"What's the matter, Navy, can't take it?" He was a merchant seaman standing alone at the bar. It was the wrong thing to say.

It was hard to tell from the baggy flight suit that O'Malley was a man of considerable strength. His left arm was wrapped around Morris. His right hand grabbed the other man by the throat and dragged him away from the bar.

"You got anything else to say about my friend, Dickweed?" O'Malley tightened his grip.

The reply came in a whisper. "All I meant was he has trouble with his liquor."

The pilot released him. "Good night."

Maneuvering the captain back to the ship was difficult, partly because O'Malley was also drunk but mainly because Morris was on the point of passing out. That had been part of the plan, too, but the Hammer had cut his timing a little close. The brow looked awfully steep from the pier.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"Good evening, Master Chief."

"Good evening, Commander. You got the captain with you?"

"Sure could use a hand, too."

"You're not kidding." The chief came down the gangway. Together they got the captain aboard. The really hard part was the ladder up to his stateroom. For this another sailor was summoned.

"Damn," the youngster observed. "The old man really knows how to tie one on!"

"Takes a real sailorman to know how to get blasted," the master chief agreed. The three of them got him up the ladder. O'Malley took it from there and landed Morris on his bunk. The captain was sleeping soundly, and the flyer hoped the nightmare wouldn't come back. His still did.

NORTHWOOD, ENGLAND

"Well, Commander?"

"Yes, sir. I think it'll work. I see most of the assets are nearly in place."

"The original plan had a lesser chance of success. I'm sure it would have got their attention, of course, but this way we just might be able to damage the force severely."

Toland looked up at the map. "The timing is still tricky, but not very different from that attack we made on the tankers. I like it, sir. Sure would solve a few problems. What's the convoy situation?"

"There are eighty ships assembled in New York harbor. They sail in twenty-four hours. Heavy escort, carriers in support, even a new Aegis cruiser with the merchants. And the next step after that, of course-" Beattie went on.

"Yes, sir. And Doolittle is the key."

"Exactly. I want you back at Stornoway. I'll also be sending one of my air operations types to work with your chaps. We'll keep you informed of all developments. Remember that distribution for this is to be strictly limited to the personnel involved."

"Understood, sir."

"Off with you, then."

34 - Feelers

0700 hours came rather early for Jerry O'Malley. He had the lower bunk in a two-man stateroom-his copilot had the upper-and his first considered move was to take three aspirins and sit back down. It was almost funny, he thought. "The Hammer." He felt it inside his head. No, he corrected himself, he had his dipping sonar in there, on automatic ping. Still and all, he had performed something remembered from his youth as a corporal work of mercy, and that helped give purpose to his suffering. He gave the aspirins ten minutes to get into his bloodstream, then went forward to the shower. First cold, then hot water cleared his head.

The wardroom was full but quiet, the officers assembled according to age into little knots of whispered conversation. These young officers hadn't faced combat before, and the bravado they might have felt on leaving San Diego some weeks before had been replaced with the sober reality of the task at hand. Ships had been sunk. Men they knew were dead. For these kids, fear was a more terrible unknown than the technical aspects of combat for which they had been trained. He could see the question in their faces; only time would answer it. They would learn to endure it, or they would not. Combat held no mysteries for O'Malley. He knew that he would be afraid, and that he would put the fear aside as best he could. There was no sense dwelling on it. It would come soon enough.

"Good morning, XO!"

"Morning, Jerry. I was just going to call the skipper."

"He needs his sleep, Frank." The pilot had disconnected Morris's alarm clock before leaving the stateroom. Ernst read O'Malley's face.

"Well, nothing we really need him for till eleven."

"I knew you were a good XO, Frank." O'Malley debated between bug juice and coffee. The fruit drink this morning was the orange kind-the flavors didn't relate to any particular fruit. O'Malley liked the red kind, but not the orange. He poured some coffee.

"I supervised the torpedo loading last night. We cut a minute off our best time-in the dark."

"Sounds good to me. When's the pre-sail brief?"

"Fourteen hundred, in a theater two blocks from here. COs, XOs, and selected others. I expect you'll want to come, too?"

"Yeah."

Ernst's voice dropped. "You sure the skipper's all right?" There are no secrets aboard a ship.

"He's been on straight combat ops since Day One of this fracas. He needed to get a little unwrapped, an ancient and honored naval tradition"-he raised his voice-"damned shame that all these little boys are too young to partake in it! Didn't anybody think to get a newspaper? NFL summer camps are opened all over the country, and there ain't no paper! What the hell kind of wardroom is this!"

"I've never met a dinosaur before," a junior engineering officer observed sotto voce.

"You get used to him," Ensign Ralston explained.

ICELAND

Two days' rest was just what the doctor ordered for everyone. Sergeant Nichols could almost walk normally on his ankle, and the Americans, who were beginning to regard fish with distinct distaste filled up on the extra rations the Royal Marines had packed in.

Edwards's eyes traced around the horizon again. The human eye automatically locks onto movement, and she was moving. It was hard not to look. It was almost impossible. In fact, Edwards told himself, it was impossible to stand guard and not look around. The hell of it was, she thought it was funny. Their rescuers-Edwards knew better, but why upset her?-had also brought soap. A tiny lake half a mile from their hilltop perch was the designated bathing area. In hostile country no one went that far alone, and the lieutenant had naturally been detailed to look after her-and she after him. Guarding her as she bathed with a loaded rifle seemed absurd, even with Russians around. Her bruises were nearly healed, he noted as she dressed.

"Finished, Michael." They didn't have towels, but that was a small price to pay for smelling human. She came up to him with her hair still wet and an impish expression on her face. "I embarrass you. Sorry."

"It's not your fault." It was also impossible to be angry with her.

"The baby makes me fat," she said. Mike could scarcely tell, but then it wasn't his figure being changed.

"You look fine. I'm sorry if I looked when I shouldn't have."

'What is wrong?"

Edwards found himself struggling with his words again. "Well, after-after what happened to you, I mean, you probably don't need a bunch of strange men standing around looking at you when you're, well, naked."

"Michael, you are not like that one. I know you would never hurt me. Even after what he do to me, you say I am pretty-when I grow fat."

"Vigdis, baby or no baby, you are the prettiest girl I have ever known. You're strong, and you're brave." And I think I love you, but I'm afraid to say so. "We just picked a bad time to meet, that's all."