Navy Brother Quotes

No one expects an eighty-five-year-old Navy SEAL stripper. No one. And that was the beauty of George.

The isolationists argued that if the US had stayed out of the Great War - or, as it later became known, World War I - there never would have been a World War II. By 1917 the warring protagonists - Britain, France, Germany, Austria, and others - had suffered millions of casualties and were exhausted. The German populace was starving. The isolationists believed that a resolution was inevitable without the US involvement that resulted in 116,000 dead fathers, brothers and sons.  They argued that if the United States had stayed out of the Great War, no one would ever have heard of Adolf Hitler.

We all have our crosses to bear. We carry them heavily, out of love for our brothers in arms. But sometimes you have to let go of the idea that anyone down here is in control.

It was as easy as breathing to go and have tea near the place where Jane Austen had so wittily scribbled and so painfully died. One of the things that causes some critics to marvel at Miss Austen is the laconic way in which, as a daughter of the epoch that saw the Napoleonic Wars, she contrives like a Greek dramatist to keep it off the stage while she concentrates on the human factor. I think this comes close to affectation on the part of some of her admirers. Captain Frederick Wentworth in Persuasion, for example, is partly of interest to the female sex because of the 'prize' loot he has extracted from his encounters with Bonaparte's navy. Still, as one born after Hiroshima I can testify that a small Hampshire township, however large the number of names of the fallen on its village-green war memorial, is more than a world away from any unpleasantness on the European mainland or the high or narrow seas that lie between. (I used to love the detail that Hampshire's 'New Forest' is so called because it was only planted for the hunt in the late eleventh century.) I remember watching with my father and brother through the fence of Stanstead House, the Sussex mansion of the Earl of Bessborough, one evening in the early 1960s, and seeing an immense golden meadow carpeted entirely by grazing rabbits. I'll never keep that quiet, or be that still, again. This was around the time of countrywide protest against the introduction of a horrible laboratory-confected disease, named 'myxomatosis,' into the warrens of old England to keep down the number of nibbling rodents. Richard Adams's lapine masterpiece Watership Down is the remarkable work that it is, not merely because it evokes the world of hedgerows and chalk-downs and streams and spinneys better than anything since The Wind in the Willows, but because it is only really possible to imagine gassing and massacre and organized cruelty on this ancient and green and gently rounded landscape if it is organized and carried out against herbivores.

one more person ask me if i knew the hijackers. one more motherfucker ask me what navy my brother is in. one more person assume no arabs or muslims were killed. one more person assume they know me, or that i represent a people. or that a people represent an evil. or that evil is as simple as a flag and words on a page.

The alcohol and attention bewitched her. Within half an hour, she was so charmed and spirited that she’d begun to tell stories from her childhood: how her older brother Bill had run away to join the navy and sent her a pet monkey from Madagascar, which had arrived precisely on her birthday, except dead. How a rooster had had it in for her and chased her all the way down to the Preston bridge on her way to fourth grade. (Her father later paid the owner seventy-five cents for the pleasure of wringing its neck. They had it for Sunday dinner and it was tough as shoe leather.)

They fought together as brothers in arms They died together and now they sleep side by side To them we have a solemn obligation The obligation to ensure that their sacrifice will help To make this a better and safer world in which to live.

It is only that I dislike the whole notion of subordination. The corporal lurks in almost every bosom, and each man tends to use authority when he has it, thus destroying his natural relationship with his fellows, a disastrous state of affairs for both sides. Do away with subordination and you do away with tyranny: without subordination we should have no Neros, no Tamerlanes, no Buonapartes.’ ‘Stuff,’ said Jack. ‘Subordination is the natural order: there is subordination in Heaven – Thrones and Dominions take precedence over Powers and Principalities, Archangels and ordinary foremast angels; and so it is in the Navy. You have come to the wrong shop for anarchy, brother.

Her goddam brother's gettin' outta the Navy on account of his hip," he said. "He's got this hip, the bastard." He sat up and tried for another belch, but with below-par results.

I read the papers every day, brother—two hundred of ’em.” “Oh, boy! I hope it lasts ’til I’m old enough to join the navy.” “Who’s joining the navy?” They looked around,

Paul Henry Carr of Checotah, Oklahoma, proud member of the Future Farmers of America, football and baseball letterman, brother to eight sisters, only son of Thomas and Minnie Mae Carr, died there on the deck of his battered, broken warship.

... جایی که برادر به برادر نکند رحم. بیگانه برای تو برادر شدنی نیست. Do not be flattered when your enemy shows you love, the smile of an executioner is not sweet talk.... In a place where brother has no mercy on brother, a stranger can never become your brother.

The sniper is like a highly skilled surgeon, practicing his craft on the battlefield. Make no mistake: War is about killing other human beings, taking out the enemy before he takes us out, stopping the spread of further aggression by stopping those who would perpetuate that aggression. However, if the goal is to prosecute the war in order to achieve the peace, and to do so as fast and as effectively as possible, and with the least collateral damage, then warriors like Chris Kyle and our other brothers-in-arms are heroes in the best sense.

From the moment Leo comes on screen in that navy blue suit, I have chest palpitations. He’s like an angel, a beautiful, damaged angel. “What’s he so stressed out about?” Peter asks, reaching down and stealing a handful of Kitty’s popcorn. “Isn’t he a prince or something?” “He’s not a prince,” I say. “He’s just rich. And his family is very powerful in this town.” “He’s my dream guy,” Kitty says in a proprietary tone. “Well, he’s all grown up now,” I say, not taking my eyes off the screen. “He’s practically Daddy’s age.” Still… “Wait, I thought I was your dream guy,” Peter says. Not to me, to Kitty. He knows he’s not my dream guy. My dream guy is Gilbert Blythe from Anne of Green Gables. Handsome, loyal, smart in school. “Ew,” Kitty says. “You’re like my brother.” Peter looks genuinely wounded, so I pat him on the shoulder. “Don’t you think he’s a little scrawny?” Peter presses. I shush him. He crosses his arms. “I don’t get why you guys get to talk during movies and I get shushed. It’s pretty bullshit.” “It’s our house,” Kitty says. “Your sister shushes me at my house too!” We ignore him in unison.

My eyes came to rest on a small tomato-sauce stain on the front of his cream-colored sweater. He was neatly dressed, and that one tiny stain struck me as out of place. And then it hit me–the twenty-one-year old brother with sleepy eyes and a loose-necked navy-blue sweater sprinkled with bread crumbs. Old habits die hard. Those kinds of inclinations, or habits, don't seem to ever change.

The second is the military narrative of the battles on Long Island and Manhattan, where the British army and navy delivered a series of devastating defeats to an American army of amateurs, but missed whatever chance existed to end it all. The focal point of this story is the Continental Army, and the major actors are George Washington, Nathanael Greene, and the British brothers Richard and William Howe.

Stoddert named Joshua Humphreys Chief Naval Constructor of the United States, and authorized him to oversee naval shipbuilding operations throughout the country. But Humphreys’s efforts to impose his authority on shipwrights in other cities met with strong resistance. Different techniques, styles, and designs prevailed in the various seaports, and much of the terminology had evolved into regional dialects that outsiders found unintelligible. To ask a master builder to take direction from another master builder, in another region, was contrary to every tradition of the profession. Humphreys now proposed to bring openness and transparency to an enterprise that had always been shrouded in the medieval secrecy of the craftsmen’s guild. Shipbuilding is a “noble art,” he told a colleague. “I consider it my duty to convey to my brother builders every information in my power.

There was a small public library on Ninety-third and Hooper. Mrs. Stella Keaton was the librarian. We’d known each other for years. She was a white lady from Wisconsin. Her husband had a fatal heart attack in ’34 and her two children died in a fire the year after that. Her only living relative had been an older brother who was stationed in San Diego with the navy for ten years. After his discharge he moved to L.A. When Mrs. Keaton had her tragedies he invited her to live with him. One year after that her brother, Horton, took ill, and after three months he died spitting up blood, in her arms. All Mrs. Keaton had was the Ninety-third Street branch. She treated the people who came in there like her siblings and she treated the children like her own. If you were a regular at the library she’d bake you a cake on your birthday and save the books you loved under the front desk. We were on a first-name basis, Stella and I, but I was unhappy that she held that job. I was unhappy because even though Stella was nice, she was still a white woman. A white woman from a place where there were only white Christians. To her Shakespeare was a god. I didn’t mind that, but what did she know about the folk tales and riddles and stories colored folks had been telling for centuries? What did she know about the language we spoke? I always heard her correcting children’s speech. “Not ‘I is,’ she’d say. “It’s ‘I am.’” And, of course, she was right. It’s just that little colored children listening to that proper white woman would never hear their own cadence in her words. They’d come to believe that they would have to abandon their own language and stories to become a part of her educated world. They would have to forfeit Waller for Mozart and Remus for Puck. They would enter a world where only white people spoke. And no matter how articulate Dickens and Voltaire were, those children wouldn’t have their own examples in the house of learning—the library.

The ever-reliable Bill Thompson filled the gap with a new character, Wallace Wimple. Wallace gave new meaning to the word “wimp,” for this was the nickname pinned on him by Fibber McGee. Wimple was terrified of his “big old wife,” the ferocious, often-discussed but never-present “Sweetie Face.” Also in 1941 came Gale Gordon as Mayor LaTrivia, who would arrive at the McGee house, start an argument, and become so tongue-tied that he’d blow his top. A year later, all these characters disappeared: Gordon went into the Coast Guard, and when Thompson joined the Navy, four characters went with him. With LaTrivia, Boomer, Depopoulous, Wimple, the Old Timer, and Gildersleeve all on the “recently departed” list, Fibber found a new devil’s advocate in the town doctor. Arthur Q. Bryan, who had played the voice of Elmer Fudd in the Warner Brothers cartoons, became Doc Gamble, continuing the verbal brickbats begun by Gildersleeve. Their squabbles could begin over a disputed doctor bill—McGee always disputed doctor bills—or erupt out of nowhere about anything at all.

The captain was amusing. He said that he himself couldn't draw and proved his words by drawing his own house for his prisoner to see. It was just such a house as the babies drew in the kindergarten: a square box with four square windows, a door and two chimneys, each with a neat curl of smoke. "That's best I can do," said the Captain, laughing. Max laughed with him for politeness' sake, though inwardly he was shocked that an important man like the Captain made a fool of himself. "Vater does not draw," he said kindly, "nor does Mutti; but they are both very keen on photography. Perhaps you are good at that?" "Not brilliant," said the Captain.

Maybe it’s not a coincidence that I’ve always been interested in heroes, starting with my dad, Phil Robertson, and my mom, Miss Kay. My other heroes are my pa and my granny, who taught me how to play cards and dominoes and everything about fishing (which was a lot), and my three older brothers, who teased me, beat me up, and sometimes let me follow them around. Not much has changed in that department. I’ve always loved movies, and when I was about seven or eight years old, I watched Rocky, Sylvester Stallone’s movie about an underdog boxer who used his fists, along with sheer will, determination, and the ability to endure pain, to make a way for himself. He fought hard but played fair and had a soft spot for his friends. I fell in love with Rocky. He was my hero, and I became obsessed. When I decide to do something, I’m all in; so I found a pair of red shorts that looked like Rocky’s boxing trunks and a navy blue bathrobe with two white stripes on the sleeve and no belt. I took off my shirt and ran around bare-chested in my robe and shorts. Most kids I knew went through a superhero phase, but they picked DC Comics guys, like Batman or Superman. Not me. I was Rocky Balboa, the Italian Stallion, and proud of it. Mom let me run around like that for a couple of years, even when we went in to town. Rocky had a girlfriend, Adrian, who was always there, always by his side. When he was beaten and blinded in a bad fight, he called out for her before anybody else. “Yo, Adrian!” he shouted in his Philly-Italian accent. He needed her. Eventually, I grew up, and the red shorts and blue bathrobe didn’t fit anymore, but I always remembered Rocky’s kindness and his courage. And that every Rocky needs an Adrian.

Do you remember that time we played spin the bottle in my basement?” I nod. “I was nervous to kiss you, because I’d never kissed a girl before,” he says, and picks up the glass of sweet tea again. He takes a swig, but there’s no tea left, just ice. His eyes meet mine, and he grins. “All the guys gave me such a hard time afterward for whiffing it.” “You didn’t whiff it,” I say. “I think that was around when Trevor’s old brother told us he made a girl…” John hesitates, and I nod eagerly so he’ll go on. “He claimed he gave a girl an orgasm just by kissing her.” I let out a shrieky laugh and clap my hands to my mouth. “That’s the biggest lie I ever heard! I never saw him talk to even one girl. Besides, I don’t think that’s even possible. And if it was possible, I highly doubt Sean Pike was capable of it.” John laughs too. “Well, I know it’s a lie now, but at the time we all believed him.” “I mean, was it a great kiss? No, it wasn’t.” John winces and I quickly continue. “But it wasn’t an altogether terrible one. I swear. And listen, it’s not like I’m an expert on kissing anyway. Who am I to say?” “Okay okay, you can stop trying to make me feel better.” He sets down his glass. “I’ve gotten much better at it. That’s what the girls tell me.” This conversation has taken a strange and confessional turn, and I’m nervous but not in a bad way. I like sharing secrets, being coconspirators. “Oh, so you’ve kissed that many, huh?” He laughs again. “A respectable number.” He pauses. “I’m surprised you even remember that day. You were so into Kavinsky, I don’t think you even noticed who else was there.” I push him in the shoulder. “I was not ‘so into Kavinsky’!” “Yes you were. You kept your eyes on that bottle the whole game, like this.” John picks up the bottle and lasers his eyes at it. “Waiting for your moment.” I’m bright red, I know I am. “Oh, be quiet.” Laughing, he says, “Like a hawk on its prey.” “Shut up!” Now I’m laughing too. “How do you even remember that?” “Because I was doing the same thing,” he says. “You were staring at Peter too?” I say it like a joke, to tease, because this is fun. For the first time in days I’m having fun. He looks right at me, navy-blue eyes sure and steady, and my breath catches in my chest. “No. I was looking at you.

Gates of Fire, which all Marine officers read at TBS in

You can’t just abduct me and hold me for hostage! And hostage for what? Who do you think you are? My brother is one of the most powerful men in England! When he catches up to you, he’ll slit your belly and strangle you with your own entrails! Do you know what you’ve done?” The Irishman just shrugged, unconcerned, and shoved his other arm into his coat sleeve. “Does your sister Mrs. Lord know that I’m here? Does your brother-in-law, Captain Lord? The admiral, Sir Elliott?” “Don’t be stupid, of course not.” “Does anyone know?” “Not yet.” “Who are you? In actuality?” “Ruaidri O’ Devir, ma’m, just as ye thought.” He picked up a tricorne hat and headed for the door. “I wish to know why I am here!” He stopped then, his patience exhausted, and looked her straight in the eye. “Your brother developed an explosive which he’s about to sell to your country. My country needs it so we can win this miserable struggle with yours. Since I doubt England or your brother are going to just hand it over to us, ye’re my payment for it. A ransom, if ye will. Understand?” “What do you mean your country? Ireland is not at war with England… you are mad.” “No, Sunshine. I’m not mad. I’m a commissioned captain in America’s Continental Navy if ye must know, and because John Adams decided there’s nobody in the Navy as audacious, reckless or downright foolish as I am, he chose me to come and get that explosive. Ye’re my ransom. If yer family wants ye back, they’ll hand it over as well as the formula on how t’ create it. Now are ye finished? I’ve a ship to see to.” She stared at him, aghast. “Your sister is married to a captain in the Royal Navy… her brother-in-law is a famous admiral… you would dare do this right under all their noses?” He smiled then, his long lashes throwing shadow against his cheekbones in the dim orange glow of the lantern and in that moment, he looked almost handsome. Almost. “Indeed, I would.” The smile spread. “Indeed, I have.

What are you doing?” she asked, staring at it the way she might the tail of a scorpion. “Offerin’ me arm. Would ye like a tour o’ the deck before ye go back to that boring life ye lead?” She stared at his elbow for a long moment as though debating whether she could tolerate the idea of touching him. Then her mouth curved the tiniest bit at one corner, a reluctant smile that was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Only if you promise not to irritate me.” “Oh, lass, ’tis beyond me to make a promise like that,” he returned with mock seriousness. “On the other hand, while I rather like to irritate ye, I’d rather save my real fighting for the Royal Navy if and when the occasion arises.

Nerissa, mo grá,” he said weakly, from where he had been dragged to a corner and propped up against someone’s jacket. “Mo cróga, bean laoch álainn.” He was still in the bloodied breeches, a clean band of linen wound just above one knee. “My brave, beautiful warrior woman.” His eyes, deep and bottomless in the lantern-lit darkness, looked up at her through their absurdly long lashes, and she reached a hand, still smelling of gunpowder, down to touch his bristled cheek. He closed his eyes and held it there, reluctant to ever let her go, and she reveling in the warmth of his skin beneath hers, the knowledge that his heart still pumped his lifeblood beneath her hand. “I could not let you die,” she breathed, kneeling down beside him and offering him the strength of her own slim, lithe body. His face was ghostly from loss of blood, and she could see that it was an effort for him to even keep his eyes open, let alone press her hand to his cheek. She sat down on the hard, blood-stained planking and gently gathered him in her arms, stroking his heavy curls as he rested his forehead against her shoulder. “Tá tú mo banlaoch,” he whispered. “My heroine. My savior….” “Sleep, Ruaidri. The ship is back in your men’s hands and you, my love, are safe in mine.” She threaded her fingers up through his hair and gently caressed his scalp, wincing at the hard swelling she found there. She did not want to think about how he must have received it. She did not want to think of him being hurt, she did not want to think of anything but how grateful she was that he was alive and safely in her arms. Hadley… the Royal Navy… Lucien. Strength and a hard, ruthless confidence filled her heart. She had come this far. She could deal with all of them. Ruaidri’s forehead grew heavy against her collarbone. He murmured something unintelligible and, with her hand still quietly caressing him, finally gave himself up to the demands of his body and slept.

The guns on both sides were silent until they returned. Suddenly, a fierce cannonade from the British ships exploded onto the beach at Turtle Gut Inlet, but only one American was hit, “Shott through the arm and body.” It was Richard Wickes. A cannonball took his arm and half his chest away. Fresh from the Reprisal, Lambert Wickes arrived on the beach at the head of his reinforcements just as his younger brother died: “I arrived just at the Close of the Action Time enough to see him expire . . . Captn Barry . . . says a braver Man never existed.”123 Taking Richard Wickes's body, the American sailors left the spit of sand they fought over that morning. The powder was stowed in the Wasp's hold and sent up the Delaware. “At 2 weighed and made Sail,” Hudson briefly noted in his journal.124 The British returned to Cape Henlopen. As before, Barry had taken long odds, assessed the best plan that could succeed, and beaten the British. The Nancy was destroyed, but the Wasp would reach Philadelphia safely with the desperately needed gunpowder. Despite superior firepower, the “butcher's bill” was far heavier for the British. But the victory brought no cheers or satisfaction among the Americans, and Barry was particularly saddened by the death of the gallant young Wickes.125 The next morning—Sunday, June 30—the men of the Lexington and Reprisal gathered to mourn their shipmate at the log meetinghouse in the small village of Cold Spring, just north of Cape May. Under the same light breezes of the day before, the American sailors, with “bowed and uncovered heads,” filed inside and sat on the long, rough-cut wooden pews. After “The Clergyman preached a very deacent Sermon,” Lambert Wickes and the Reprisal's officers silently hoisted the coffin. Shuffling under its weight, they carried it outside to the little cemetery, and laid their comrade to rest.126 Lambert Wickes now faced the task of informing his family in Maryland of Richard's death. On July 2, in a sad but disjointed letter to his brother Samuel, he mentioned Richard's death among a list of the items—including the sugar and “one Bagg Coffee” that accompanied the letter. “You'll disclose this Secret with as much Caution as possible to our Sisters,” he pleaded. He quoted Barry's report that Richard “fought like a brave Man & was fore most in every transaction of that day,” dying for the cause of the “united Colonies.”127 By the time Lambert's package reached his family in Maryland, the “united Colonies” ceased to exist as well. The same day Wickes posted his letter, Congress approved the Declaration of Independence. Barry, Wickes, and the rest of the Continental Navy were now fighting for the survival of a new country: the United States of America.

He’s my big brother Sylvest. WHAT’S HE GOT? He’s got a row of forty medals ‘cross his chest. BIG CHEST! Don’t push, don’t shove, plenty of room for you and me. He’s got an arm like a leg. BIG LEG! And a punch that’d sink a battleship, BIG SHIP! Takes all the army and the navy To put the wind up SYLVEST! Traditional, collected by Michael Rosen

It was a love story, of course, which held the women in thrall, even though most of them had heard it many times before, but it was also a poignant story of the love two brothers had for each other.

Dr Todd Feinberg writes of a patient, Lizzy, who suffered strokes in her occipital lobes. As can happen in such cases, her brain didn’t immediately process the fact she’d gone ‘suddenly and totally’ blind, so it continued projecting its hallucinated model of the world. Visiting her hospital bed, Feinberg enquired if she was having trouble with her vision in any way. ‘No,’ she said. When he asked her to take a look around and tell him what she saw, she moved her head accordingly. ‘It’s good to see friends and family, you know,’ she said. ‘It makes me feel like I’m in good hands.’ But there was nobody else there. ‘Tell me their names,’ said Feinberg. ‘I don’t know everybody. They’re my brother’s friends.’ ‘Look at me. What am I wearing?’ ‘A casual outfit. You know, a jacket and pants. Mostly navy blue and maroon.’ Feinberg was in his hospital whites. Lizzy continued their chat smiling and acting ‘as if she had not a care in the world’.

I didn’t consciously fall asleep; it’s just that the chair was soft and comfortable, the room was dark and warm, and maybe it was the protection of those black eyes that reflected the blinking of the silly lights. Those eyes were not looking into the small darkness outside the double-paned windows; they were looking farther and to a place about which I did not know. There was nothing that would overtake us tonight that those eyes would not see, nothing that would not deal plainly with a king not in his perfect mind. I must have slept longer than I thought. I didn’t remember waking up, and maybe that’s what he had intended by starting to tell me the story while I was asleep. I remember hearing his voice, low and steady, coming from some place far away, “After the war. Her family were Basquos from out on Swayback, Four Brothers.” He paused to take another sip of his bourbon. “My gawd, you should have seen her. I remember lookin’ over the top of Charlie Floyde’s ’39 Dodge when she came out on the porch. Her hair was black and thick like a horse’s mane.” He stopped with the memory; the only other sound in Lucian’s apartment was the scorched-air heating. His two rooms weren’t any different from any of the others in general design, but they had all the style and mass of the Connally ancestral furnishings. I shifted my weight in the overstuffed horsehair chair and waited. “It was summertime, and she had on this little navy blue dress with all the little polka dots. The wind held it against her body.” It took him awhile to get going again. “She was the wildest, most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my entire life. Hair, teeth . . . We sparked that whole summer before her father tried to break it up in the fall. They wanted to send her away to family, keep us from each other, but it was too late.” I looked at him, and the night in my head seemed darker. “We used to tremble when we touched each other. She had the most beautiful skin I’d ever seen. I would forget from night to night. She wasn’t like American girls; she was quiet. She’d speak if spoken to but only then. Short,

The harrowing true life tale of the Turcotte boys from Lowell, MA who served in the United States Navy during WWII. In the midst of the war, the Turcotte brothers were described by one observer as "probably the fightingist group in the city...

Meanwhile, Travis was making another visit to the East Coast, for the christening of his niece, Maggie Rose Borek, in Avalon, New Jersey. Travis had first met Maggie shortly after her June 16, 2006, birth, but getting the chance to hold his sister’s daughter was always special.

This was typical Trevor, refusing to reach out for help. “The marines provide guard services at all the navy hospitals. My little brother guards the office of the surgeon general. Since you’re conducting this study at the behest of the surgeon general, I expect the military might provide security.” For the first time, Trevor perked up. “They would do that?” “It couldn’t hurt to ask. Wait . . . I’ll ask. I don’t want you making a hash out of this.” A ghost of a smile hovered on his mouth. “Are you suggesting you’re better at dealing with people than I am?” She stood and shook out her skirt. “Trevor, on any given day you might beat me in trigonometry. Or chemistry. Or a footrace. On very rare occasions you will beat me in a spelling contest. But you will never, not even on your best day, beat me in the category of basic human warmth.” Amusement lurked in his dark eyes. “You’re probably right.” He stood and, to her great surprise, took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Thanks, Kate.” Then he let go of her hand and sauntered off in that long-legged stride of his. The spot where his lips had touched her hand tingled during the entire walk home.

Greitens later wrote in his book, The Heart and the Fist.

They first met when she was sixteen. He had just enlisted in the Navy- thirteen days after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. She was dating his younger brother and, when her deep turquoise eyes first met his, all he could think was how sorry he was for him. He was going to take his girl...

By the side of her bed there was a card, embossed with the Queen’s cypher, giving the times of meals and table placements as well as a note saying how the various guests would be conveyed to the racecourse, either in open carriages or black Daimler saloons. Even though her family had rubbed shoulders with the royal family for years, Sarah was understandably nervous. She arrived promptly in the Green Drawing Room for pre-lunch drinks and then found herself seated next to Prince Andrew, who was on leave from his Royal Navy flying duties. They discovered an instant rapport. He teased her by trying to feed her chocolate profiteroles. She refused, playfully punching his shoulder and claiming one of her interminable diets as an excuse. “There are always humble beginnings; it’s got to start somewhere”, said Andrew at their engagement interview eight months later. While Diana has been billed as the matchmaker in this royal romance, the truth is that she never noticed the romantic spark between her brother-in-law and one of her best friends.

Rod had signed on the dotted line mostly because he’d been promised a free college education. But his commitment to the armed forces had quickly evolved into much more than that. In the navy, he’d found a home, friends who were more like brothers, purpose in what he did, some self-esteem. But it hadn’t been an easy road.

As assistant officer in charge of his SEAL Team Three platoon, Brendan saw the terrorist threat firsthand in a way few Americans could in the spring or summer of 2010. He was driven not by ideology, but by the same promise he and Travis had made when they were called to action after 9/11. As long as evil men wished to do Americans harm and demonstrated the willingness and capability to do so, brave men and women like Brendan and his fellow US service members would step forward to confront them.

1ST LT. TRAVIS L. MANION, USMC 04.29.07 IRAQ LT (SEAL) BRENDAN J. LOONEY, USN 09.21.10 AFG WARRIORS FOR FREEDOM, BROTHERS FOREVER

David thought about a saying in the US Navy: Ship, Shipmates, Self. That was his son—carrying out his mission, then looking out for his brother Marines, then himself, in that order.

There was something different about this drill though—the pace. The tempo was furious. Generally, during a drill, an attack occurs approximately every eight to ten seconds. With the Steiner brothers, an attack occurred every three to five seconds. My body and mind grew tired. I hit a threshold of exhaustion, resulting in my inability to control any deliberate movements. My mind unraveled as Gable and his staff looked on. Fortunately, Coach yelled the most coveted word on the planet when extreme fatigue hits, “Time.” I was exhausted and relieved. I realized I’d barely made it through this intense and exhausting drill. Winners don’t just make it through. They thrive. The Elite thrive in the toughest environments. The Steiner’s were thriving. I wasn’t. They didn’t seem tired at all, but I was dying. My heart rate spiked to a level that caused the lack of oxygen to my brain and muscles. The Elite never want to be in scenarios where the stakes are high and their preparation is below the level of challenge. We’ll always sink to the level of our training. It’s a Navy Seal creed, but it’s also truth. Unfortunately, I lived that scenario during that training session. I

Navy is my sweet baby. Emotional but fierce. She loves hard and she’s a good friend to her brother. We love our girly dresses and bows, and our favorite morning activity is picking out our outfits together. But when it comes to bedtime, the only way she’ll fall asleep is if her dad reads her a story. It doesn’t matter if he’s on the other side of the country for work, she has to see Ryan’s face before falling asleep. I couldn’t count how many times he’s read to her over Facetime from the locker room before a game.  Ryan loves it. He cherishes the nights when he’s home and makes an even bigger effort when he’s on the road. I truly couldn’t ask for a better father to our kids.

I met my husband’s eyes as he dropped to one knee before us, placing the head of his axe against the ground and bowing his head low before us. “I pledge my life to your service.” His words were like a summoning and suddenly they were all there, Caleb falling to his knees at Darius’s side, his navy eyes wide with amazement as he looked first to his lost brother, then to Darcy and I who stood shell shocked, hand in hand, in the wake of that terrible power we had just summoned to save us all. “I pledge my life in your service,” Caleb said loudly, silence echoing out once more as the crowd seemed to grow and grow, pressing in on us from all sides as this momentous act unfurled before them. “I pledge my life in your service,” Max echoed, falling to his knees on Darius’s other side, his head lowering, and the overwhelming feeling of love and respect that flooded from him almost floored me. Darcy’s hand tightened around mine, the two of us too stunned to do more than just stare at the final Heir as he stepped forward, looking between the two of us and the impossibility of Darius’s return before he fell to his knees on Caleb’s other side. “I pledge my life in your service,” Seth breathed almost reverently, and I sucked in a sharp breath as heat began to grow in my chest.

O-6, a Navy captain, right below a rear admiral lower half. That had been what his brother had meant by the term “salt.” A captain in the Navy was of equal rank with a major in the Army, a senior officer.

One thing I’ve learned since becoming a civilian is that being a Navy SEAL is only part of your life. High school is a part of your life and it’s the most important thing when you’re in it. Then it’s over. For me, for over a decade, being a Navy SEAL was everything. Those hard-as-nails instructors at Coronado and the officers I served under in the years after taught me to meet, and rise above, challenges I wouldn’t have imagined. And my SEAL brothers—they taught me a sense of comradery that I still consider priceless. But to keep growing, we all have to move to the next phase. That’s life.

You speak so easily of war, when so many of your brothers and sisters lie dead at the bottom of the ocean, at the hands of the King’s navy. That is war.” “When the maggot infested, mouldy bread runs out, and you’re so desperate for food that you daydream about finding a rat to cook, and stare contemplative at your fingers. That is war.” “When you’re conscripted, spend years killing people, for a king, who look just like you, and come home to find your wife in bed with a man who dodged the call of battle. That is war.” “When your people, your kind and everyone you love are hunted down and butchered like pigs in their sleep whilst they lay abed, just because of their ancestry. That is war.” “When mothers put their daughters to the sword, rather than letting the victors have them as spoils of war. That is war.” “When your wife fades away in your arms, simply because you and your kind have been labelled persons of interest for the knife. That is war.” “When you sacrifice everything so that your daughter might live a better life, away from persecution, prejudice and fear, and then she is taken from you anyway. That is war.

These two brothers have been dwelt on longer than the others because their honourable career accounts for Jane Austen’s partiality for the Navy, as well as for the readiness and accuracy with which she wrote about it.  She was always very careful not to meddle with matters which she did not thoroughly understand.

Later, with the benefit of hindsight, some would contend that this unusual use of water damned the ship, but at the time, Arizona was a dry state and, according to the Times, “the ‘teetotalers’ and the rest of the Arizonians demanded that the Arizona be named with water as well as wine.” As the ship slid faster and faster down the ways, one estimate claimed it bested fifteen knots by the time it hit the water of the East River and floated off in the direction of the Williamsburg Bridge. A flotilla of tugs swarmed around the hull and shepherded it to a dock in the Navy Yard for completion.2 Afterward, before an invited luncheon crowd of nine hundred guests, Secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels expounded at length on the role of the United States Navy on the global stage. When it was her turn to say a few words, Esther Ross came right to the point: “Mr. Secretary, friends,” she told Daniels and those seated before her, “this is the proudest day of my life, because I have christened the largest battleship in the world with the name of the greatest state in the union.”3

Few could dispute Esther Ross’s claim that the Arizona was a cutting-edge weapon of its day. The behemoth was built to project American power and counter any aggressor on the high seas. Battleships made completely of steel were themselves relatively new. America’s earliest were the Texas and the Maine, commissioned within a month of each other in 1895. Barely over three hundred feet in length and displacing only sixty-seven hundred tons, they in retrospect have been termed coastal defense battleships or, in the case of the Maine, a mere armored cruiser. The Maine blew up under mysterious circumstances in Havana Harbor, Cuba, in February 1898, and its sinking became a rallying cry during the subsequent Spanish-American War. Short-lived though the war was, it underscored the importance of a battleship Navy. In one storied episode, the two-year-old battleship Oregon raced from the Pacific coast of California all the way around Cape Horn and into the Atlantic to take part in the Battle of Santiago off Cuba. It was a bold display of sea power, but the roundabout nature of the voyage set thirty-nine-year-old Assistant Secretary of the Navy Theodore Roosevelt to thinking about the need for a canal across the Isthmus of Panama. By 1900, the United States Navy floated five battleships and had seven more under construction. Beginning with the Indiana (BB-1), commissioned at the end of 1895, they were each given the designation “BB” for battleship and a number, usually in chronological order from the date when their keels were laid down. Save for the anomaly of the Kearsarge (BB-5), all bore the names of states.

The prescient assistant secretary of the Navy was now president of the United States, and in December 1907, Theodore Roosevelt dispatched a fleet of sixteen battleships, painted white for peace and dubbed the Great White Fleet, on a multiyear voyage around the world to underscore America’s international interests and demonstrate its global reach. Most of these battleships were more than four hundred feet in length and displaced at least twice the tonnage of the Maine.

Even as this impressive armada returned to Hampton Roads, Virginia, in February 1909, its battleships were being surpassed by increasingly larger and heavier dreadnoughts packing ever more firepower. In 1916 alone, the United States Navy commissioned four newcomers: Nevada (BB-36) and Oklahoma (BB-37), measuring 583 feet in length and carrying ten fourteen-inch guns in two triple and two twin turrets, and Pennsylvania (BB-38) and Arizona (BB-39), 608 feet in length and mounting twelve fourteen-inch guns in four turrets of three each. Ships are usually built in classes of comparable specifications named after the lead ship, even if there are only two ships in the class. Hence, the Arizona was a Pennsylvania-class battleship. While there were small differences among the classes, pre–World War II battleships, beginning with Nevada, were “standard-type,” with generally the same top speed (21 knots), turning radius (700 yards), and armor, to facilitate steaming together. Arizona’s commissioning—its official acceptance into active service—occurred in the Brooklyn Navy Yard on October 17, 1916. Europe had been at war for two years, and it looked as if the United States would soon enter the conflict. The new ship and its sister, Pennsylvania, were, the New York Times reported, the “most powerful fighting craft afloat.” From keel laying to commissioning, Arizona’s construction had taken two and one-half years and cost $16 million (comparable to $369,000,000 in 2017 purchasing power). An initial complement of 1,034 officers and men took up their stations onboard.

Meanwhile, ever more battleships, most laid down amid the fury of World War I, were commissioned into active service. The Tennessee-class of Tennessee (BB-43) and California (BB-44) joined the fleet by the end of 1921, as did the Maryland (BB-46), which managed to be completed before the lead ship of her Colorado-class, the first class to mount sixteen-inch guns. Colorado (BB-45) and West Virginia (BB-48) were commissioned during 1923. Eight of these battleships, Nevada and Oklahoma, Pennsylvania and Arizona, Tennessee and California, Maryland and West Virginia—all built within a decade of one another—would forever be linked by the events of December 7, 1941. Colorado escaped the date only because it was undergoing an overhaul in the Bremerton Navy Yard in Washington State.

The fourth member of the Colorado-class was never completed because the Washington Naval Treaty of 1922 brought new battleship construction worldwide to a halt. The World War I victors agreed to limit capital ship construction and scrap certain existing vessels to result in a 5:5:3 ratio among the three major naval powers of the United States, Great Britain, and Japan. Signatories pledged to honor a ten-year moratorium on capital ship construction and guarantee ships would not exceed thirty-five thousand tons or carry armaments larger than sixteen-inch guns. The treaty also contained a non-fortification clause aimed at American and Japanese intentions across the broad reaches of the Pacific. Beyond what the United States might undertake in Hawaii or what Japan might do in its home islands, the signatories agreed not to fortify bases on their island possessions, including Japan’s Caroline and Marshall Islands, recently won from Germany, and such American outposts as Wake, Guam, and most important, the Philippines. Whether Japan would honor this commitment was a matter of considerable debate. Franklin Roosevelt, out of the public eye while recovering from polio, asked in an article, “Shall We Trust Japan?” Citing Japan’s participation in the Washington Naval Treaty and noting there was “enough commercial room” in the Pacific “for both Japan and us well into the indefinite future,” Roosevelt answered with an optimistic yes.7 The end result was that America honored its treaty commitment and built no new battleships between commissioning the West Virginia in 1923 and the North Carolina (BB-55) in 1941. This left the Arizona and its sisters the undisputed, though aging, queens of the seas on the American side during the latter 1920s and throughout the 1930s. But even queens require an occasional facelift, and from May 1929 to March 1931, Arizona underwent a twenty-two-month modernization at the Norfolk Navy Yard.

Early the following year, Arizona steamed from its home port at San Pedro to Hawaii to participate in Army-Navy Grand Joint Exercise No. 4. It was a mouthful of a name for a round of war games that simulated an attack on Oahu from “enemy” aircraft carriers lurking to the north. Near sunrise on February 7, 1932, the first strike of carrier planes caught Army Air Corps bases by surprise. A second wave achieved similar results after slow-to-respond Army pilots landed for refueling and breakfast. In the after-action critique, the Army protested that the Navy’s attack at daybreak on a Sunday morning, while technically permitted under the rules, was a dirty trick.8 A few weeks later, on March 2, Arizona entered Pearl Harbor for the first time. Pearl Harbor in the early 1930s was minuscule compared to the massive installation it would become just one decade later. Despite wide inner lochs—bays of water spreading out from the main channel—its entrance was historically shallow. Nineteenth-century visitors had anchored off Honolulu a few miles to the east instead. In 1887, Hawaii’s King Kalākaua granted the United States the exclusive right to establish a coaling and repair station in Pearl Harbor and improve the entrance as it saw fit. No facilities were built, but the United States annexed the Hawaiian Islands in 1898. When the American Navy built its first installations within months of annexation, they were at Honolulu, not Pearl Harbor, because of the difficult channel access. Finally, in 1908, Congress authorized dredging the channel entrance and constructing a dry dock, as well as adding accompanying shops and supply buildings. Naval Station Pearl Harbor was officially dedicated in August 1919. The Army and Navy jointly acquired Ford Island in the harbor’s center for shared airfield facilities that same year.9

US Navy into which young men enlisted during the late 1930s and early 1940s was decidedly white. This had not always been the case. During the latter half of the nineteenth century, African Americans served in a largely integrated American Navy and made up about 25 percent of its enlisted strength. Some thirty thousand African Americans manned Union vessels during the Civil War, with little discrimination as to duties. After segregation was legalized in 1896, African American enlistments declined and black men were increasingly relegated to the galley or engine room. After World War I, African American enlisted personnel declined further as the Navy recruited Filipino stewards for mess duties. By June 1940, African Americans accounted for only 2.3 percent of the Navy’s 170,000 total manpower. The fleet had mostly converted from coal to oil, and the vast majority of African Americans performed mess duties. Black reenlistments in technical specialties were never barred, however, and a few African American gunner’s mates, torpedo men, and machinist mates continued to serve. Amendments to the Selective Training and Service Act of 1940 guaranteed the right to enlist regardless of race or color, but in practice, “separate but equal” prejudices consigned most blacks to the Steward’s Branch. Its personnel held ratings up to chief petty officer, but members wore different uniforms and insignia, and even chief stewards never exercised command over rated grades outside the Steward’s Branch. The only measure of equality came when, just as with everyone else aboard ship, African American and Filipino stewards were assigned battle stations. Only then could they stand shoulder to shoulder with their white brothers in arms.13

Rather than return to home ports on the West Coast, American battleships and aircraft carriers, along with escorting cruisers, destroyers, and support ships, stayed in Hawaiian waters, mostly mooring within the confines of Pearl Harbor when not at sea. Former assistant secretary of the Navy Franklin Roosevelt, now president of the United States, ordered the move as a show of force to Japan, signaling that America would not condone its further aggression in the western Pacific. The results were not encouraging. Japan did not so much as pause in its drive into China. Almost everyone else, from the commander in chief of the US Fleet, Admiral James O. Richardson, down to the greenest seaman on the Arizona, thought the Hawaiian deployment was a bad idea.

Down under, it was already Sunday, December 7, and to the Australian government the possibility of keeping the lid on tensions seemed remote. A United Press story, datelined Melbourne, confirmed the southward movement of the Japanese navy and reported that the Australian cabinet had “met twice in Melbourne instead of at Canberra in order to maintain closest contact with the armed forces.” The cabinet had cancelled its normal weekend adjournment due to late information that seemed “to indicate an immediate break in Japanese-American relations.”10 Given

While Japan’s brazenness and duplicity on the morning of December 7, 1941, would come as a shock to the American psyche, President Franklin Roosevelt had slowly but steadily been preparing the country for war from the start of his presidency. He began in 1933 by diverting dollars from a public works bill to build two aircraft carriers. A year later, Congress voted to increase naval strength to the limits of existing treaties. The 1938 Naval Expansion Act boosted tonnages further, and additional legislation in 1940—including one bill called the Two-Ocean Navy Act—authorized the construction of seven battleships, eighteen aircraft carriers, and an assortment of smaller ships.

Once Arizona got underway for Pearl Harbor, however, the bandsmen also got an indoctrination into what it meant to be a Navy band aboard a warship. Among a full complement of 1,512 men, the musicians were assigned duty stations in sick bay and trained to administer injections of morphine. They were also introduced to their battle stations. As a unit, they were to man the hoists that carried gunpowder charges from the ammunition hold up to the fourteen-inch guns in Turret No. 2.3

The absence of battleships in the task force that steamed with Enterprise toward Wake had little to do with the growing importance of the aircraft carrier as a strategic weapon. There were many officers in the Navy—“black shoes,” as opposed to those upstart aviators who wore brown shoes—who clung stubbornly to the doctrine of battleship might. But hurling fourteen-inch shells a dozen miles at one’s opponent was about to change. For Arizona or other battleships that might have accompanied Enterprise, it was a simple matter of math. The top speed of the Arizona and the standard classes of battleships built before the Washington Treaty was 21 knots (24 mph). Enterprise, the slowest of the three carriers then in the Pacific, could move along at 32 knots (37 mph). When it came to covering distances and getting the job done, Enterprise and its consorts were high-speed delivery machines. The plodding battleships simply could not keep up. Had they been along, the trip to Wake would have taken 50 percent longer, exposing the force to enemy submarines that much longer.

The legal status of brothers serving together aboard one ship during wartime is particularly perplexing. After the catastrophic losses on the Arizona and the Juneau, as well as the near misses of the six Patten brothers on the Nevada and their later service on the Lexington at Coral Sea, the Navy modified its long-standing policy of encouraging or at least acquiescing to brothers serving together, but it never absolutely prohibited the practice.

When Arizona emerged from dry dock with new steel plates welded into place on the portside blister to close the gash from the collision, there was a far more noticeable and ominous change in the ship’s appearance. The Navy’s peacetime color scheme of light gray had given way to a dark bluish-gray applied to the hull and superstructure up to the level of the bridge. Only the foretop and maintop enclosures on the two tripod masts and the tops of the masts themselves were still light gray. This was a form of wartime camouflage that supposedly made the ship less likely to stand out against the horizon.

Whatever anxiety crew members on the Arizona and throughout the Pacific Fleet felt about the future would have been heightened had they known that on this same Thanksgiving day, the War and Navy departments in Washington issued what came to be called their “war warning” to all commands: “negotiations with Japan looking toward stabilization of conditions in the Pacific have ceased and an aggressive move by Japan is expected within the next few days.” At Pearl Harbor, Admiral Husband E. Kimmel, commander in chief of the Pacific Fleet, met with Vice Admiral William F. Halsey, Jr., the commander of his carrier forces, and Army Lieutenant General Walter C. Short, commander of land forces in Hawaii. Kimmel and Halsey had already organized task forces of cruisers and destroyers around the three aircraft carriers then operating in the Pacific: Lexington (CV-2), Saratoga (CV-3), and Enterprise (CV-6). To guard against a concerted attack or sabotage, they adopted a general protocol that only one carrier task force would be in Pearl Harbor at any one time. At the moment, this meant alternating between Lexington and Enterprise because Saratoga had yet to return to Hawaiian waters after a lengthy overhaul at Bremerton. A similar alternating routine was supposed to be in place among the three battleship divisions. Of the nine battleships in those three-ship divisions, Colorado was currently in Bremerton undergoing its own overhaul. With the war warning in hand, Admiral Kimmel and General Short concerned themselves primarily with the outer boundaries of their commands and not with Hawaii itself. The chief topic they discussed with Halsey was the delivery of aircraft to reinforce garrisons on Wake and Midway islands. Short wanted to deploy Army squadrons of new P-40s, but Halsey quoted an arcane regulation that Army pilots were required to stay within fifteen miles of land and asked what good they would be in protecting an island.

After the five Sullivan brothers were lost in November 1942, a long-standing misconception developed among the general public that the Navy absolutely forbid brothers from serving together and went to lengths to reassign them to other ships. This was never the case. Rather, a Bureau of Naval Personnel circular two full years after the Sullivan tragedy addressed the “Return to the United States of Sons of War-Depleted Families,” essentially a sole survivor policy. This recognized “the sacrifice and contribution made by a family which has lost two or more sons who were members of the armed forces and has only one surviving, and he is serving in the Navy, Marine Corps, or Coast Guard.” In that case, consideration would be given “to his return to, or retention in, the continental limits of the United States, except when he is engaged in nonhazardous duties overseas.” None of this was automatic, however, and applications for such return or retention to duty within the United States had to be filed by the sailor himself or his immediate family. Out of a sense of service, many men never took advantage of these provisions in the final year of the war.

You have to read the Bible like it’s a love letter from God to you. Pore over every word and search for the meaning of every sentence—every nuance.

was grappling with someone who had been a junior ensign on a PT boat in the same seas—and the blustery Navy commander was appalled to find himself in such an ignominious position.

Second Officer Lightoller also served in the Royal Navy during the first war. He returned to White Star after the Armistice and was made Chief Officer of the lumbering Celtic. For a while he had hopes of a transfer to the crack Olympic, but was passed over. He retired from the sea in the early 20’s and tried his hand (not too successfully) at everything from writing columns to raising chickens. But the sea still ran in his blood. He designed and sailed his own yacht Sundowner and had a final taste of peril in 1940. He took Sundowner over to Dunkirk with the great fleet of “little ships,” and rescued 131 British soldiers. At his best in the midst of disaster, he cheerfully wrote his brother-in-law several days later, “We’ve got our tails well up and are going to win no matter when or how.

You are no better than him. I was foolish, thinking that you were a wonderful brother. But when push comes to shove, you are no better than he is. You have no morals or ethics. You are exactly like Father. All your life, you will end up pushing everyone away. No one will ever be able to do everything the exact way you want them to, Noah. When trouble sets in, you will only think of yourself. You’re going to live alone and it’s going to be very sad. By the time you realize what you’ve done, it will be too late.

War does terrible things to people, Noah. It haunts them in ways that I hope you will never have to live through or experience. This doesn’t make what I did right. But what you did for your brother made you a man in my eyes that day.

Black culture and history as something worthy of study, and to replace the “n-word” with “Brother” and “Sister.” You see, the “n-word” was not some reclamation of Black community; it was part of a process of dehumanization required by chattel slavery. We weren’t human beings; we were n*****. I have not used the word since walking into M. Navies’ class. I was 13 years old.” - Melina Abdullah

The only way out of hell is to walk right through it. When you do, it always helps to have your brothers by your side.

Well,” said O’ Devir. “Tha’ ’twas easy.” “It won’t always be. Better start planning now how you’re going to handle her.” “I’d never presume to try and figure that out, Lord Andrew.” “Andrew. Just Andrew. If you’re going to wed her, we might as well dispense with formalities.” “What makes ye think I’m goin’ to wed her?” “Refuse, and I won’t let you leave this cabin alive.” “Ehm, right.” The other man, lips twitching, took a swallow of whiskey, then sat reflecting upon the contents of his glass. “And what about this eldest brother of yers? Will he give consent? I’m told I’d better keep my entrails in good condition as they’ll end up being his chosen instrument of my strangulation.” Andrew guffawed, choking and nearly spilling his drink. “I had a feeling she was only blaggardin’.” “No, she was not. Though Lucien will see to your dispatch in a much less messy way than strangling you with your own entrails.” “Pistols or swords?” “Both, probably.” O’ Devir sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to put up a fight for the sake of pride and appearances.” “I wouldn’t bother, as it will only prolong the inevitable outcome. My brother is one of the most dangerous men in England.” The Irishman lifted his glass and smiled. “Ah, but we are not in England, are we?” Andrew returned the salute. “Indeed, sir, we are not.” He had deliberately goaded, perhaps even insulted the man, trying to gauge the depth of his self-restraint. He was both satisfied and relieved that O’ Devir had not risen to the bait. His sister would be safe with a husband who could control his temper. He would certainly need that ability, married to one such as her. “Of course, I should kill you anyhow,” Andrew murmured, contemplating his own drink. “You abducted my little sister. You’ve probably had your way with her, and most certainly, have ruined her. Her life will never be the same.” “No, it will not.” “Have you had your way with her?” “I’m an officer in the Continental Navy, not a pirate.” Andrew eyed him levelly. “So you haven’t.” “The only reason I’m even goin’ to answer that question is because ye’re the lass’s brother and deserve one. But no, I haven’t.” He ran a hand through his hair, as black and wild a mane as Andrew had ever seen, and sighed. “Got too much respect for her, I do.

You have the manners of a trough animal,” she said scathingly. “Aye, well, at least I won’t be as hungry as one when I’ve finished both my portion and yers. Good stuff, this. Are ye certain you don’t want any?” “It looks disgusting.” “Oatmeal and peas. Navy food. Puts hair on yer chest.” “I don’t want… hair on my chest. I want to go home.

Do ye like fish, lass?” “What?” “We’ll catch ye one for breakfast tomorrow. A big one. Nice and fresh, best ye’ll ever have.” “A fish?” She raised a brow. “Will you prepare it yourself?” “I might, if it’ll make ye happy.” He looked down at her. “Of course, ye don’t know if I’m any better a cook than that useless looby who’s charged with feedin’ us all now, do ye? On the other hand, ’twould be hard to bollocks up a fish.” “You are going to cook me a fish.” “I could.” “And why are you smiling, Captain O’ Devir?” He hadn’t realized he was. Another thing she did to him. Charmed him right out of his melancholy, kicked out the darkness that was English hatred and Josiah’s death and Dolores Ann’s betrayal and filled it with sweet, warm sunshine, even when she was being prickly. “Am I?” “You were.” “Well, lass, I was just thinkin’ how nice it is to be standin’ here with a pretty girl and enjoyin’ a bit of life before her lauded brother catches up to and kills me in the most gruesome manner a body might imagine, before the Royal Navy finds a way to try and annihilate me, before I head back to America with her brother’s explosive.” He looked down at her. “Puttin’ it all in me memory bank, I am. Moments like this don’t last forever.

Yer brother will have received my ransom note by now and things should start to happen. Knowin’ the Royal Navy as I do, they won’t meet me on my terms but will try and set some of their own. Goin’ to miss me, Sunshine?” “No.” “Come now, not even a wee bit?” “No.” “Eh, well. Wish I could say the same, but it’s been rather fun havin’ ye aboard and tryin’ to get under yer skin.” “I am glad I was able to provide both entertainment and amusement,” she said dryly. “’ Twould have been better if ye’d allowed yerself to enjoy that kiss, too.” “Do you ever relent?” “Never.” His eyes were gleaming above his beard of soapy lather. “And I’ll be kissin’ ye again before I send ye home, I will.

Well, Mr. Cranton,” she said, brows raised. “When you told me you needed my gown so as to clean the sea stains and tar from it, I had no idea that you had… uh, other uses for it.” Loud guffaws met her remark. “Really, Captain O’ Devir,” she said, turning to the grinning Irishman. “Your so-called Navy has some odd ways of amusing itself.” “Odd ways that saved all of our hides,” cried a nearby seaman. “Three cheers for our captain!” “Hip hip, huzzah! Hip hip, huzzah! Hip hip, huzzah!” Nerissa, confused, could only stare at them all. They’d surely lost their minds. “I expected there to be a sea fight, and I’m very glad there was not, but how did you manage to avoid getting blown to the ends of the earth, Captain O’ Devir?” He just shrugged, his eyes hungry and dark as he took in her long, willowy form, her legs clearly outlined in Midshipman Cranton’s skinny breeches. “Well, Lady Nerissa, ye’re the most valuable person on this ship and that countryman of yers back there knows it. He wouldn’t dare fire on us with you up here on deck.” “But I wasn’t up here on deck.” “Aye, precisely. But that piece of sh—… ehm, that blaggard back there, didn’t know that. Ye’ll stay in Cranton’s uniform so he doesn’t find out.” “What? What are you all talking about?” Lieutenant Morgan, chewing on a piece of dried ginger, was the one who clarified it for her. “Captain O’ Devir would never risk your life by having you up on deck where musket or cannonballs could be flying, so he had Cranton here pretend to be you.” The youth rubbed the back of his head. “Didn’t need to hit me quite so hard, sir,” he said good naturedly. “I nearly didn’t have to fake being knocked out cold.” “My heavens,” Nerissa said, as laughter greeted the youth’s remark, and immediately the sailor’s teasing resumed. “Still think you make a fetching young lady, Mr. Cranton!” “Can I call on you, my lady?” asked Tackett the sailing master, making an elegant leg to the blushing youth. “I’d love to run my fingers through your hair….” “Hell, I’d love to run mine through his cleavage.” “Hahaha!” “Shut yer gobs, ye rogues,” said Captain O’ Devir. “That’s an officer ye’re talkin’ to. Give him some respect.” More guffaws, because it was hard to give a man any respect when he stood before them in a lady’s gown, red-faced, fuming, and reaching into his bosom to tear out the other stocking. He flung it down. “My apologies, Lady Nerissa,” he said, looking like he was about to take a swing at the sailing master. “You should not have to listen to such talk.” She couldn’t help but be caught up in their high spirits. “I have brothers,” she said, smiling. “There’s not much that will offend me, I can assure you.

She felt his absence, his loss, immediately. Knew that the vital force, the confident, larger-than-life energy that was Captain Ruaidri O’ Devir was no more. A buzzing started in her ears and the numbness began to take over. A Royal Navy officer was talking to her but she never heard the words, only saw his mouth moving. Never in her life had she felt more suddenly alone, as if someone had reached into her chest, wrapped cold fingers around her heart, and ripped it, still beating, out of her chest. Bile rose in her throat and she began to shake. Ruaidri? Ruaidri, where are you? She didn’t want to look for him amongst the bodies; she could not not look for him.

Mother wants to sell the amethyst ring Father brought back from America, where he trained in the navy before I was born. She wants to buy needles and thread, fabric and sandals from the camp's black market. I have never seen her without this purple rock. I can't fall asleep unless I twist the ring and count circles. Brother Quang says, NO! What's the point of new shirts and sandals if you lose the last tangible remnant of love? I don't understand what he said but I agree.

claustrophobic. But I will make you my grandma’s secret recipe for chicken parmigiana in return for your answers to a few questions about Navy life. I’ll even throw in garlic bread if you happen to know anything about SEALs. No sex, please; I’m on a deadline.

If you make the most of what you are doing, there is no way to regret what you are doing.

Any sign of weakness and you’re out. So, it had to be this way.” And he was absolutely correct. We would smash each other in the face in competition, then buy each other a drink later that same night and act like “friends for life.” It was a brotherhood that was no different from the relationship I had with my own brother. We could be in fisticuffs one moment, then plotting the destruction of our enemies the next.

From this day to the ending of the world, but we in it shall be remembered. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.

As King Richard I said in an address to his men during the Third Crusade in 1192: Our destiny awaits us, but even though we are outnumbered do not fear the hand of death. Everybody dies eventually. Not everyone can choose to end their time with glory and honor. To stand as brothers in arms, shoulder-to-shoulder, shield-by-shield, sword upon sword, battling our enemies for freedom and the greater good. That my friends is a glory worth fighting for. That my brothers is an honor worth dying for.