“Eh? What? Oh, it’s you, Jackknife Johnny.” The Commander gave a low laugh. “Well now, on a night like this you don’t see much—a bit of white foam after each ship, and a blink of light now and then—that’s all.”
“It’s enough, sir,” said Jack. “You know what’s there—cruisers, destroyers, and maybe a tanker. Your mind must fill in the picture.”
“Oh! It does! It really does!” the Commander agreed. “Want to come up and see for yourself?” he invited.
“That would be keen, sir!” said Jack, dropping to his feet.
“Come on up then,” the Commander urged.
As Jack mounted the steps to the Commander’s bridge, twenty-five feet above the flight deck, he thought how strange life aboard a carrier would seem to those who had never put to sea as a navy pilot. Routine was strictly adhered to. When a flight of planes came in from a practice flight, they came down in perfect formation like a flock of wild geese landing on a pond.
Strict discipline, yes, he told himself, yet here I am following our Commander to his bridge, and it doesn’t seem a bit strange; for he’s one of us. We’re all one, all dressed in khaki, all tanned, trained to the last degree, ready to act as a unit to beat the Japs.
“Life on a carrier surely is grand, sir!” he said aloud.
“Yes, son,” the hardy old Commander rumbled. “There’s never been anything like it before.”
“Never has, sir,” Jack agreed.