“I’m not too surprised,” Gray said. “I felt sure we were going to the Pacific and I thought we might go direct to our base there. But if we hit Frisco on the way—that’s only natural. Of course, we’ll get more orders there and then we’ll surely head for some action.” March felt just as well about the news. He would have a chance to learn everything about the submarine from one end to the other. He would actually navigate the ship a few thousand miles, but without having to worry too much about enemy ships or mines or planes while doing it. By the time they left San Francisco he’d feel like a veteran submariner. He would be able to handle his regular tasks without thinking about them, and he’d be able to take actual fighting with vigor and enthusiasm. During the daytime they ran submerged a good deal of the time, taking a look through the periscope occasionally. Once the Skipper saw a U.S. Navy blimp right above them and they headed for two hundred feet depth in a hurry. But nothing happened. At night they ran on the surface, and they were lucky enough to have good weather most of the time, with plenty of stars for March to shoot on the sextant so that he could check his course. He was pleased to see that his instrument navigation, carried out when they were submerged, was checked by his celestial observations. There came a day that was cloudy and overcast, so the Skipper decided to travel on the surface. “There won’t be any planes out today,” he said. “And we can make much better time on top. But keep a sharp lookout for other surface craft. Can’t see very far in this fog.” March took over his regular watch that afternoon on the bridge. He had on a heavy sweater and waterproof hood and jacket, for the moisture in the air, even if it were not rain, soaked everything inside of fifteen minutes. Two crew members were on lookout, in addition to the man at the controls. March listened to their regular calls of “All clear” and stared ahead into the blanket of fog. Then, suddenly, he saw it—just as the lookout shouted. “Freighter on port bow!” March shouted the alarming news into the interphone, ordered the man at the controls to reverse engines full-speed and put her over hard starboard. The big freighter loomed so large out of the mist that March knew they might crash. The freighter had just sighted them and hadn’t even slowed down. So, without another thought he shouted the order, “Rig for crash dive!” The klaxon blared through the boat below and March knew that men were leaping to their posts, that Gray was struggling out from his bunk or from behind the wardroom table. Would he come up to the bridge? March knew there might not be any bridge—or any conning tower—by the time he could get there, no matter how fast he moved.