 Who are the four to blame for the Comerford’s incident?
SILENCE IS—DEADLY By Bertrand L. Shurtleff Radio is an absolute necessity in modern organization—and particularly in modern naval organization. That would be Nelson, his navigating officer. Androka had arrived on board the Comerford the day before she sailed from Norfolk. With him came a boatload of scientific apparatus and equipment, including a number of things that looked like oxygen tanks, which were now stored in the forward hold. Overhead, the sky was a storm-racked mass of clouds, broken in one spot by a tiny patch of starlit blue. He was overfriendly with a black-browed bos'n's mate named Joe Bradford—the worst trouble maker on board. Nelson had no answering smile, although there had been a great deal of good-natured joking aboard the Comerford ever since the navy department had sent the scientist on board the cruiser to carry on his experiments. This storm—" Curtis threw his arm around Nelson's dripping shoulders. "But this storm, sir!" Nelson avoided Curtis' friendly eyes and slipped out from under his arm. "Not that I've lost confidence in you, Nels, but just because you asked for it!" Nelson's estimate, I'm checking back," he declared, frowning at the two papers and hastily rechecking his own figures. Then he hastened to the radio room, with Nelson at his heels, and the Czech trotting along behind. A frightened operator came out, still wearing his earphones, and stood staring upward incredulously at the aërial.
 Nelson, Androka, Brandt, Bradford
 Nelson, Androka, Brandt, Bradford  Curtis, Androka, Brandt, Bradford  Bradford, Nelson, Androka, Curtis  Androka, Curtis, the radioman, Bradford