“Peter, it certainly does. Your name is being used as the instigator. I am so relieved to see you’re all right. I was terrified that you were badly wounded or arrested, or both.”
“Darling, thank you for telling me this. I’ve got to get back to the St. James right away, but I’ve got to see you again. Linda, I love you and need you. I need you forever. I’ve got to see you again and hold you. I will see you again, Linda, and nothing can stop me. Even your fear of others seeing us together.”
Wake put his arms around her and kissed her, lingering for a long while and savoring the taste and feel and smell of her. Her body gave no resistance and wrapped around his as if no time had passed since their last embrace. Neither let go.
The voices on the street returned Wake and Linda to the world around them. Two women, chattering about the news of the day—the riot last night—walked on without seeing the pair embraced in the dark shadows ten feet away. As the lovers let go of each other Wake saw that Linda was crying.
“I’m sorry to make you cry, dear. I’ll make you happy, I promise I will. Just please don’t send me away again.”
“I know we will be happy, Peter. I was wrong to send you away. I can’t live in this crazed world without you. I can’t stand it around here. I hate this place and what it has done to us!”
“I’ll see you when I get back after this run up the coast. Probably in a week or two. Stay strong, darling. I’ll be back soon, then we’ll think of a way to lead a normal life.”
Another kiss and an emotional good-bye left Wake drained of strength, and he turned to go north to the naval yard. He never looked back for fear his courage would evaporate, marching on toward the inevitable collision with the consequences of the prior evening.
Passing the O’Hara building, one of the highest in the town and a landmark for ships coming in from sea, he spotted another provost patrol by the gate to the naval yard. The patrol of soldiers was questioning a sailor on the street. They were obviously upset. Wake walked by them to the portico and was just about inside when he heard a man calling from behind.
“Lieutenant, may I speak with you for a moment, sir?”
The sergeant of the patrol was speaking to him in a respectful but firm voice. It was clear from his manner that he expected the naval officer to comply. The pit of Wake’s stomach cramped, just like it did when in physical danger. Then he remembered that he was an officer and should have nothing to fear from a mere sergeant on guard duty.
“Sergeant, I have just a brief moment. I’m expected aboard my ship. What can I help you with this morning?”
“Sir, we are stopping all sailors who are coming into the yard this morning to ascertain what ship they are from and where they were last night. There was an altercation between some of the sailors and the men of the fort who were called out to quell a riot last night.”
“Well, Sergeant, I am not a common sailor, and I know nothing about any riot. Good luck with your endeavors. I am busy.”
“Lieutenant, beggin’ your pardon, sir. But I see that your uniform is a bit torn and you look to have a bruise on your face, sir. Were you in a fight last night? Were you assaulted?”
Wake was on very dangerous ground. His reply would be remembered and repeated. His wording must be calculated. He mustered an arrogant mien and spoke deliberately, attempting to mimic Admiral Bluefield and the obnoxious lieutenant commander from yesterday.
“Sergeant, I am busy on important business. I do not have time to dawdle on your problems, and I do not like the impertinent tone of your voice! Your disrespect is noted, Sergeant. I command a ship destined for a hot reception by the enemy, and my concentration and effort are upon that. I would suggest that you spend your time more appropriately assisting those of us who are fighting the real enemy. Now, good day and good luck on your assignment!”
The sergeant’s face displayed no fear or anger, only the traditional neutral gaze of the noncommissioned officer who has offended his superior’s ego and must now deal with that fact.
“Sir, I meant no disrespect, sir. Please take none, sir. I was only inquiring for your safety to see if the ruffians had accosted you. I am surely sorry for offending the lieutenant.”
Wake made no reply to that but walked on to the gate, leaving the sergeant standing at the salute while the rest of the soldiers stood open-mouthed. The naval yard gate was ostensibly guarded by an older petty officer detailed from the guardship in the harbor. All morning he had watched the soldiers question sailors outside of the gate. The petty officer, who had been watching the drama play out just twenty feet from his post, straightened up from his bemused slouch against the wall bordering the entrance and knuckled his forehead in an approximate salute as Wake marched past.
“Well said, Lieutenant! Them soldier bastards’ve had the sore ass agin’ us for a long time, an’ we’re the ones doin’ the war work ’round this place! They jus’ march around an’ look pretty.”
Wake couldn’t help but smile at the predictable comment by the petty officer. But he had to maintain his composure, especially since he had an unknown adversity to face yet this morning.
“Enough said, man. Do your duty.”
When he reached the officer’s landing and waved over a boat, relief flooded through him. At
