“It’s like the military’s greatest strength and its greatest vulnerability,” Kennet said. “You can’t get through it alone, so you pair your existence and survival with another guy’s. You eat, sleep, shit, shower and suffer together. You see each other bleed, cry, scream, break down, choke up, fuck up or save the day. Then you watch him die. And you’re just supposed to disengage from him and move on. Find someone else. Then watch him die, too.”

Minor was nodding, the muscles in his jaw tight. His hand ran lightly up and down the opposite arm, with its shiny, puckered scar tissue.

“Does it hurt bad?” Kennet asked.

“Parts of it hurt. Some of it’s completely numb. The nerves are shot.” He gave Kennet a sideways smile. “But enough about me, let’s talk about my arm.”

“I don’t know how you survived those five days.”

“I don’t know, either. We hit the water and cripes, it was just a slab of fuel oil. We were basted in it, head to toe, and we could barely find each other in the dark. And we laughed. In the beginning we were miserable but optimistic. We’d be found in a couple hours. Then the sun came up and we waited. And waited. And waited…”

The sun was merciless and the sailors had no way to escape the strong rays that tortured their oil-slicked skin, screwed up their eyes and parched their tongues. Hour after hour they watched the sun overhead, cursing her, unable to wait until she went down and they got some relief. As she slipped over the horizon, the air turned cool. Then it got cold. And colder. Until the men’s bodies were numb and their teeth were chattering and they watched the night skies, begging that solar bitch to rise again.

Minor and eight other mates were clutching a cargo net, kept afloat by Styrofoam buoys. As ship debris floated by, they scanned and scrabbled through it frantically, looking for any scrap of food. If found, they put it in the center of the net with the intent of sharing evenly if the situation continued. Surely it couldn’t go on much longer. No doubt they’d be rescued soon.

It went on. More sailors began to die. The seriously wounded first. Then the ones who succumbed to dehydration.

“You can’t even imagine,” Minor said. “It’s like eating salt. Handfuls of salt all day long. I have nightmares about it. Dreams where I sit down to dinner and my plate has nothing but a mound of salt on it. I eat it and I wake up heaving. I can’t shake the taste off. It’s in my mouth all the time…”