“Not that they’re all the same,” he told himself, as he looked around the table. “McIntosh here next to me is quite different in most ways from that Lieutenant Curtin across the table, for instance, but they have something in common. Something similar in their personalities, I suppose. They’re sociable, but in a quiet way. They’re serious, but not without a sense of humor.” March did not realize that he was describing himself when he thought of the other officers in this way. But he might have known that this question of personality was one of the most important in considering men who volunteered for submarine service. No man in the Navy was ever assigned to sub work without his request. It was an entirely volunteer service, but there were always far more applications, among both officers and enlisted men, than could be accepted. So it was possible for the Bureau of Navy Personnel to keep its standards very high in selecting men for the pigboat branch. When a man already in the Navy was recommended by his commanding officer for assignment to the sub school at New London, as March had been, this did not mean that the recommendation was accepted just like that. The Bureau looked over the man’s record with the greatest care. And just bravery such as March had displayed was not enough, even though it counted strongly in his favor. What they looked for in the “Diving Navy” was the kind of man who was brave, cool under fire, far above the average intelligence, with the ability to get along well with other people under all circumstances, and the kind of nerves that didn’t crack or even show strain under the greatest danger, the worst crowding, or seemingly fatal situations. As March thought of this, he swelled with pride to think he had been chosen for the submarine school. “But that’s just the beginning,” he told himself. “I feel pretty darned good to know that I’ve got this far, but they’re going to watch me like a hawk every moment I’m here. I think I can pass all the tough physical tests okay, because I’m in good shape. The studies are hard but if I work enough maybe I can handle them. But how will I act the first time I’m in a submerging sub? How will I react to a crash dive? They’ll be watching me. And even if I get through the school I’m still not a submariner. Why, on my first real trip or two my commanding officer can transfer me back to surface ships just by saying the word!” After dinner, in the officers’ lounge, March spoke with the executive officer of the sub base, a kindly, gray-haired man with skin that still looked as if he spent a few hours every day facing the salt breeze on a ship’s bridge. Captain Sampson chatted easily with March as they looked out the windows at the gathering twilight. “Glad to have you with us, Anson,” he said. “Hope you like it here.” “I’m sure I will, sir,” March replied. “I’ve been looking forward to it long enough.”