Nelson lit a cigarette. Chip glanced his way then picked up the coffee can filled with sand that served as an ashtray and set it on the table. Nelson nodded thanks. Chip took a seat and looked towards the nearly emptied gun racks, his gaze lingering on the few rifles still there, now fixed with bayonets.

"I could never be infantry," Chip said.

"Most infantrymen would say the same of a submariner," Harry said. "Cramped and confined underwater. When I was Captain, a Colonel wearing a Distinguished Service Cross ribbon was part of a contingent visiting Nautilus. The minute his foot hit the control room floor, he couldn't breathe."

Chip was silent a few seconds, his eyes still towards the rifles. He turned to Nelson.

"You've seen combat," Chip said.

Harry nodded. "So have you."

"Limited engagements at sea and landing party skirmishes. I mean actual, full fledged, landed, hand to hand combat. That's different."

"How?" Harry asked.

"At sea, it's been from a distance. The other, it was small scale, over and done before you had much time to think about it. Nothing like…" Chip paused before continuing.

"Nothing like seeing hundreds of men blown to bits yards away from you and the survivors charging with fixed bayonets."

"A man's just as dead killed by a torpedo as by a landmine," Harry said. "It's just not so close and ugly on the surface. And, any man that can stand steady while taking fire underwater, knowing any second a hit could rupture the hull-he could certainly face a bayonet."

"What about the claustrophobic Colonel?" Chip countered. "He was a hero but couldn't handle a sub."

"Not as part of a ceremonial delegation. Under fire, he'd have managed."

"You can't be sure."

"Absolutely sure, no. I didn't know the man. But, the ribbon was a good indication. Some men are brave by chance or circumstance. Some men are brave by their nature. They're duty driven and their worst fear is of failing their obligation or cowardice. Nothing they'll ever face scares them more than the thought of running away. The medal suggests he was brave by nature. That, when the time came, he'd have managed to overcome his fear and do his duty."

"Like Charles Bronson," Chip said.

"What?"

"The Great Escape, the tunnel," Chip said. "I don't guess it's really the same, though, since it was to escape not to fight. Never mind."

He sighed and shook his head. "Never mind this whole conversation. I'm not thinking straight or I'm thinking way too much, one or the other. Maybe both."

"Chip-"

"I'm just tired, sir," Chip interrupted. He stood. "I'm going to turn in, try to get some sleep."

Chip walked behind the curtain and slowly made his way in the near dark of the med area. He sat on the cot and stared into the shadows in Lee's direction.

"What's wrong?" Lee asked. "Other than the obvious."

"Nothing." Chip's answer hung in silence a few seconds before he spoke again.

"I'm scared I'll puke."

"Are you sick?"

"Not now, tomorrow. I was sitting there thinking about tomorrow and all of a sudden I was seeing that hill go up and what would come back down. It made me sick just thinking about it. Then, I thought what if I get sick for real? What if I'm throwing up when I'm supposed to be saving you?"

"You won't."

"Lee, it's involuntary. Nobody does it for fun, it just happens. What if I do?"

"You won't."

"I could."

"You won't. And, even if you did, it's just a few seconds."

"It doesn't matter if it's only a split second if it's the wrong split second. Miro and his damned timing. First, I have to wait. I have to just stand there and watch and wait. Then, what if I trip, what if I stumble, what if I'm standing there hurling like a six year old while you're getting killed?"

"Chip, you're not going to throw up. Unless you keep this up and talk yourself into it. Change the subject."

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