at seemed hours. Long
before we rattled to a halt I could hear the familiar roars of motors
being warmed. The tailgates swung open and a twenty-foot walk put us
into a military ship. That meant Selfridge Field. Stein and I sat in
the old painful bucket seats, the twin motors blasted and we trundled
down the paved strip, a takeoff to nowhere. So long, Miller; so long
to your wife and your home and your life. So long, Miller; you're dead
and you're gone, and your wife will get a medal.

* * * * *

When I awoke, the cabin was stuffy, and the sun was brassy and hot and
high. Stein, already awake, came up with a thermos of coffee and a
snack. A peep from the ports didn't tell me where I was, not that it
mattered. Somewhere in the west or southwest, on a sandy waste on the
far end of a landing strip away from a cluttered group of shacks, we
walked long enough to get out the kinks. Then a hurried sandwich from
a picnic basket left in the cabin by an invisible steward, and we
transferred to a gray amphibian. The next time I had interest enough
to look out and down we were over water, and toward the rim of the
world we floated for hours. I dozed off again.

Stein woke me up. Wordlessly he passed me a heavy helmet, and the kind
of goggles that present a mirrored blankness to the outside world. All
this time I had seen none of the crews, even when we had landed. The
two of us had strolled alone in a tiny world of our own. When the
pilot cut his engines for the landing I had the old style helmet on my
head. It was far too big, and hurt my ears. The galloping splash we
made puddled the ports high, and we bobbed awkwardly until Stein got
his signal from the pilot, who popped out an impersonal arm. From the
wing-struts we transferred to a Navy dory, manned by enlisted men
commanded by a blank-faced ensign in dungarees. We were both wearing
the concealing helmets in the stifling heat, and the ensign's "Eyes
Front," did no more than keep the sailors from sneaking curious looks
from the corners of their eyes.

* * * * *

The small boat put us alongside what looked like more of a workship
than a fighter. It might have been an oiler or a repair-ship, or it
might not have even been Navy. But it was Navy clean, and the crew was
Navy. Some gold braid, way out of proportion to the size of the ship,
met us at the top of the ladder, saluted, God knows why, and led Stein
and I to