“That’s a lot of cargo,” Campbell said.
“Tons and tons.” Oil, grain, sugar, peanuts, scrap metal, tobacco, and mail. “Britain needs that cargo, and we need to keep it safe, plus the merchant marines and a couple hundred passengers. This isn’t a drill.”
“No, sir,” Dominguez said, “and I’m glad, ’cause I’m sick of drills.”
Jim remembered his brother Dan’s warning that someday these men might long for drills.Lord, keepthe U-boats away, but if they must come, letus do our jobs well.
Only two weeks earlier, President Roosevelt had commanded US ships to shoot on sight any German or Italian vessels in US waters or any vessels attacking ships under American protection.
“Neutrality?” he muttered. Only on paper—and in the eyes of the folks back home. Even if the civilians didn’t know it, the United States was already at war.
HX-152 was the third Halifax-to-Liverpool convoy escorted by American warships. So far, no cargo ships had been lost under their care—but no attacks had occurred either. How long could that last?
Jim’s fingers stiffened on the dials of his sight as he studied the steel ships coming his way in a square grid of ten columns, each ship in an assigned, numbered position. How many of them would be sunk on the way to Iceland? To Liverpool?
TheAtwoodveered to starboard.
“Looks like we’re taking station.” The destroyers would keep station on the perimeter of the convoy, with one at each corner of the square and one sweeping in front of the convoy. Since the destroyers steamed faster than the cargo ships, they could patrol back and forth if U-boats were suspected in the area, and they could dart out toward sound contacts. To attack.
TheAtwoodplowed through the waves, driving toward her destination, heedless of the wind or current. Reminded him of that passage in Isaiah 43 Mary recommended. “Thus saith the Lord, which maketh a way in the sea, and a path in the mighty waters ... Remember ye not the former things, neither consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it?”
A sense of determination poured into Jim. God had made a way. God was doing a new thing. Jim would choose his path and charge forward, here at sea and—if he returned safely—in Boston with Mary Stirling.
Mary with the silvery eyes and the soft lips.
Was he falling in love? He didn’t feel at all like he did in high school with Quintessa. But that was a one-sided crush. What he had with Mary felt real, steady, deep—and quite mutual.
He could still feel her weight sagging into him, still see her eyes, bleary from the kiss, her lashes low. Why on earth hadn’t he marched right back down that gangplank, kissed her again, declared his feelings, and sealed her for himself?
Jim shook his head hard. Why on earth wasn’t he paying attention to his job?
One corner of his mouth edged up. Wasn’t distraction a symptom of falling in love?
South of Greenland
Sunday, October 5, 1941
For the first time in his life, Jim had been seasick.
On the darkened deck just before midnight, Jim clutched the lifeline with both hands as he made his way to the bridge for his turn as junior officer of the watch. Everyone had gotten sick tonight, even the hardiest sea salt among them.
Waves towered above theAtwoodin the darkness, and rain stung Jim’s cheeks and froze. The bow punctured a wave, and seawater gushed over the forward section of the deck. Jim braced his feet, turned his back, and gasped as icy water sloshed over his feet. He’d never seen so much “green water,” waves breaking across the deck, as he had the last few days.
Two giant steps and he reached the door to the superstructure. In he went and up the ladder, timing his steps to the motion of the waves, keeping a firm grip on the handrails. At the top, he burst into the pilothouse and slammed the door behind him.
“Look what the sea washed in,” Captain Durant said. “Another drowned rat.”
“Yes, sir. Junior rat of the watch reporting for duty.” Jim shed some of his outerwear, took the towel offered by one of the seamen, and wiped himself down.
In the red light required to preserve night vision, the bridge equipment glowed—the helm, engine telegraph, gyrocompass, and communication equipment. For the past half hour, Jim had rested in a darkened room to develop his night vision. If only he could have slept, but the seas interfered as badly with sleep as they did with digestion.
“I’m afraid you’ll have a tough night.” Durant nodded to Jim and to Lt. Vince Banning, who was scheduled to serve as officer of the deck. “Keep in close contact with your lookouts. In seas like this, we haven’t been able to relieve them every two hours as we should. Make sure they’re awake and alert and reporting.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Jim didn’t envy those men out in the wet and dark and cold, expected to keep constant vigilance to prevent collision and to watch for U-boats.
“We’ve been on the TBS all evening.” Durant gestured to the telephone-like Talk Between Ships radio system. “You’d think after two years at war, these merchantmen would value a tight convoy. But they keep trying to spread out, and they keep putting up their lights. Unacceptable. We need to avoid collisions, but we mustn’t attract U-boats.”
Jim planted his feet wide to allow for the thirty-degree tilt of the ship in each direction. The seasoned merchantmen didn’t think too highly of their green American escorts, just as their civilian crews didn’t think too highly of military discipline and order.
