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find out all about it then,” Kennemer said, bouncing off to find another unsuspecting victim.
    “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it,” said Kahn. Sharkey was near hysterics, pounding at the rail with his fist. “This isn’t happening,” Kahn said. “He’s gotta be some kind of nut.”
    “Heard any good rumors lately?” Sharkey said, breaking again into fits of laughter.
    “Shit on rumors—I don’t stop ’em, I start ’em,” Kahn declared sourly. He lit another cigarette and leaned back on the rail, watching the great city of San Francisco disappear forever around a bend as the ship pounded into the blue waters of the Pacific.
    “I sure wish I could have taken a look at that fault,” he said dejectedly.
    “There’s a rumor the war’s been postponed for inclement weather—mind checking it out?” Sharkey said, breaking up one more time.

6
    I n less than an hour, the transport was out of the choppy bay, swaying softly on the Pacific swells, bringing on the first wave of seasickness. Many affected by it went below to their bunks, and those who had to wait their turn at the bunks went inside to the enlisted men’s lounges or the ship’s library, believing this would abate the queasiness. Naturally, it made it worse. Soon nearly twenty percent of the men were ill, and a long line had formed outside sick bay, where corpsmen were dispensing Dramamine tablets.
    At the height of it all, the voice of Captain Kennemer blared over the ship’s loudspeaker, beginning, “Now hear this,” and then ticking off the order in which chow would be served. This was received with a flood of horrible profanity from those who were ill, and prompted a further announcement by Kennemer, after a short wait while he sought advice from the Navy officers who had been standing by. Conspicuously missing from this second announcement was the “Now hear this,” which Kennemer dropped after noticing titters from the Navy men.
    “Ah — ah—it has come to our attention that some people are feeling the effects of seasickness. These people should get the seasick pills from the dispensary immediately and they should refrain from eating chow. The Navy advises us that seasickness is common for the first few hours on the ship but that it will go away in a short period of time.
    “The Navy also advises us that anyone who is feeling sick should go out on the deck and not stay below. The Navy also requests that anyone having to throw up please do so in the garbage pails provided on the decks and in the living quarters and they ask that no one throw up over the rail so as not to get the sides of the ship dirty. Thank you.”
    “That sonofabitch,” said Pfc. Madman Muntz, who had been casting about for a quarter of an hour for a good place to heave.
    “So that’s what the brown shit is on the side of this tub,” he said, addressing an enormous black soldier squatting against the superstructure and obviously trying hard not to think of water or ships or anything associated with them.
    “What’s wrong with you, Carruthers? You don’t like the ocean?” Muntz said mockingly.
    Carruthers only looked up and around weakly.
    “Ah, it’ll go away; everybody gets it first time out,” said Muntz, profoundly grateful that he was at least in good enough shape to sound authoritative about it.
    By then some of those who were not sick were starting to sit down in the mess hall, a huge damp room with long rows of tables end to end. Filipino mess stewards, dressed in white jackets, served the men their food, balancing trays with half a dozen plastic plates on them as though they had been born to walk like marionettes across the swaying floor. To Army men, unaccustomed to being served seated, it seemed a rare treat that they were being catered to this way—almost like a football team before the game, steak and baked potatoes, an offering to the brave. It never occurred to them that the Navy simply didn’t trust soldiers walking around with