“And over there by the pier,” called another, “there’s a bunch of ’em lined up.” March looked at the long slim lines of the pigboats and felt warm inside. He wondered just how soon he would take his first ride beneath the waters of Long Island Sound in one of them. The bus passed a few buildings, but the sailors had no eyes for such ordinary things. Another structure had caught them—a tall round tower looming up above the trees on the gently sloping hillside. “What’s that?” one of the men asked. “A water tower?” “Water tower’s right!” exclaimed Scott. “But a special kind. That’s the escape tower!” “Oh-oh, that’s the baby I’m wondering about,” said the pharmacist. “I don’t know how I’ll like going up through a hundred feet of water with just a funny gadget clamped over my nose and mouth.” “Well—you better not let it get you,” one of the others put in. “It’s one of the first tests, I hear. If you can’t handle the escape-tower tests, you’re tossed out of submarines pronto!” The bus pulled up in front of a large brick building and stopped. Everyone got out and walked up to the front door. Inside, March left the men with a smile and reported to the personnel man in charge of receiving new officers assigned to the school. In another half hour he found himself in his quarters in a building some way up the hill above the main buildings of the base. Here the school itself was situated, with its buildings for classrooms, barracks for enlisted men, and quarters for officers without wives. Married officers were allowed to live in New London with their families and commute daily to the school. March’s room was small but comfortable, and he was neatly settled in it in a short while. His time in the Navy had taught him already to travel light, with only the necessary belongings, and to settle himself quickly. He was at home and comfortable by the time he reported to the officers’ mess for dinner. There he met other young officers who also lived at the school, and a few of the instructors. The latter were older men, full of years and wisdom in the submarine service, every one of whom would much rather have been on active duty hunting down Jap or Nazi ships on the oceans of the world. But they were too valuable in the great task of training the hundreds of new officers needed for the subs coming off the ways of the shipyards. Here in New London they could pass on to the younger men like March Anson a portion of their knowledge of pigboats. March felt, during dinner, the quiet good-fellowship of these men. On the _Plymouth_ the officers with whom he ate and talked and played were pleasant and agreeable fellows, but there had been all types there—the quiet ones, the back-slappers, the life-of-the-party men with practical jokes and loud guffaws, the grimly serious officers, and everything in between. But here the men were more alike.