MacDonald raised himself onto his elbows and turned on the table lamp. The bulkhead clock showed five minutes to two. “Come in!” he shouted. Joe Tucker and Lieutenant Burnham entered, stopping just inside the stateroom door. “What’s wrong, XO?” MacDonald spun around in the bed, planting his bare feet on the small throw rug Brenda had given him after seeing the sparse compartment he would call home for three years. “Just got this in from Naval Intelligence, sir. Top secret,” Joe Tucker said, as if that explained everything. MacDonald reached for the message board. Burnham stayed near the door, as if positioning himself for a quick exit. Draftees such as him should not be allowed to avoid it by joining the navy. “About our Echo submarines?” If it was, it was something that could have waited until morning. Joe Tucker shook his head. “Best you read it.” “Mr. Burnham, turn on the overhead light, please.” Burnham flipped the switch. The overhead white light filled the small stateroom.
