Love is Always Write Anthology Bonus Volume

information, I might bet that we were leaving tonight and heading for the Bismarck Sea."
    "The Bismarck Sea? Never heard of it. What's out there?"
    "Japs, for sure." They looked at each other more soberly. Wasn't that the truth. The extra marines who had come onboard were sure as hell not there for a joy ride. Daniel scrubbed the deck half-heartedly. He had a sudden flash of the new guy, tripping over that seam in the decking. Weeks ago Daniel had cleaned up like this down there on the lower deck, and his mop had been red with blood.
    He shook his head to clear it and his hand went automatically to his pocket to pat the little notebook there. When his watch was done he would draw a picture of that guy bumbling around down on the deck. A cartoon maybe, of that startled look when the guy realized he'd had an audience for his clumsiness. Daniel smiled a little, remembering those wide eyes. He could take that moment, record it with his pencil and make it about the good things. In the black and white world of his drawings, there was no place for red blood.
    ****
    Six hours later
    Jacob slid his tray onto a table on the mess desk, and tried to look around casually. His stomach was too jittery to really want food, but on the principle of trying to blend in, he'd taken a full tray with the others on his watch. He slid into his seat, next to a couple of vacant ones, and let his gaze wander. Until now, he'd had no time to do more than figure out what his duties were going to be. As a result, he had only the vaguest idea of the layout of the ship, would be lucky to find his berthing area again, and was going to have to address everyone by rank until some names sank into his overloaded brain.
    But he was here. Really here, onboard the USS Gageway and heading out to sea The white-hot anger that had marched him into the recruiter's office two days after Pearl Harbor had muted into some kind of dogged determination to do his duty. It hadn't taken him long in Boot Camp to realize he was going to hate this. The crowding and the noise and the weapons practice, and people yelling at him to do more, faster, harder, don't think, don't plan, just do it. It was such a far cry from his studies and his books and his quiet well-planned life.
    But he was committed now. And even if he hadn't signed the papers, he would still have to be here. Those battered sunken ships in the Hawaiian harbor demanded it.
    At least they had taken a look at his background and assigned him as a pharmacist's mate. He'd barely started pharmacy college, but his studies so far and the years spent hanging around his father's store had given him some background knowledge. The wags in Boot Camp had claimed that the Navy in its wisdom would therefore make him a gunner or assign him to the commissary. He'd been relieved to see them proved wrong. It meant that in a fight, his duties were unlikely to include firing a gun. It was more than he'd dared hope for when he began training.
    Other men were still straggling into the mess deck from watch duties further afield. Some were clearly veterans, with tanned skins and that easy slightly-rolling way of walking that spoke of years on the open sea. Many looked young, though. They laughed and chatted, eyes bright, faces confident. One young seaman aimed a playful punch at a taller man's jaw. He was fended off with a snicker and a sharp comment. All so easy. Jacob looked down at the mounds of food on his tray and sighed.
    There was the scrape of a tray on the table next to him. He glanced over and met a pair of amused hazel eyes. He recognized the man. No reason he should have noticed this sailor, really, except that as Jacob had completed that graceful move where he nearly took a nosedive on the deck, he'd felt eyes on him. Looking up, embarrassed at already having demonstrated his unfitness for ship duty, he'd seen this man and an older veteran laughing at him. And now here the guy was again.
    "Hi there," the man said, tossing a lock of dark curly hair off his forehead and extending his hand. "Saw you come aboard."
    "Hello." Jacob shook hands and then picked up his fork to give himself something to do.
    The man beside him dug into a forkful of potatoes, chewed briefly, and made a face. "Damn, Brandy's not back from leave."
    "What?"
    The man gave him a little grimace. "The cooks are a mixed bag. Brandy's the CS-C, the top dog. He makes sure this stuff's almost edible. Some of his assistants don't."
    "Oh."
    "Although this isn't the