It had surprised March when he first learned that our own subs traveled submerged in our own waters. But when he came to think of it, it made sense. There were German subs traveling in our waters, too, and there was a constant naval and aerial patrol looking for them. From the air, the markings on a pigboat did not stand out very well, particularly if a rolling sea were breaking over it. And the anti-sub patrol had orders to shoot first and ask questions later. A German sub could crash-dive very quickly when sighted and the minute or two taken to look more closely or to ask questions might result in its escape. After half an hour Larry Gray went below, leaving March and Ray Corvin on the bridge with two enlisted men, one serving as lookout and the other handling the controls. March had little to do until they were in the open sea, for navigating down the Bay was no job at all. After they were out a few hours the Skipper would open his sealed orders and then March would have a job to do, charting the sub’s course to their destination. He and Corvin talked with each other, leaning on the rail and watching the choppy waters slide past the sleek sides of _Kamongo_. Ray spoke of Larry Gray with such warmth of feeling, such admiration, that March felt sure of his own first impression of the Skipper. Here was a man he would like, and would grow to like more and more as time went on. “It’s cold,” Corvin said. “Why don’t you go below and have a cup of coffee? Nothing going on here.” “Guess I will,” March said. “See you later.” March slid down the ladder to the control room and started over to the officers’ wardroom. Then he saw Scotty at the little radio shack and stopped to speak with him. “How do you feel, Scotty?” he asked. “It’s good to get going, isn’t it?” “I should say so, sir,” Scott replied. “Know where we’re going?” “Not yet,” March replied. “Skipper opens orders ten hours out.” “Well, wherever we’re going,” Scott said, “I’m sure glad we’re goin’ with you, sir. And the whole gang feels the same way. You see, we sort of liked the way you handled the pigboats back there in New London.” “Thanks, Scotty,” March said. “And you don’t know how good it made me feel to find you boys here. Bigelow and I felt right at home from then on.” March turned and found the Skipper at the door, smiling. “Come on in for a cup of coffee,” Gray said. “Thanks,” March replied, sliding down behind the little table in the wardroom with Gray. “Jimmy just brought the pot of coffee,” Gray said, filling March’s cup. “It’s hot. Jimmy’s the messboy, by the way—nice kid.” March smiled to himself. Jimmy the messboy was only about one year younger than Gray. “Those men you knew in New London,” Gray said, “seem to like you.” “We got to know each other pretty well,” March said. “We went through the whole business together. There are some swell men among them.” “What about Sallini, the pharmacist?” Larry asked.