Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(37)
Spanky never raised his voice, but it radiated such menacing conviction that Laap gulped and his companions took an uneasy step back. “Der was ish-yoos,” Laap confessed again. “An’ we din’t know why. All naval boilers is de same now, all Yaa-row types, like Waa-kur’s. Only some is more aa-fficcint, wit’ im-poovermints,” he added with a trace of smugness. “But toobs is staan-dard—all same. Den, of a sudden, we start get bad stories; dis ship, other ships, an’ even some . . . in-dust’ral boilers usin’ de same toobs now. Dey gettin’ cracks, when dey’s rolled.” He blinked furtively at Tabby. “Can’t see ’em, hardly, an’ nobody tinks to look, but dey there. We blame the Toob an’ Pipe Division o’ Baalkpan Steel Works. Dey say, ‘No way. Dey all get burst tested wit’ air.’ Toob an’ Pipe blames us fer not rollin ’em right, so we built a test boiler.” He jerked his head downward in a traditional Lemurian nod. “We checked it hydro . . . hydro-saak-tic’ly, an’ it o-kay. Tee an’ Pee says, ‘See? Not our fault.’ So we fired it up an’ raised the pressure to tree fifty pee-ess-ays.” His eyes went wide and he held up his hands. “An’, shoosh! Dey spyoo! De whole goddaamn teeng goes boom!” He shook his head. “We blame Toob an’ Pipe back, an’ dey say dey’s drawin’ toobs just like all’ays, wit’ no shoosh. Dey blame billets from steel mill. Chaar-man Letts finally thowed a fit at buck passin’—whatever dat is—an’ maked ever’body work togedder to sort it out. Go to find out, de mill’s still usin’ Amagi steel—the last teengs it goes to is toobs an’ ord’naance—but dey thought all steel from it was same. Not so. De baatch dey use for bad toobs was maybe gunhouse armor—dey don’t know—but it gots too much carbon, an’ sulfur too, makin’ it too hard an’ brittle to give a good roll.”
“So . . .”
“So, some was fine, an’ should stay fine in low-pressure boilers.” Laap blinked. “For tree hunnerd an’ more pee-ess-ays?” He shook his head very definitely. “No fine.” He waved at the tube in Tabby’s hands. “Dese is made same as all-ways, but wit’ ’proved billets dat make all fine toobs. Same way makes same color, an’ we keep same number for same boilers, but dey is fine!” he insisted. “We test dis lot in anudder boiler to four hundred pee-ess-ays. Make daamn sure!”
Spanky looked at Tabby and saw some of the tension had left her. Isak remained sullen, but no longer had murder in his eye. “I guess the first step to fixin’ a problem is admitting it exists,” he allowed grudgingly. “But you gotta start putting lot numbers on stuff, besides just part numbers, to keep ’em from getting mixed up with the others. Again.”
“But . . .” Laap looked worried. “We aad numbers to numbers, somebody maybe not know dey’s the right toobs!”
Spanky took a deep breath and vigorously rubbed his eyes. “They use lot numbers at the ICE houses for everything that goes in gas engines. They use ’em on ammo too. God knows what else. It’s not a new idea. Did it occur to you—to anybody—that anyone stupid enough to make the bonehead call to paint the same stock number on these has no business screwin’ around with boilers in the first place? No? I hope it wasn’t you.” Laap frantically shook his head. Spanky looked skeptical. “Well, whoever it was probably needs to get his silly ass out in the fleet where he can wonder when he’s gonna get steamed to death because he can’t tell good tubes from bad.” He looked at Tabby and Isak. “I’ll shoot a-ah, polite request off today, for lot numbers on everything they can think of—I promise. It’s really my fault—and maybe Chairman Letts’s too. Should’ve demanded it from the start. But all the first boilers were one-offs when I was riding herd on Naval Engineering and inspecting so much of the stuff myself.” He shook his head, putting his hands back on his hips. “Doesn’t matter. We should’a, but we didn’t. Now we will.”
His gaze focused on Isak. “In the meantime, you’re in charge of rebuilding the boilers. Use these guys”—he nodded at the civilians—“an’ quit bitchin’. Especially to Tabby. I want her focused on the bigger picture. There’s a helluva lot to do and we got no time to spare.” He paused, tilting his head at the civilians. “And don’t kill ’em. Maybe they’ll learn something they can carry back—what it’s like out here for people who have to use what they make.” His gaze settled back on Laap. “Do as you’re told, and I don’t want any bitchin’ out of you either.”
“An if the ‘toobs’ are still shit?” Isak insisted.
Spanky shrugged. “Then you can kill ’em,” he said lightly, but frowned when Laap and the others recoiled in horror. “Jeez, I was foolin’. But there’s nothin’ for it, Isak. Just have to put the boilers back together an’ pressure ’em up. I guess we’ll find out.” He glanced at Laap. “At least chances are we probably have good tubes, if what he says is true. It burns me that there’s likely a lot of bad ones still out there, just waiting to pop like a dropped beer can. Have to warn every snipe in the fleet to keep their eyes extra peeled . . .” His voice trailed off as he tried to think of what else he could do; then he seemed to notice they were all still standing there, staring at him. “Well?” he barked. “Dismissed! Get with it! None of this work’ll just miracle itself done!”