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angled deck met the rest of the flight deck, forming a shoulder. Vialli stopped, unlocked the door, and closed it behind him. Woods turned outboard and descended the three ladders to the main deck, the hangar deck, where he would find the ladder to the enlisted boat he would be commanding for the next three or four hours. His seagoing command.
    He walked along the nonskid hard steel of the hangar deck, detouring around the airplanes there for maintenance, making his way to the fantail. He passed the snaking line of enlisted men waiting to go ashore on liberty. Woods shuddered at the thought of these eighteen-year-olds going ashore at midnight in a city that had whatever they were looking for.
    At the fantail, open to the sea air, the Masters at Arms were in place. A Warrant Officer was in charge.
    Woods’s Garrison cap — called a piss-cutter by those who wore it — was pulled down near his eyebrows and the simulated fur collar on his leather flight jacket was turned up to stop the biting breeze. The Warrant Officer saluted when he caught sight of Woods. The three enlisted men on duty saluted as well. “Good evening, sir,” the Warrant said.
    Woods returned the salutes and looked at the Warrant closely. He didn’t recognize him. Woods nodded. “Any problems with the E-boats?”
    The Warrant shook his head as he put his hands back into the olive green foul-weather jacket he wore over his dirty khakis. “No, sir. Nothing.”
    “How’s the water?”
    “Pretty calm. Three-, maybe four-foot swells.”
    Woods glanced past the fantail over the black water toward Naples. One of the ship’s boats was plying its way back to the
Washington
, working against a rising tide. He could clearly see the city lights on the hills three miles away. “How’s the visibility been?”
    “Real good, sir. We’ve only lost the lights on the hills a couple of times. Mostly the vis seems to be unlimited.”
    “Much traffic?”
    “Usual merchant traffic and smugglers.”
    “Here comes your boat, sir,” the Warrant said as the coxswain gunned the loud diesel motor in reverse to line the boat up with the platform suspended behind the enormous aircraft carrier.
    Woods watched the sailors disembark from the boat, most staggering, as a sailor played the line in and out to match the boat’s rise and fall with the waves. The coxswain kept the engine in gear, pushing against the current to keep the boat in place. Finally the boat was empty except for the crew and they were ready to load another group.
    Woods hurried down the ladder and jumped onto the boat. The center of the boat where the coxswain stood was elevated three feet above the passenger areas in the bow and stern. Fully loaded, it could hold about seventy-five sailors. The seating areas were open to the night sky. If the weather was bad they could rig canvas covers for all the seating area, but it made the ride very stuffy, especially when any of the sailors got sick.
    Lieutenant Junior Grade Phil Cobb of Woods’s squadron was the Boat Officer he was to relieve. Woods looked at the boat and then at Cobb. “Hey, Phil. How’s it been?”
    “Usual drunks.”
    Woods noticed the lights from the
Washington
reflecting off Cobb’s green nylon flight jacket. “How’d you get so wet?” he asked unenthusiastically.
    “Swells are getting worse. The whole way out you’re going right into the waves. A couple made it all the way back to us.”
    “Great,” Woods said.
    “You’ll have a blast. I’ll bet it isn’t below forty degrees.”
    Woods noticed Cobb was wearing gloves. “Mind if I borrow your gloves?” he asked.
    Cobb shrugged. “I’ll pick ’em up tomorrow.”
    “I appreciate it.”
    “You got your long johns on, Trey?”
    “You bet,” Woods said, as a chill caused him to shiver suddenly. “Wish I’d worn my green flight jacket.”
    “Use mine.”
    “Thanks.” Cobb was taller and bigger than Woods, who was thin. People thought he was skinny, which he hated. He