“We’d better get started then. The dispatcher’s waiting outside. He’s going to take us over in his jeep.”
The Captain’s quarters consisted of two huts knocked together. Normally three officers lived there, but at the moment he was alone and had the whole place to himself.
Several men were already in the room when they entered. The Captain was fixing drinks behind a bar made out of a packing case. He grunted at them, his pipe moving slightly as he greeted them.
Evans and Duval were jovial in their greetings. Martin merely smiled. The Chief was on particularly good terms with the Captain. They were of the same age and had had many parties together.
“How does it go, Old Chief?” inquired the Captain, speaking out of the side of his mouth.
“Great. We keep the army on the waves.”
“That’s something. What’ll it be, gentlemen?” While the others told what they wanted, Martin looked about him. He had not been in the Captain’s quarters for a long time. He never liked to seem too close to higher ranking officers. He was always afraid someone would think he wanted something.
The walls were decorated with large paintings of nudes. They had been done for the Captain by a soldier. A lamp, several chairs, and a bookcase with a few books and a great many rocks in it furnished this end of the room.
A Major and a Lieutenant were standing before one of the paintings. Martin, who did not recognize them, decided that they must be the passengers for Arunga. In one corner beside a radio the Chaplain sat, a pale bourbon and water beside him. He was turning the dial of the radio. Three officers from the Harbor Craft Detachment made up the rest of the party.
“What’ll it be, Martin?” asked the Captain.