Kolhammer didn’t reply to Spruance immediately. He was exhausted and half hypnotized by the loping passage of the old cruise liners and troopships that carried most of the liberated POWs.

“Home?” he mused aloud. “I suppose so.”

“We’ll be there soon,” said Spruance.

Kolhammer rubbed at the bristles sprouting on his cheeks. He wondered when he’d have to go back to shaving with a razor instead of just using wipe-away gel.

“You’ll be home soon, Admiral,” he said. “And all of these poor bastards—”

He indicated the transports with a wave of the hand.

“—but we won’t be going home for a long time. If ever.”

The blank sheets of paper annoyed Halabi. She’d been staring at them for half an hour, willing the right words to come. But try as she might she just couldn’t come up with the correct words for writing a condolence letter to the great-grandparents of a sailor killed in action, decades before he’d been born. There had been well over a thousand men and women on the Fearless. It was tempting to give up. But even though it was frustrating and the situation was more than a little bizarre, she knew the dead sailors’ relatives needed to know what had happened. Nevertheless she was quietly grateful when a knock sounded at the cabin door.

“Enter,” she said, instantly regretting it when the doleful countenance of Rear Admiral Sir Leslie Murray appeared. She composed her features as equably as she could.

“I am sorry, Sir Leslie, are you still having trouble getting through to London? I’ve asked my communications officer to prioritize your messages.”

Murray looked ill. The bags of loose flesh below his eyes seemed even deeper than normal, and he carried his shoulders with a pronounced stoop. Halabi assumed it was from having to drag his corpulent frame around a working ship for a change. When he twisted from side to side in a bizarre, unknowing parody of a workout video instructor, she kept a smile from her lips only by force of will.

“Please sit down, sir,” she said, paying him the compliment of his rank. They both knew where the real power lay on board the Trident.

“No, no. I shall only be a short time bothering you,” he said. “Are you busy, then?”

His fat fingers played with the polished buttons of a dress tunic.

“I have some letters to write. To next of kin, if I can find them,” answered Halabi.

“Ah, right, good show then. Not too many I hope.”

“I happen to regard one as too many, Sir Leslie.”

“Quite right, quite right.”