He was only Navy Reserve, after all. In civilian life, where he’d been blissfully and ignorantly employed until recently, he was a math teacher at small school in upstate New York. He’d joined the reserve in the early thirties, when work was hard to come by. He’d made some fine friends out of it, and the young ladies of Cherrybrooke village did like a man in uniform. But this . . . this was getting out of hand.

He was tempted to give in to the creeping grayness, to just fall unconscious and let someone else figure it all out, when the strangest thing happened. The storm of fire coming in at them abruptly ceased.

And then there came a loud crackling sound, like static over a ship’s speaker. And an amplified voice boomed out. A female voice, with a clearly recognizable American accent, but unfamiliar in its pitch and tone.

“This is Captain Daytona Anderson of the United States Navy Ship Leyte Gulf. Cease fire and identify yourselves immediately.”

Evans looked over at Eddie Mohr, who seemed just as stunned as he was. The chief petty officer shrugged and shook his head.

“It’s one of their camp whores,” hissed Molloy. “You can’t trust her, sir. She’s been brainwashed.”

“Shut up, Moose,” growled Mohr, before turning back to Evans. “Well, sir?”

Evans shook his head at this new turn of events. He drew a deep breath and tried to shout a reply, but his dry, cracked throat failed him. Chief Mohr took out his hip flask again and thrust it at the officer. Evans took a quick swill and tried once more. He was surprised at how weak his voice sounded.

“This is Lieutenant Commander Peter Evans of the USS Astoria. Identify yourself properly, and explain what the hell is going on here.”

He could hear other members of the Astoria’s crew whispering to each other in the brief silence that followed.

Then the woman’s angry voice drowned them out. “I say again, this is Captain Daytona Anderson of the USS Leyte Gulf. You have boarded our ship and killed U.S. naval personnel. That enough explanation for you, asshole?”

Evans got Mohr to help him over to the crack through which Willie Stolz had been shot. He yelled into the gap. “Listen, lady. If the Japs are putting you up to this, just forget it. I’m sorry for your situation, but we’re not laying down for anyone.”

Muted cheers drifted into their bunker from somewhere off to starboard. Or what he thought was starboard.

“Listen, you macho jerk, you’re going to get yourself and the rest of your crew killed for no good reason. We’re not Japanese. We’re Americans. You hear me? Americans.”

Chief Mohr leaned over and said quietly, “That sounds like a black woman to me, Commander.”