Sir? the helmsman inquired.

All eyes turned to Able Seaman, Tubby McMahon, the oldest man on the ship.

Shut your mouth; you’re paid to be a helmsman, not to contribute to my conversations.

Sorry, Sir, but we denizens of the sea would be happy if you introduced a daily rum issue.

Shut up. I’m talking to the officers, not you. And for your information, there will be no rum on my ship.

Tubby mumbled to the midshipman standing beside him.

Looks like we’re in for a bit of bum and lash, my good midshipman.

The Midshipman turned red with embarrassment.

The Captain returned to scanning the horizon with his binoculars, ignoring his present company. The Captain’s silent way of ending their conversation annoyed the XO. He shook his head and left the bridge.

You fucking dickhead.

The XO was proud to be second in command of the Mulga. And in moments of despair, it was his secret mission from the Fleet Commander that kept him afloat.

Watch Captain Doherty and make sure he doesn’t endanger life, ship or the Navy’s reputation.

The wink, the nod, the smile and the raised eyebrows, all at once, left no doubt that this order was passed to the Fleet Commander from the top of the food chain. And if all went well, the XO would be promoted to captain and given the command of a ship. As he had been overlooked for promotion a few times, he clutched at this lifeline. This was his time.

Although that gentleman’s agreement would be anything but gentle.

3

Exposed Bottoms

Even though Captain Doherty kept insisting his ship was sea-worthy, the Fleet Commander ordered him to dry dock. If the hull had problems, it would need repairs. Management at the Garden Island Navy dockyard was not impressed, as they had to postpone the docking of other ships to accommodate the Mulga .

Dockyard personnel positioned the Mulga in the dry dock and once the outer wall caisson was secured, pumping began. Inch by inch, the ship lowered, eventually settling on the pre-set blocks below. Once the dry dock drained, Captain Doherty donned his hard hat and Wellington boots and accompanied dockyard management down the dock steps to inspect underneath the ship. His contribution was neither necessary nor welcome, but after flicking through Dry Docking at a Glance, he considered himself well-versed in the subject.

As well as checking the underwater structure, you’ll need to check the rudder, propellor and compartments inside the hull. I’d appreciate your haste. I have operational requirements.

The General Manager was amused that a captain was telling him how to do his job.

Captain, your urgent docking has caused untold problems for the dockyard and has inconvenienced other ships. As you can well imagine, my workload is immense and I’m happy you are now taking charge of the inspection. Please pass on your docking plan to the team.

The Captain’s head moved left, right, upwards and downwards. He repeated this action a few times. He was the captain of this ship. Nobody spoke to him like that. He needed to put this man in his place. But before he could arrange his words into a suitable reprimand, the General Manager added.

Also, if the ship slides off the blocks, or sinks at sea, you can front the board of the inquiry about how you took charge of the docking.

The General Manager walked off.

Captain Doherty found it difficult to work with civilians. They didn’t understand rank and respect. If the man was in the Navy, he’d reduce him in rank. He didn’t like confrontation, especially when he was losing. As the GM walked towards the exit stairs, the Captain’s mind flashed back to the moment his father ordered him off the family property. Even though he received a quarter of his grandfather’s inheritance, his advice on the running of the family’s thousand-square-mile cattle station was not respected. Nor did they appreciate that his neglect caused the deaths of thousands of cattle. Or the damming of the wrong river that caused untold damage to properties downstream. Or deciding on family matters without their knowledge. In despair, he was ordered off the property. He swore revenge and got it. He sold his quarter share and severed all family ties. His actions created major challenges and hardships for them. However, it enabled him to move on and buy the respect he deserved. As a military leader, with connections, his money always overrode stupidity. This was not one of those moments.

The vision of his ship falling off the blocks and crashing into the side of the dock warranted a panic chat with the General Manager.

General Manager! General Manager.

The General Manager kept walking towards the stairs of the dock as the Captain raced after him.

Sorry, General Manager, excuse me, please.

Yes, Captain?

Captain Doherty faked a coughing and wheezing attack as the General Manager waited. In between his staggered breaths, a rare apology left his lips.

My apologies, General Manager. One has been under intense pressure since the grounding. Please accept my apologies.

The General Manager gloated as Captain Doherty grovelled…

…but he did a double take as the snivelling Captain grabbed his elbow and cried. Tears of sorrow destroyed the tranquillity of the dry dock. His wheezing, hiccups and sobs spluttered out of his downturned smile, which helped amplify his grief.

I worry about my crew. I really need your help, Sir.

The General Manager needed to get away from this man. And quickly. He worried the distraught officer might contemplate a hug.

My apologies, Captain. We’ll start straight away. You’ll be updated in haste, don’t worry.

The General Manager watched him walk towards the exit steps, observing that the Captain was, indeed, a personification of stupidity—his whole demeanour showed a man completely out of his depth. He wondered what a man like that would be like in wartime and would pass that information on to those who should know.

Captain Doherty stopped at the base of the steps, turned, stood to attention and saluted his ship. He kept his salute and turned to the General Manager.

The stunned General Manager wanted to laugh but kept a straight face and returned the Captain’s salute with his left hand.

Who gave that idiot a ship? the General Manager shared with this team.

Captain Doherty climbed up the dry dock stairs. He was a man who never swore, but in this case, he justified his anger.

Cunt.

4

Highly Admirable

That evening, his father-in-law made a surprise visit to his home.

What really happened, Malcolm?

The ship is old, Daddy. The incident has taught me a few things about life. That faulty steering gear has shown me that when equipment fails, it is fixed. Humans are similar. But sometimes, especially in the Navy, some humans are incapable of change. The Navy needs better leadership.

The Minister wondered where his son-in-law’s thoughts were heading.

That is why I have realised my ultimate goal.

The air-con whirred in the background as the Minister arranged his now tangled thoughts, wondering where this conversation was headed.

I want to be an admiral.

Like in government, he found pleasure in letting people wait for an answer. But he knew that Malcolm, like a hungry cat, would not stop pestering until he got what he wanted.

Ambition is good, Malcolm. But are you sure you’re cut out for this? You’ve had a couple of hiccups climbing the ladder—never forget the times I have come to your rescue.

Really? When?

Malcolm, there have been many times. Have you forgotten so easily? Remember the time you struck the servant in Papua New Guinea? I had to get you out of that country undercover. The rascal and his extended family would have killed you. Fortunately, my team created a bigger issue, and that riot took precedence, so your assault was forgotten. But the man you struck was older than you, Malcolm. That’s just not cricket.

Yes, but he failed in his duties and sometimes you have to show strength. Daddy, seeing we are reminiscing, I have one for you. Remember the time you needed urgent funds after that prostitute threatened to go to the media about you?

Thank you for reminding me, Malcolm. And I appreciated that cash advance–but remember we are family. Look, I’m not chastising you, Malcolm, merely pointing out that I’ve always been here for you. Are you sure you are ready to take such a huge leap forward? Being an admiral requires incredible strengths. Navy don’t take kindly to me enhancing your career. It was difficult retiring Mulga’s previous captain early, just so you could command a ship.

He was an idiot, Daddy. You know, I have those strengths. I completed all my courses and excelled in areas others did not. I can’t live my life on promises. Some senior naval officers have it in for me—I make them look stupid.

The Minister allowed the silence to reign until Malcolm fired a winning volley.

By the way, the opposition contacted me. They want to cut the head off the snake of a Prime Minister, and they need funds. They also asked for my thoughts on the Navy and my future.

Right at that moment, the Minister was taking a sip of Glenlivet from his glass. A sudden tremor in his hand betrayed him and a splash of the amber whisky escaped. The little waterfall flowed down the front of his suit, leaving a trail of glistening droplets against the fabric.

No need to go that far, Malcolm. We can fix this. He wiped the lapel of his suit with his white embroidered handkerchief.

Having a son-in-law with more money than sense allowed him to manipulate the man and right now, if he wanted to achieve his goals, he needed Malcolm’s money more than ever.

The Minister was a master at covering his actual feelings. But this was an enormous blow to him and his suit. Suppose Malcolm stopped supplying funds that would be the end of him buying his way to the top. This was a game changer. Now he had to give Malcolm what he wanted. Or let him believe it was within his grasp.

The two inches of ash fell off the Minister’s cigar and onto the highly polished floor as Malcolm continued firing.

You know, Daddy, I’d already be an admiral if Navy were not jealous of my wealth and family heritage. I'm tired of their pettiness. The mundane is not good for me. Even Patrice says it’s time for me to have another challenge. I have leadership in my veins and have umpteen certificates to prove this—something Navy ignores—so petty. You want to be Prime Minister and I now know what I want. I want to be an admiral. If I resign, that is the end of my donations to the party. I’ll go back to the land.

Malcolm wondered if he had gone too far. His family would not welcome him back on the land, but it was the only thing he could think of.

Quite shrewd, Malcolm. Quite shrewd. You have presented an excellent proposition and showed excellent strategic thinking. As I have always said, you help with a little money and I will take care of both our careers.

You need to keep my career moving forward, Daddy.

Earlier that day, the Minister had a similar conversation with his daughter. She wanted to end the marriage. The Minister told her to abandon any thoughts of leaving—he needed more money from her husband if he wanted to be Prime Minister.

The next day, the Minister battled with the Navy, as he always did, about his son-in-law’s career. They were not happy about him being an admiral and especially not happy about him bypassing the commodore rank to get there—they refused.

The disagreements stopped when he threatened their careers and ordered them to do it. He called his son-in-law.

Malcolm, you’ll be promoted. This trip will be your final one, and then to Canberra. Now, don’t fuck this up, Malcolm. All eyes will be watching. If all goes smoothly, you'll make admiral, but I’ll have to grease many palms along the way.

Don’t worry, Daddy. I am learning to think the way you do. Once I’m an admiral, the next step is logical. Governor General of Australia.

Fuck. The Minister’s undigested dinner tried to backtrack upwards. Life was always better for everyone if Malcolm wasn't planning.

But for now, Daddy, I will make Mulga the most talked about ship in the Navy—we will be the Pride of the Fleet.

God help the Mulga, the Minister thought.

5

Crabs

Throughout dry docking, the crew still worked and lived onboard Mulga .

Mario Naldani, the Captain’s personal valet, had finished cleaning the Captain's Cabin, gone down to the Wardroom Galley, and was now talking to his best friend, the wardroom chef, Dinger Bell. Even though they were two decks below, they could hear the Captain calling.

Naldani! Naldani!

He shouted for effect. He wanted the entire ship to know his valet had caused a major problem. The Captain’s anger echoed throughout the hull of the ageing destroyer. Most crew were ready to scatter if he came down the ladders.

Naldani! Naldani!

Few wanted to be near him, but when he was