Working his way through the maze of pipes and cables, he kept a respectful distance from the hot steam pipes.
Up ahead, Arch studied a gauge and made a note on a clipboard. His blond hair curled around his forehead.
“Hey, Curly!” Jim called.
Arch shot him a withering glare and jammed his cover over the disobedient locks. “What’s the matter? Assistant gunnery officer has nothing to do in peacetime?”
“Nothing to shoot but the breeze.” Jim gave him a jaunty smile and a sheet of paper. “But I do have an important memo from Durant. Jim Avery, assistant messenger boy, second class.”
Arch smiled, skimmed the message, and slipped it onto his clipboard. “Ah, soon they’ll give us both plenty to do.”
“I know. Got a practice loading drill at 1500 hours.”
“It’ll be a busy month. Glad we’re coming back to Boston, though. Good home port.”
“Does Gloria like it here?” A drop of sweat broke free from Jim’s hatband.
“Sure. She likes her job well enough.” He marched down to the next gauge. “But she’d follow me anywhere. I’m quite a catch, you know.”
Jim winced at the cynicism in Arch’s voice. How many times had they been through this? “You don’t think she loves you only for your money, do you?”
“I don’t know.” Arch peered at the gauge and adjusted a valve. “Thought she was different, but all she talks about lately is money, shopping, how wonderful it is to buy nice things.”
“Because of her job or because of you?”
He shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“Look, we’re coming out of the Depression. Most of us had to scrounge and save and do without. She sounds like every other American girl with a good paycheck right now.”
“I’m sure that’s all it is.” His tone contradicted his words. “Say, you don’t think we’ll see any action this month, do you?”
Jim laughed. “Along the New England coast?”
“We’ll be in this war before the end of our cruise, mark my words. You heard the news—Germany says escorting convoys is an act of war. And here we are committed to escorting convoys in the near future.”
“Yeah. The Battle of the Atlantic’s really heating up.” Steam hissed overhead. Jim shuddered at the thought of the thousands of men who had perished the past week in the sinkings of the British battlecruiser HMSHoodand the German battleshipBismarck. The war at sea had claimed many ships, many lives, and now the US Navy was skipping right into the middle of it.
Arch dashed to the source of the hissing steam and tightened a valve. “Gloria might need to find another checkbook to raid, because we’ll be at sea longer than a month.”
Even if Congress declared war that day, they’d have to return to port in a month to restock. But correcting Arch when he was in a mood like this would only waste words. “See you later, buddy. Off to pretend to fire my guns.”
Back up topside, Jim took a bracing breath of cool air. The deck rolled gently beneath his feet. Far to starboard, the old brick Graves Light signaled the outer reach of Boston Harbor. Jim wouldn’t set his feet on land again for a month.
He sighed. He’d also miss his little sister’s college graduation. His older brothers, Dan and Rob, would too. At least his parents, Lillian’s twin, Lucy, and the two youngest boys would attend.
In Lillian’s last letter, she sounded downcast. Most of her pharmacy school classmates had jobs lined up, but not Lillian, despite her excellent grades. No one wanted to hire a woman, especially one who was missing her left leg below the knee.
Jim coiled his hands into fists, the scars on his hands tightening. Anyone who couldn’t look past her prosthesis and see a bright capable young lady—well, they ought to be keelhauled.
Men were already assembling by the practice loading machine between the aft superstructure and the searchlight platform. Reinhardt wanted each of the four gun crews to practice on the loader for half an hour each day. Not a popular decision with some of the seamen, but Jim would do his best to make the gunnery officer’s orders understandable and palatable.
Lieutenant Reinhardt hailed Jim and handed him a stopwatch. “Time them.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Jim smiled and bit back the “And good afternoon to you too” on the tip of his tongue.
The crew for the number two 5-inch gun rolled up the sleeves of their chambray shirts. All the men were black except the gun captain. While the segregated Navy only allowed Negroes to serve as stewards, cooks, and mess attendants, when general quarters sounded, everyone had a battle station.
Jim found the gun captain, Gunner’s Mate First Class Homer Udell. “Good afternoon, Udell. You fellows ready?”
