After all that had happened, Wallace was not about to leave his boat, or his shipmates.
This one shipmate, though…
"Listen," Kirkpatrick said, towering over him, "I been meaning to talk to you."
"I'm listening."
"About what you did last week… down in the torpedo room. Man, that was the gutsiest thing I ever heard of. You're all right, kid. You're really all right!" He looked embarrassed. "That's all I wanted to say."
"Um… thank you." He scarcely knew what to say. Jerkpatrick's praise was so completely unexpected.
Wallace watched as Kirkpatrick turned, walking down the passageway toward the enlisted men's forward head. The guy always went in there to take a crap about this time of day. Always.
"Hey, Kirkpatrick!"
"What? Make it snappy. I gotta take a dump."
"Better not flush. The head's secured for a sanitary blow."
"What?" He looked at the door to the head. "Since when? There ain't no sign!"
Sheepish, Wallace reached behind him and pulled the sheet of manila tucked into the waistband of his trousers out from under his dungaree shirt. Printed in black marker were the words head secured. sanitary blow in process.
Sanitary blows weren't as spectacular nowadays as they'd been on the old diesel boats, but heads were still cleaned by pumping air through them to force the waste overboard, and flushing during that operation could have very unpleasant consequences.
He handed the sign to Kirkpatrick. "I, uh, guess this fell off the door, Kirkpatrick."
Kirkpatrick took the sign, glared at it, glared at Wallace… and then, unexpectedly, he began to laugh. He laughed loud and he laughed long, holding his belly when the guffaws started to hurt.
"Jesus, kid!" he said, still laughing. "I guess maybe you're one of us after all!"
"Damn straight, Kirkpatrick." Okay, it might be another year or so before he won the coveted dolphins that marked him as a submariner, a breed distinct from no-qual airbreather landlubber targets. But after what they'd been through together over the past few days, well, he even felt that in-the-trenches bond of brotherhood with Jerkpatrick here.
"Don't get me wrong, No-qual," Kirkpatrick continued. "You're still fuckin' newbie-wet behind the ears… "
"Not as wet behind the ears as you were just about to be," Wallace replied evenly.
Kirkpatrick laughed again. "Welcome aboard, kid," he said, pounding him on the back. "You just might make a submariner yet!"
Wallace grinned. "It's fuckin' good to be aboard, man."
About the Author
H. JAY RIKER has written five books in his submarine warfare series, The Silent Service, and ten books in his bestselling military fiction series, SEALs, The Warrior Breed. Retired from the U.S. Navy, he has been writing fiction for more than a decade, and his novels have been highly praised for both their nail-biting action and remarkable authenticity.