March saw a sailor with the insigne of a petty officer, third class, on his sleeve, a sturdy, smiling young man with his seabag over his shoulder. Behind him appeared three more men of the same rank. The first, March noticed, was a radioman, two of the others fire controlmen, and the last a pharmacist. “Yes, waiting for the bus,” March answered with a smile. “Is this the place to wait for it?” “That’s what we were told, sir,” the radioman said. “You see, we’re just reporting there for the school.” “Oh, so am I,” March said. “I thought maybe you men were there already and just in town on liberty. But you wouldn’t have brought your seabags along in such a case, would you?” In a moment the bus appeared and they all climbed aboard. On the long ride out of town and along the river they talked together about the school they were going to, and March caught again, in these men’s enthusiasm, his old feeling of excitement about going into submarines. The men, who had obviously just met as they went to the bus together, were discussing their reasons for volunteering for submarine duty. “I had two uncles in the Navy,” the pharmacist said. “I’ll never forget the way they talked about submariners. They had both tried, but couldn’t pass the tests. They thought the pigboat men were the cream of the fleet.” “Speaking of the hard tests,” one of the fire controlmen said, “that’s really why I first got the notion of applying for sub duty. I heard it was the toughest branch of the service to get into and stay in—and I just kind of like to try any challenge like that. When I hear about something really tough, I like to take a crack at it. This is harder to get into than aviation!” [Illustration: “_Going to the Sub Base, Sir?_”] March smiled and thought of Scoot who had been worrying about his ability to meet the strict qualifications for naval fliers. “I like the life on a sub,” the radioman said. “You know—a good bunch of guys doin’ something big together, all workin’ together like a team. And the—well, friendliness between officers and men is swell. Not that I don’t believe in strict discipline—” he glanced at the officer’s stripes on March’s cuff—“but I still think it’s a good idea for officers and men to get friendly, get to know each other well, the way they do on subs.” March agreed, and noticed that not one of the men had mentioned the extra pay for submarine duty as one of the reasons for entering that branch, and a dangerous branch, of the naval service. “That’s a good sign,” he told himself. “Of course, they’ll like the extra pay—no doubt of that—but it’s not the reason they volunteered for sub duty. They really go into it for its own sake.” The bus turned and entered the driveway of the sub base grounds and all the men looked eagerly out the windows. Their first look was for the river, where they hoped to see submarines. “Look!” cried Scott, the radioman. “There’s one in dry dock!”