"Sir," she said to Canidy. "Sorry to be late, Sir. There was a dreadful smash-up on the way."

"It's all right, Agnes, he's now one of us. Lieutenant Darmstadter, Sergeant Agnes Draper."

"h.e.l.lo," Sgt. Draper said. Her smile was dazzling.

"To answer your unspoken question, Commander Bitter, " Canidy said dryly. "Yes, Sergeant Draper and I can find time in our busy schedule to take lunch with you. And how lucky for you both that I have just given Darmstadter the 'no questions allowed' speech."

Commander Bitter's face tightened in anger. Commander Dolan and Lt. Kennedy laughed. Sgt. Draper blushed.

"d.a.m.n you, d.i.c.k," Sgt. Draper said.

"Military courtesy around here, you may have noticed, Lieutenant Darmstadter, is sometimes a bit lax. In the future, Sergeant Draper, you will make that 'd.a.m.n you, Sir. Sir.' "

"Oh, go to h.e.l.l," she said, but she smiled at him.

4.

PETTY OFFICERS' CLUB NAVY YARD, WASHINGTON, D.C. 2130 HOURS 7 FEBRUARY 1943 Radioman Second Cla.s.s Joe Garvey, USN, moved his beer gla.s.s in little circles on the bar, spreading the little puddle of condensation in ever-larger circles. Joe Garvey was more than a little drunk. He had been drinking in the petty officers' club since half past five, when he'd come to the club from the petty officers' mess. And he was not used to drinking. Sometimes, out at Mare Island, after he'd made radioman third, he had a beer. It was bad enough in boot camp being a skinny little guy with gla.s.ses who had never been afloat on anything bigger than a whaleboat, without getting the reputation for being a teetotaler too. Real sailors drank. It was as simple as that.

Joe Garvey hadn't wanted to be a radioman when he joined the Navy. He had wanted to go to sea as maybe a gunner on a twin-Bofors 20mm, something like that, maybe on a destroyer. Maybe even in a submarine. If he had known more about the Navy, he would have kept his mouth shut about having a ham license. But he'd been a boot, and when they'd asked him, he'd told about being a ham. So they gave him a code test, at twenty words per minute, and he'd flown through that; he'd been copying forty words a minute since he was fifteen.

So he'd gone right from Great Lakes Naval Training Station to Mare Island as a radioman striker-a USN enlisted man working to qualify for a rating-instead of going to sea. And they'd made him seaman first and given him the exam for radioman third, and he'd pa.s.sed that with a 98.5. And then he'd been on the next promotion list. And six months after that, he'd made 97.4 on the exam for radioman second.

And when he'd asked his chief about maybe getting sea duty, his chief told him the Navy needed him right where he was; there weren't all that many guys around who could handle a key the way he could; and it made more sense to have the best operators in an important commo center, rather than afloat, where they might average maybe fifteen minutes a day on the air.

The first interesting thing that had happened to him since he'd been in the Navy was the Chief coming to him and telling him to pack his gear, that he'd been placed on TDY to Washington, and that they were holding the courier plane for him.

A couple of times at Mare Island, when he couldn't think of a way to get out of it, he'd sometimes had two beers, or even three, but he was not used to just sitting at a bar and drinking one beer after another.

They had been treating him real well at the Navy Yard. Instead of what he expected-a bunk and a wall locker in one of the big bays reserved for in-transit white hats-he had a private room, with a desk and even a telephone.

"These are chief's quarters," the master-at-arms had told him. "If anybody asks what you're doing in them, you tell them to see me."

"What am I doing in them?" Garvey had asked.

"Let's just say that's where Chief Ellis said to put you," the master-at-arms said.

"What about formations?"

"You don't have to stand no formations," the master-at-arms said. "All you got to do is be available, in case they need you. You can go anywhere you want to go, so long as there's a telephone where you're going and I know where you are and what the number is-and you can get back here in thirty minutes. You want to go get your ashes hauled, Garvey, just make sure she's got a telephone and that you'll be able to pull your pants on and get back here in thirty minutes."

Joe Garvey had not been summoned, and neither had he gotten his ashes hauled. The truth of the matter was that they had shown him a Technicolor movie in boot camp that had scared the h.e.l.l out of him. Guys with b.a.l.l.s as big as basketb.a.l.l.s, and guys with their d.i.c.ks rotting off. And the chief who had given that lecture had said that if you didn't want to get promoted and wanted to spend the rest of your time in the Navy cleaning grease traps or chipping paint, catching a dose of clap was a good way to do that.

The smart thing to do, the chief had said, was to keep your p.e.c.k.e.r in your pocket and wait until you got home and could stick it in some nice, clean, respectable girl you knew wasn't going to give you nothing that would f.u.c.k up your life permanently.

There were a couple of nice girls Joe Garvey knew back in Louisville, but none who had given him any hint that they would go to the movies with him, much less let him do that that to them, but he had decided to keep his p.e.c.k.e.r in his pocket anyway. He didn't want his d.i.c.k rotting off before he had a chance to use it. to them, but he had decided to keep his p.e.c.k.e.r in his pocket anyway. He didn't want his d.i.c.k rotting off before he had a chance to use it.

And he wanted to get promoted. He was already a petty officer second, and if you were a skinny little s.h.i.t who wore gla.s.ses, he knew that was a good thing to be. What he had wanted most out of life, at least until they'd put him on a plane at Mare Island and flown him here, was to make chief radioman. That wasn't such an impossible dream. Not only was he one h.e.l.l of a radio operator-he could knock out fifty words a minute and read sixty-but he knew knew about radios. about radios.

There were a lot of radiomen who were good operators, and there were a lot of radiomen who were good technicians, but there weren't all that many who were both. Since the Navy wasn't going to send him to sea, the next best thing was to make chief radioman. n.o.body would believe that a chief radioman had never been to sea. Or if that came out, people would understand that the Navy had its reasons for keeping him ash.o.r.e. If he was a chief, it wouldn't matter that he was a skinny little s.h.i.t who wore gla.s.ses. A chief was a chief, period.

And making radioman first was going to be easier than he had thought it would be. He was going to go back to Mare Island when they were through with him with a letter of commendation from a G.o.dd.a.m.ned Navy captain.

"Makes you sound like John Paul Jones, Garvey," Chief Ellis had told him. "I know, 'cause I wrote it."

The next time the promotion board sat, he was probably going to be the only radioman second going for first with a letter of commendation like that. He had already taken the radioman first examination, and he'd made 91.5. If he just kept his mouth shut, he was going to make radioman first, and a little later, he would make chief radioman.

But that was no longer good enough. He didn't want to sit out the war in the commo section at Mare Island. He wanted to get into the war. When somebody asked him, later, what he'd done in the war, he didn't want to have to tell them he'd been at Mare Island, period.

And he thought he had figured out what to do about it.

"f.u.c.k it!" Radioman Second Joe Garvey said aloud, which made the bartender look at him strangely.

Then he got off the bar stool, shrugged his arms into his peacoat, put his hat at a jaunty angle on his head, and walked, somewhat unsteadily, out of the bar of the petty officers' club.

He didn't stop to pick up his Liberty Card. He was afraid the master-at-arms would smell the beer on him and not give it to him. He had been given an "any hour in and out" duty card, which would get him past the Marine MP at the gate.

As he went through the gate, a taxicab rolled up and an officer got out. Joe Garvey saluted and got in.

''Q Street, Northwest," he ordered. "I'll show you where."

On the way, he fell asleep, and the cabdriver had to stop the cab and reach in the back and shake him awake when they were on Q Street.

"Further down," Joe told him, and the cab drove slowly down the street until Joe recognized the brick wall.

"Right there," he said, and handed the cabdriver a five-dollar bill. "Keep the change."

He had almost made it to the door in the gate when a large man in a heavy overcoat appeared out of nowhere.

"Hold it right there, sailor!"

"It's all right," Garvey said. "I'm to report to Chief Ellis."

"You missed him, then," the man said. "He left an hour ago."

Another, equally burly man appeared.

"What have you got, Harry?" he asked.

"I got me a drunken sailor," the first man said. "The sonofab.i.t.c.h can barely stand up."

"f.u.c.k you," Joe Garvey said.

"I got me a belligerent drunken sailor," the man said, laughing. He put his hand on Garvey's arm.

"What the h.e.l.l do we do with him?"

"I'll take him inside and ask the duty officer," the first man said. "He says he's supposed to report to Ellis."

"Kid," the second man said. "I think you just f.u.c.ked up by the numbers."

The first man, firmly gripping Garvey's arm, propelled him a hundred yards farther down the street, then through the automobile gate to the property, then up the drive, and finally into the kitchen.

Joe Garvey recognized the two men in shirtsleeves sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. As well as he could, he came to attention and saluted. "Sir," he said (it came out "Shir"), "Radioman Second Cla.s.s Garvey, J., requests permission to speak to the captain, Sir."

"What have we here?" 1st Lt. Horace G. Hammersmith, Signal Corps, U.S. Army, asked, smiling.

"He just got out-fell out-of a cab," the burly man said.

"Garvey, my boy," Capt. James M. B. Whittaker said, "if one didn't know better, one would suspect that you have been communing with John Barleycorn."

"You know him?" the burly man asked.

Whittaker nodded.

"Sir, I wish to volunteer," Garvey said, very thickly.

"Volunteer? For what?"

"You're going into the Philippines," Garvey said. "I want to go with you."

"So much for the big secret," Lt. Hammersmith said, chuckling.

"You're drunk, Garvey," Whittaker said.

"No, I'm not," Garvey said righteously.

"I'll take care of Garvey," Whittaker said. "Thank you."

"I don't know, Captain," the burly man said. "I think I better see what the duty officer has to say."

"Hey," Whittaker said, smiling, but with a layer of steel just beneath the surface. "I said, I'll take care of Garvey."

"Not only am I a much faster operator than the lieutenant, " Garvey said, "but you'll be working a Navy net-"

"Garvey!" Whittaker said, sharply.

"Shir?"

"Sssshhhh," Whittaker said.

"Yes, shir," Garvey said obediently. Hammersmith laughed. Garvey looked at him with hurt eyes.

"That will be all, thank you," Whittaker said to the burly man.

"You understand, Captain, that I'll have to make a report of this," the burly man said.

"You just report that you turned him over to me," Whittaker said evenly. "Okay?"

"Yes, Sir," the burly man said after a moment's hesitation. Then he left the kitchen.

Garvey was making a valiant and unsuccessful effort to stand at attention. He swayed.

"If I may make a suggestion?" Lt. Hammersmith said.

"By all means," Capt. Whittaker said.

"Why don't we each take one arm and guide him to a place of rest? Before he falls down, I mean?"

"Splendid suggestion, Lieutenant," Whittaker said, as he made for Garvey.

They had just about made it to the kitchen door when it swung inward and Cynthia Chenowith came in.

"What in the world?" she demanded.

"You remember Garvey, of course, Cynthia?" Whittaker said.

"He's drunk!" Cynthia said.

"Didn't I tell you Cynthia was perceptive?" Whittaker said.

"What's he doing here?" Cynthia said. "Where are you taking him?"

"We're putting him to bed," Hammersmith said.

"Not here, you're not," Cynthia said. "I'm going to get Chief Ellis back here and let him handle this."

"Don't be a b.i.t.c.h, Cynthia," Whittaker said. "Make a real effort."

"Now, just a minute, Jimmy!" Cynthia said.

"Cynthia?" Whittaker said.

"What?"

"Sssshhhh," Whittaker said, and by that time, Whittaker and Hammersmith were through the kitchen door, with Garvey more or less suspended between them.

VI.