The men revered him, and with good reason. When Ensign Eversole had gotten lost in fog on the way to attack Wake Island, Halsey had turned around the entire task force, searched for and found the downed torpedo plane, then resumed the attack a day later. Everyone agreed it was a damn pity the old man was stuck back in Pearl. It meant they were steaming into battle at Midway against a superior foe, under a man with no expertise in carrier operations at all.

During a rare break in Spruance’s relentless cross-examination, Black brought up something else that had been nagging at him since they’d set out. “It’s a real shame about losing Don Lovelace.”

The admiral, who was a quiet, self-contained man—so different from the booming, good-natured Halsey—took so long in replying that Commander Black wondered if he’d even been heard. The Enterprise was making nearly thirty knots, adding its speed to a light blustery crosswind, and it was possible a gust might have carried away his words. But, true to form, Spruance was just mulling over the statement before fashioning a reply.

“It’s a blessing we’ve even got the Yorktown at all,” he said.

That seemed harsh. Don Lovelace was the XO of Fighting 3, the Yorktown’s squadron of twenty-five portly but rugged F-4F Wildcats. Or he had been, till another pilot had screwed up his landing and jumped the barrier the first afternoon out of Pearl, crashing into the plane ahead and killing one of the most experienced pilots in the whole task force. The Yorktown’s VF3 was less a squadron than a pickup team, thrown together at the last moment before the big game. They’d never flown together, and for some this would be their first time on a carrier. Lovelace was supposed to have whipped them into shape.

“It still would have been good having Lovelace.” Black shrugged. “Zeros are gonna eat those boys up. Chew us all up, given a chance.”

“Jimmy Thach will knock them into shape,” Spruance said. “Or close enough anyway. We have to cut the cloth to suit our budget, Commander. Pearl performed miracles getting the Yorktown ready in three days. I know the pilots are green, and their planes are no match for the Japs, but that doesn’t matter. We have to beat them anyway.”

Their return journey had brought them back to the ship’s island superstructure, which offered some shelter against the wind that was blowing across the deck. The rise and fall of the swell was also much less evident here. The time was coming up on 2245. They would blow tubes in a few minutes, and the working day would end for most of the crew. Black was already dead tired. He had eaten breakfast at 0350.

In a few days, he knew, he’d just be dead. Or so exhausted as made no difference.