Remember this, a desperate voice screamed in Kennet’s bones. Remember, remember, remember.

But it all seemed a dream.

The rest of the journey to California, Kennet and Minor didn’t say much, but barely a minute went by when their upper arms weren’t smushed tight together, or one brother’s head dozed on another’s shoulder.

Remember, Kennet chanted in rhythm with the rumbling cars over the sleepers. Remember, remember, remember.

They parted ways in Los Angeles, repeating the farewell on the platform. Hugging, ruffling heads, cracking weak jokes as they held on tight.

“Try not to get yourself killed,” Minor said.

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t if you won’t.”

“Minor mine, you are so fine.”

“It ain’t no trick to love my Nyck.”

All over the country, brothers were bidding farewell, their hearts in their throats, their fear and anger on a tight leash. Mothers, fathers, sisters, wives, sweethearts, all saying goodbye, I love you. There was nothing special or unique about the misery twisting Kennet’s chest right now. He was one lone cog in a massive machine of fear and sadness and death and grief and loss.

Yet at the moment, he felt he were the only one in the world being asked to feel all the emotion within it.

“I love you,” he said, digging fingers into Minor’s shoulders, trying to memorize him.

“We’re gonna live through this, come home, have a beautiful life on the river and die in our beds. Understand? No alternatives. That’s the plan.”

“I’m in.”

“Fish don’t die in the earth. We die in the water. Or near it. We’re coming home.”

“I’ll see you soon then.”

More strangers, in and out of uniform, slapped Kennet’s back when he climbed aboard and found his seat, offering a word of encouragement.

“I know how you feel, buddy.”

“It’s tough.”

“Let’s give ’em hell and get it over with.”

Kennet imagined war couldn’t be much worse than all these gut-shredding goodbyes.

He knew how wrong he was. But he hoped it wouldn’t be much worse.

Part Two: The Fisherman at War

“But when it has been ordained that one shall live, one cannot think of one’s funeral,” said the old woman. “And so one has to take the world as it is, and still be satisfied.”

“That may be,” said the magic fish, “but if you do as I tell you, you shall have three wishes.”

—“The Old Woman and the Fish,” Swedish folk tale

December 1944

Captain Who?

The long troop train trundled across America with its precious cargo. California to New Jersey, crossing deserts and mountains. Past plains of grass and cornfields. Hamlet villages and bustling cities. The country. The motherland.