and it goes on like that as the afternoon sun dips below the edge of the bridge windows and then is behind the ship , casting tall skinny shadows of helicopters and flight deck tractors and antennas and masts and men down the flight deck ahead of you , and the pilot whispers and the gator calls out and the captain confirms and the helmsman obeys , and the rudder orders ring down the wire 300 feet to aft steering where two men read them and turn the levers that move the rudder left and right and the engine orders sing down the wire eight or ten decks to main control where a chief reads them and his men adjust the flow of live steam into the turbines and the shaft turns slower and faster and below the fantail the huge fucking propeller beats the sea into a froth .