Cold is the Sea by Edward L. Beach Page A

over here we’ll have your grade for you. The old man will be pleased, I know. He’s called a couple of times this morning already, and I told him you were still hard at it. We’ll have your orders ready so that you can start for New London by the night plane out of the Falls, if you want.”
    â€œThe admiral must figure he’s doing us a favor,” grumped Buck from beside the driver of the Twelfth Naval District sedan. “There’s just no other explanation. First he treats Rich worse than a plebe at Annapolis, and then he sends us all three on a joyride to Mare Island, California. It doesn’t make any sense. We don’t even know what we’re supposed to do, except inspect the reserve fleet subs. Inspect for what? We’ve got no instructions at all. He must figure we need a vacation for a day in California, before heading back to the rigors of New England. If he’d sent Cindy out here and given us a week, maybe I’d feel different.”
    â€œMare Island is where we left the old Eel after the war, you know,” said Keith, thoughtfully. “I’ve not heard of her being moved or anything. Wonder if that might have anything to do with it.”
    â€œNo way, Keith. You know the last thing in the world Brighting is is sentimental.” Williams tossed his head as if to lob the words over his shoulder to Keith, in the back seat. The sedan, moving at only moderate speed, lurched frequently on the uneven asphalt road.
    â€œThe only thing everybody always agrees on about Brighting is that no one has yet figured him out, or ever will, probably.” Richardson, sitting beside Keith, spoke for the first time in several minutes. “I’ve been thinking maybe Keith’s right. I’m sure the old boat is still there, and our orders to come out here so suddenly just might have something to do with her. We’d all have known if she’d been put back into commission, and I’mpositive we’d have heard if they’d scrapped her or used her for a target or something. So this will at least be a chance to look her over for a few minutes, anyway.” He paused. “There may be something going on, too. This car and driver were waiting for us at San Francisco airport. No word about that, either. He just met the plane. Driver”—addressing the uniformed sailor behind the wheel—“the Reserve Fleet Admin Office is back there in the shipyard, isn’t it? Why aren’t you taking us there?”
    â€œDunno, sir. My orders was to take you right to the reserve fleet berths. It’s upstream from the yard.”
    â€œWe have to catch the night flight out of San Francisco for New York. Are you going to wait for us and bring us back?”
    â€œNosir. I’m supposed to start right back for District Headquarters. Those are my orders, sir. I don’t know how you’re supposed to get back, sir.”
    â€œWe’ll have to work on that,” muttered Rich half to himself, as Buck turned around and Keith leaned forward the better to look at him. “We’re not going to have much time to inspect if we have to spend some of it scrounging up a car to take us back to South San Francisco.”
    Ahead and off to the right, a large ship bulked high above a forest of masts. The car reached the end of the road, turned to run along the waterfront. “That’s the mothball fleet,” volunteered the driver. “There’s the tender, I don’t know its name, and there’s all kinds of old ships here, mostly little ones, like DEs and such. There’s a bunch of subs just beyond them, all moored together. They should be waiting for us on the tender, but if we don’t see anybody there I’ll run you down to the subs.”
    The repair ship, or tender, floating extremely high in the water, loomed above the sedan as it passed. Ahead, a group of people stood in the road. There were about a dozen men, some in