A BEGINNING

by

Arcades Ambo

The barracks where he sat writing his letter was no different from the hundred other barracks which squatted in precise rows throughout the Naval Training Station. But the place did differ from all the others in that its twenty five occupants had thoroughly impregnated it with the sounds and smells of their boy-men's bodies. They were all lads in their late teens-none of them over twenty and were playing at a man's game of war by having enlisted in the Navy-for the duration. Fate had not yet singled out those she was to decorate for their valor, nor those whom she would decorate posthumously; nor had she yet turned her back on those who would never come close to glory, and were to become lost as cogs in the vast war machine called the U.S. Navy.

You could pretty well tell who the latter would be by virtue of the fact that after five weeks of basic training they were still called by their last names and probably would never rise above the rank of Seaman; the others, who were sure to make places for themselves, had earned nicknames which were as unique as their very personalities. There was Oakie-so called because he acted like a character from The Grapes of Wrath. There was the auburn haired Jew they called Mick-he looked as Irish as Paddy's pig. There was 'Pollo, the dark

13