Voyage to Somewhere by Sloan Wilson Page B

the moonlight his face looked white. “Do you think I ought to ask her for some of them?” he asked. “Do you think I ought to enclose my friend’s letter and ask her to explain it?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to give you an answer to that.”
    The clock on the bridge struck six bells. A seaman appeared in the door of the pilothouse. “Permission to relieve the wheel, sir, on course two nine three?” he asked.
    â€œPermission granted,” said Mr. Warren.
    A moment later another seaman appeared in the door. “The wheel is relieved, sir, on course two nine three,” he said.
    â€œVery well,” answered Mr. Warren.
    There was a long wait, and we were alone again. Mr. Warren shoved his cap nervously back on his head. “You see,” he said, “I don’t want to play the part of the jealous husband. That’s a hell of a thing.”
    â€œYes,” I said, “it is.”
    â€œBut I don’t like the idea of my wife living alone in San Francisco and bumming around cocktail lounges,” Mr. Warren continued. “She’s young. She doesn’t know much about things.”
    I realized that it was not necessary for me to make answers. Mr. Warren was talking more to himself than to me.
    â€œShe might get in trouble,” he said. “She wouldn’t mean to, but she might get in trouble. I think I’ll write her and tell her to go home.”
    The bow lookout called that he thought he saw a ship two points on the starboard bow, three quarters of the way to the horizon. Mr Warren picked up the binoculars from their rack on the bulkhead and stared intently into the night.
    â€œIt’s a Liberty, sir,” he said at last, and handed the glasses to me. I looked, and far away could see the silhouette of a blacked out ship.
    â€œLooks as though she’ll pass us clear enough,” I said.
    â€œSure,” said Mr. Warren. “She’ll be plenty far away when she’s abeam.”
    I handed him back the glasses, and he replaced them in their rack.
    â€œI wonder who that Army lieutenant was,” he said. “I know that there are no Army lieutenants in her family.”
    â€œIf you’re going to worry about it,” I replied, “you better write and ask her. I’ve seen a lot of people worry about things like that and most of the time it’s all through misunderstanding.”
    Mr. Warren sounded relieved when he answered. “I think I will,” he said. “I think I’ll enclose that damn letter and ask her about it.”
    We were at sea on our way back to Hollandia when we heard the great news that the Army had gone into the Philippine Islands. Rumor had long had it that the invasion would start pretty soon, but no one had thought that it would be right away.
    â€œWell be going up there ourselves,” I heard Guns say. “I wish we had something we could really shoot with.”
    When we reached Hollandia we felt that we were already part of the invasion. The harbor had changed since last time we were there. Anchored almost gunwale to gunwale were over five hundred ships. Destroyers, Liberties, tankers, hospital ships, a carrier, and countless nondescript merchant vessels crowded every nook and corner of the bay so that one could almost walk from ship to ship across the harbor. Mr. Rudd and I stood on deck as we threaded out way into the docks.
    â€œQuite a sight,” I said. “Looks like all the ships in the world are here.”
    â€œYes,” said Mr. Rudd. “I don’t like to see it. Every time I make fun of the way the brass hats do things I’ll think of these five hundred ships and I’ll wonder.”
    As soon as we were alongside the wharf I went up to the port director’s office to find out whether we were going to Leyte in the convoy that was obviously making up.
    â€œNo,” he said. “We’ve got you