The newcomers walked by, their heads on swivels, trying to see everything at once. Then it was the turn of the men going home to board the helicopter. A petty officer stood by the little metal staircase that led up to the entrance. “Make sure y’all strap in soon as you sit down,” he said.

Strap in Jerry did. The harness was more elaborate than an airliner seat belt or even the seat-and-shoulder belts new cars used (Jerry’s beat-up Rambler boasted no belts at all). The petty officer climbed in right behind the passengers. He stowed the little staircase and secured the door, then sat up front with the pilot.

Being crewmen, they wore helmets. Jerry envied them as soon as the engine started up again. If being near a chopper was loud, being in one was.… For a few seconds, Jerry couldn’t think of what it was like. Then he decided he knew now what the butter in a blender heard when a cook turned it up to high.

Up went the helicopter, just like that. Jerry craned his neck to keep the Glomar Explorer in sight as long as he could, but the ship soon disappeared behind the whirlybird. Part of his life was disappearing with it—a brief part, a strange part, but an important part. How important? He doubted he’d know the answer to that for years and years. Even when he did know, he doubted he’d be able to tell anybody.

Talking in the cabin was impossible. So was thinking, or nearly. The last time Jerry’d sat through so much noise, he and Anna were seeing Jethro Tull at the Forum. He’d enjoyed that more.

The flight back to Midway took about an hour. The island was actually two sandy islets, neither poking more than a few feet up out of the ocean. The eastern island was just sand, sand and gooney birds. Along with more gooney birds, the western island held the naval air station: a couple of runways, a few planes and copters, Quonset huts, and a more substantial building with a radar dish spinning on top of it.

Jerry had been at sea for a couple of months. Stepping down onto a surface that didn’t move felt as strange and unnatural as the Hornblower books suggested. Without ever consciously noticing, he’d acquired reflexes he didn’t know he had. His friend Tim drove a stick shift. Tim didn’t have to think about that, either. He just did it. Jerry’d tried it a couple of times, but never enough to get smooth.

A young Navy lieutenant in tropical whites strode up to the helicopter. “If you gentlemen will come with me, we’ll get you quartered, we’ll provide you with transportation home, and you’ll each be able to make two three-minute calls to the mainland to arrange for pickup and such. Any questions?… No? Follow me, then.”