“Yes.” The Sergeant pushed the chart at him. Evans pretended to study it. Actually he knew very little about reading these charts. He knew from practical experience, though, that they were often wrong.
“It’ll probably be rough, Mr Evans.”
“That’s nothing new. You say Bervick’s at Supply?”
“I think so.”
“O.K., and thanks a lot. I’ll see you when you have some more dope.” Evans went out. He stood for a while watching the power barges, blunt-nosed and slab-like, move back and forth across the harbor. There were rumors that the port of Andrefski was to be closed soon and only the inland air base would be kept going. Many men had already been moved out, only a few hundred were left now. On the rocky, moonstone and agate littered beach, lumber was piled, waiting to be loaded on the Liberty ship, edged grayly against the main dock. This ship was the largest in the harbor and it made the other boats look like toys in a bathtub.
A jeep, with an awkward plywood body tacked onto it, rode by and splashed him with mud from the side of the road. Evans swore at the driver. Then he walked along the road, keeping close to the pebbled embankment. There was quite a lot of traffic at this time of day.
The Supply warehouse was large and gloomy and empty-looking. He walked around to the side of the building and went inside. He could hear Bervick’s voice. “Come on, you can give us six gallons. Christ, you have the stuff piled up all around.”
Another voice answered, “Sorry, three’s all you get.”
“Why that’s....” Evans walked up to them. Bervick was holding three gallon cans of paint.
Evans grinned, “That’ll do us fine, Bervick. Are you through here?”