I had not done so because there were many choices, all bad. Most of the troops were quartered in staterooms, four to each double room, three to a single. But our platoon, along with one other, was to sleep in the dining salon. I could see no advantage to being at the Captain's table so I had not engaged in the scramble.

Sergeant Gumm nodded at my answer. "Okay. When you draw your blanket, don't use it to stake out a billet; somebody'll steal it. Pontside aft, abreast the pantry, is the dining-room steward's stateroom-that's mine. It's a single but with a wide bunk. Drop your

blanket there. You'll be a damn sight more comfortable than sleeping on the deck."

"That's mighty nice of you, Sergeant!" (How do I talk my way out of this? Or am I going to have to relax to the inevitable?)

"Call me Sarge. And when we're alone, my name is Mary. What did you say your first name was?"

"Friday."

"Friday. That's kind o' cute, when you stop to think about it. Okay, Friday, I'll see you around taps." We watched the last reddish slice of sun disappear into the bottomland astern of us, the Skip having swung east in one of the river's endless meanders. "Seems like it ought to sizzle and send up steam."

"Sarge, you have the soul of a poet."

"I've often thought I could. Write poetry, I mean. You got the word? About the blackout now?"

"No lights outside, no smoking outside. No lights inside except in spaces fully shuttered. Offenders will be shot at sunrise. Doesn't affect me much, Sarge; I don't smoke."

"Correction. Offenders will not be shot; they'll just wish to God they had been shot. You don't smoke at all, dear? Not even a friendly hit with a friend?"

(Give up, Friday!) "That's not really smoking; that's just friendly."

"That's the way I see it. I don't go around with my head stuffed full of rags, either. But an occasional hit with a friend when you're both in the mood, that's sweet. And so are you." She dropped to the deck by me, slipped an arm around me.

"Sarge! I mean Mary. Please don't. It's not really dank yet. Somebody'll see us."

"Who cares?"

"I do. It makes me self-conscious. Spoils the mood."

"In this outfit you'll get over that. You're a virgin, dear? With girls, I mean."

"Uh... please don't quiz me, Mary. And do let me go. I'm sorry but it does make me nervous. Here, I mean. Why, anybody could walk around the corner of that deckhouse."

She grabbed a feel, then started to stand up. "Kind o' cute, you

bein' so shy. All right, I've got some mellow Omaha Black I've been saving for a special-"

The sky lit up with a dazzling light; on top of it came a tremendous karoom! and where the Myrtle had been the sky was filled with junk.

"Jesus Christ!"

"Mary, can you swim?"

"Huh? No."

"Jump in after me and I'll keep you afloat." I went over the port side in as long a dive as I could manage, took a dozen hard strokes to get well clear, turned over onto my back. Mary Gumm's head was silhouetted against the sky.

That was the last I saw of her as the Skip to M'Lou blew up.

In that stretch of the Mississippi there are bluffs on the east. The western limit of the river is simply higher land, not as clearly marked, ten or fifteen kilometers away. Between these two sides the location of the river can be a matter of opinion-often of legal opinion because the river shifts channels and chews up property rights.

The river runs in all directions and is almost as likely to run north as to nun south. Well, half as likely. It had been flowing west at sundown; the Skip, headed upriver, had the sunset behind her. But while the sun was setting the boat had swung left as the channel turned north; I had noticed the red-and-orange display of sunset swinging to portside.

That's why I went over the side to port. When I hit the water, my immediate purpose was to get clear; my next purpose was to see if Mary followed me in. I did not really expect her to because (I've noticed!) most people, human people, don't make up their minds that fast.

I saw her, still aboard; she was staring at me. Then the second explosion took place and it was too late. I felt a brief burst of sorrow-in hen own rutty, slightly dishonest way Many was a good sort-then I wiped her out of my mind; I had other problems.

My first problem was not to be hit by debris; I surface-dived and stayed under. I can hold my breath and exercise almost ten mm-

utes, although I don't like it at all. This time I stretched it almost to bursting before surfacing.

Long enough: It was dark but I seemed to be clear of floating debris.

Perhaps there were survivors in the water but I did not hear any and did not feel impelled to try to find any (other than Mary and no way to find her) as I was not well equipped to rescue anyone, even myself.

I looked around, spotted what was left of the loom of sunset, swam toward it. After a while I lost it, turned over on my back, searched the sky. Broken clouds and no moon. I spotted Arcturus, then both the Bears and Polaris, and I had north. I then corrected my course so that I was swimming west. I stayed on my back because, if you take it easy, you can swim forever and two years past, on your back. Never any problem to breathe and if you get a touch weary, you can just hold still and twiddle your fingers a trifle until you are rested. I wasn't in any hurry; I just wanted to reach the Impenium on the Arkansas side.

But of crash-priority importance I did not want to drift back down into Texas.

Problem: to navigate correctly at night with no map on a river a couple of kilometers wide, when your object is to reach a west bank you can't see... without giving any southing as you go.

Impossible?-the way the Mississippi winds around, like a snake with a broken back? But "impossible" is not a word one should use concerning the Mississippi River. There is one place where it is possible to make three short pontages totaling less than ninety meters, float down the river in two bights totaling about thirty kilometers

and end up more than one hundred kilometers up the river.

No map, no sight of my destination-I knew only that I must go west and that I must not go south. So that is what I did. I stayed on my back and kept checking the stars to hold course west. I had no way of telling how much I might be losing to the south through the current, save for the certainty that, if and when the river turned south, my own progress west through the water would fetch me up on the bank on the Arkansas side.

And it did. An hour later-two hours later?-a lot of water later

and Vega was high in the east but still far short of meridian, I realized that the bank was looming over me on my left side. I checked and corrected course west and kept on swimming. Shoftly I bumped my head on a snag, reached behind me and grabbed it, pulled myself up, then pulled my way through endless snags to the bank.

Scrambling up on the bank was no problem as it was only half a meter high, about, at that point. The only hazard was that the mud was thick and loose underfoot. I managed it, stopped, and took stock.

Still inky-black all around with stars the only light. I could tell the smooth black of the water from the thick black of the brush behind me only by the faint glint of starlight on the water. Directions? Polaris was now blocked by cloud but the Big Dipper told me where it had to be and this was confirmed by Spica blazing in the south and Antares in the southeast.

This orientation by the stars told me that west sliced straight into that thick black brush.

My only alternative was to get back into the water, stick with the river... and wind up sometime tomorrow in Vicksburg.

No, thanks. I headed into the bush.

I'm going to skip rapidly over the next several hours. It may not have been the longest night of my life but it was surely the dullest. I am sure that there must be thicker and more dangerous jungles on Earth than the brush on the bottomland of the lower Mississippi. But I do not want to tackle them, especially without a machete (not even a Scout knife!).